#doodled turned color strikes yet again

[boxofoxberry]

the girlies r fighting........

[bowtiepastabitch]

Let's Talk Costuming: A Very Professional Midwife/Cobbler!

At last, the long awaited sequel to Avaunt! aka my post analyzing Aziraphale's (and by extension the other angels as well) costumes from the Job flashback!! I knew Bildad's robes reminded me of something but it has been hiding stubbornly in the back of my memories for weeks, and I was doing myself a little doodle and it came to me, so here we are, friends, buckle up.

For better or for worse (depending who you ask), Crowley's costuming for this bit does not mirror Aziraphale's Renaissance-inspired aesthetic. That is, he is neither buff nor naked, as demons are often shown, nor is he a fucked up little guy

Scene from Michelangelo's Last Judgment, Sistine Chapel altar wall fresco, 1534–41 (featuring buff, naked, fucked up little guys)

The historical evidence that we have for the clothing of ancient Israel is spotty to nonexistent. To my memory, there are no real descriptions of clothing in the Old Testament aside from the instructions for priestly garb. (Note that I'm using "Old Testament" simply because Good Omens is based on a Christian interpretation of religion) None of the art from the period and surrounding time/geographic region, of which there is very very little surviving, depicts clothing anything like what we see in this episode either.

And then it fucking hits me.

It fucking hits me like a sack of bricks.

Weirdly specific Children's bible that stirred up childhood memories so I stole a photo from Amazon; published in 1972

We had this one as a kid, as well as several others, and THAT my friends is what Bildad the Shuhite reminds me of. Modern illustrations of bible stories, especially those used in children's materials. Now Christians are god-awful about giving credit for art, so please forgive me when these don't have sources.

Goodsalt.com has a lot of this stuff labeled as 'religious stock imagery'

This is why the style felt so familiar yet unplaceable: I grew up expecting this as the default outfit for bible stories. If you grew up christian, you're probably at least a bit familiar with this weirdly specific style of art. (Side note: if you have any idea where it came from please let me know, but I can't find any older styles of religious art like it. Anything pre-20th century harkens more to Renaissance style than anything, which in turn is a refresh on Medieval) This is, more than anything, in fact best described as religious stock imagery. It bears a lot of resemblance to clothing worn still in areas thereabout the historical region where this takes place, but it has a distinctive flair that the costume is definitely emulating.

The stripes and colors both feel deeply reminiscent of that art style, and it makes total sense considering this is in fact intended to have the feel of a bible story more-so than any other flashback in Good Omens has. Even the odd floofiness of his beard and hair make sense when put into this context and compared against the beards in the illustrations!

We even see that 'illustrated bible' inspiration right in front of our noses, but my brain didn't even process that because again, this art style is so pervasive it doesn't feel out of the ordinary. It was everywhere in the church I grew up in: posters on the walls in the children's wing, in our bibles and our coloring sheets, all that jazz.

The cheery bright colors, which certainly would not be available as textile dyes for another almost 4500 years, add a definite stylistic flair that makes this not only inspired by modern imaginations, but historically impossible. This of course contributes to the larger theory of how the costumes betray the unreliable narrator which I explore in this post and will almost certainly expand on when the impulse strikes me. The angels can be excused as miraculous, but this is definitive proof that what's happening here is at least in part fictitious, and more importantly for our analysis, that its heavily influenced by MODERN biblical stylization.

Those reds and yellows would have been available sooner, though not 2500 bc soon, but that shade of blue wouldn't be achieved until the industrial revolution and the invention of synthetic dyes in the 19th century. It is, however, very popular in biblical illustrations.

And so, friends, lovers, countrymen, we come to everyone's favorite part. What does this MEAN?

When we talked about Aziraphale and his Renaissance-angel-drag-queen era, the biggest emphasis was on the accentuation of his angelicism and holy glory. He's set apart from the humans in a way we've never really seen the angels before, and he also fits in with the other angels in heaven, who are also dressed ostentatiously to the nines. Crowley, on the other hand, does not have his demonic nature highlighted but downplayed. Instead, he fits in among the humans *almost* flawlessly.

Aside from his incredibly amazing and goofy glasses, which I think are an obvious anachronism of memory, he's dressed in pretty much the exact style as the human people around him, a style hugely shaped by latter 20th century aesthetics of biblical times. From a storytelling perspective, it makes total sense for Crowley to be fitting in among the humans, since he's sympathizing with them and even passing himself off as a human midwife/cobbler right under the angels' noses. He even takes a human name!

From a meta perspective, the modernity of the stylings tells us that whoever is narrating is having their memories shaped by somewhat recent events. However much is true remains under question, and there's tons of fascinating time-fuck theorizing to go around, but whatever is being remembered here is being re-evaluated through the lens of the last fifty or so years max, a mere blink in the eye for our angel/demon duo.

Whether it's the not-pocalypse, the arrival of Gabriel, or something that happened we haven't seen yet, SOMETHING has caused our narrator to reshape these memories recently. The overall character arc of Season 2 belongs to Aziraphale, as he struggles with himself to bring to terms the part of him that sees his own good as an extension of his being an angel and the part of him that can see how awful heaven is, so I think the importance of Crowley being more human than ever while he is more separated from than ever plays a big role in the story we're being told and that will hopefully carry over into season 3.

[my-own-walker]

Someone You've Never Seen Before

A Kyle Spencer Fan Fiction

frat!kyle AU, fem!main character, sexual themes, mature language, use of drugs and alcohol, frat boy antics

4.

The rest of the weekend went fine. I spent the majority of it dreading class on Monday. For one, I did not want to see how badly I failed Friday's quiz. Also, I especially didn't want to see Kyle. Or Kyle to see me, for that matter. It was weird that he had gone from "just some guy" to someone I couldn't stand in a matter of a day. 

When I sat in the nearly empty lecture hall, I said a silent prayer that Kyle would find himself running early today. He could find a seat next to Archie and I would have a break from him. Instead, though, I sat through an excruciating fifteen minutes of watching people trickle in, filling up the classroom in the usual arrangement. I couldn't even look at the door any longer, for fear of Kyle thinking I might be looking for him. I began doodling in my notebook, idly drawing little faces and flowers while awaiting my impending social doom.

Within seconds, it seemed, a figure slid down into the chair next to mine, landing with a thunk. I didn't dare move a muscle. As if the universe were trying to reward me, our professor began the lecture quickly. I avoided any confrontation with Kyle, at least for the time being.

I took notes rather diligently. There was no way I could stoop as low as to cheat again. Each figure, equation, and concept got hastily scribbled into my notebook. I even threw on my glasses part-way through to see the board better. I didn't wear them often, instead opting to simply sit where I could see well enough. But I meant business.

The class started to go by quickly. The professor began to speak faster in order to cram the content in before the hour was up. I could hardly keep up with the break-neck pace. While flipping my pencil over to erase something I had written, it flew out of my hand and clattered to the ground. Before I could even react, a blonde mop of hair dipped into my periphery.

"Here," Kyle whispered, presenting me with the catapulted writing utensil. 

"Thanks," I replied simply, taking the pencil so I could return to trying to not fail calculus. He smiled genuinely at me, his gaze lingering for longer than I could believe. I returned to writing, but suddenly, it was hard to focus on the task at hand. My stupid brain kept replaying his smile. The way his eyes crinkled, their deep brown color striking me. Stop, Hannah, I scolded myself.

Professor Edwards finally finished lecturing and opened up the room to questions, with just minutes until we were due to leave. I looked at my handiwork in my notebook and found that I hadn't written anything down since dropping my pencil. I covered my face with my hands and rubbed my eyes. How could I let a boy, let alone Kyle Spencer, distract me like that?

I felt Kyle turn his attention to me. In my periphery, I could see that he was looking at me periodically. I tried my best to focus on the last seconds of class time, but it was to no avail. I started packing my things up in defeat.

Kyle was up and out of his seat as soon as our professor said we could leave. I was thankful for it. If he didn't want to chance speaking to me, I sure as hell didn't want to chance it either.

+

The apartment was eerily quiet. I couldn't stand it. 

I was up late, trying to finish a piece for my poetry class. Inspiration hadn't struck me yet and I grew frustrated. It wasn't due until Friday, but if I wanted to pass a calc quiz, I'd have to finish the poem as soon as possible to focus on math for the rest of the week. I stood and stretched, padding over to my bed. The old mattress springs protested as I laid my weary body upon them. 

I stared up at the ceiling, hoping some divine intervention would give me an idea. The poetry prompt was essentially to write about love. It was the first piece that would be due in class, so the professor started with an easy assignment. Well, at least, it was supposed to be. Love is perhaps the easiest, most cliche thing to write about. I think that's why I struggled so much with it.

Out of sheer desperation, I pulled out my phone to scroll through Instagram. Maybe getting the instant dopamine rush of social media would help me feel "love" somehow. I mainly followed other kids from school. My feed was full of party photos, quotes from famous authors, and some indie "aesthetic" accounts' posts.

While scrolling, a quote from Virginia Woolf came up. I was relieved, hoping her great, old words would give me inspiration. "Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I'm never not thinking of you."   I scrolled down, kind of unsatisfied with the quote. The next photo was one posted by my friend Leon. It was a group shot of him and his frat brothers at the TKE party on Friday. In the center of the shot, stood an unmistakable blonde boy. Kyle Spencer.

I threw my phone down onto the bed next to me and groaned aloud. Why can I not get rid of this guy? Why do I see him everywhere now? I thought. I sat up and stared off, wide-eyed, at the corner of my room. I knew what I needed.

Hopping off my bed, I was careful to not make too much noise. I grabbed my laptop and shoved it into my leather messenger bag. I slid the first pair of shoes I could find on, plugged my headphones into my phone, and slipped quietly out of my room. 

My plan was to hit up my favorite late-night coffee shop on campus. The night was dark and humid, smacking me in the face as I stepped out into it. After shoving my headphones into my ears, I put the hood up on my sweatshirt and set off to my insomniac paradise. It was aptly called "Sleepwalker Coffee Co." They knew their audience well. College students need caffeine at all hours of the day.

The walk was short. We lived rather close to the shop. I discovered the place my freshman year and fell in love. When Lily and I were searching for an apartment, I practically begged her, on my hands and knees, to move into the place closest to Sleepwalker. In three years, I essentially ate and drank my way through their entire menu. I walked along the campus streets until I reached the familiar brick exterior of the shop. The door was painted a dark evergreen and held a beautiful wreath of dried flowers. When I stepped in, the warm smell of cinnamon and freshly ground coffee beans calmed my senses.

I nestled into a small booth in the corner of the place. It was unsurprisingly packed in there. Tons of students sat getting work done while fraying their nerves with cups of liquid energy. It was dark and plush in the shop. Velvet seating and dark looming bookshelves surrounded me.  Royal purple drapes hung on the windows. I took the first sip of my chai latte and sighed, smiling softly. 

The world was better at hours like this, I found. No one bothers you. The coffee shop, as busy as it was, felt like my own personal haven. I could sit in peaceful bliss, working away steadily on my laptop. At hours like this, the sky is dark, sparkling with the ethereal promise of a new day. 

Sparkling. The word hung in my mind like how low smoke hangs and swirls around your head in a dark dive bar. What sparkles? I thought. How does love sparkle? It doesn't. But someone can. Someone you love.

That was all the inspiration I needed to get my poem done.

Previous Part | Next Part

[reilliane]

Pre-Story - ONE

✤ — Universe: Fleur ✤ — Summary: Change is inevitable in life. Sometimes, you want to cling to the usual normalcy, sometimes you don't.

a/n: pre-stories are childhood memories!

They are always repetitive—the days, you mean.

If a chance presents itself to change the routine of your everyday life, you'd say it's a slim one, though you welcome any percentage.

Anything to get rid of the monochromatic boredom in the supposedly colorful life.

Okay, perhaps you're exaggerating—life isn't that bad, but still.

With a feeble hum, you draw onto a piece of paper in a blue-green—as your Crayola labels—color, a winged symbol. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual wings with a few flairs here and there.

They aren't meant to be special—not yet, at least—just another doodle in another sketchbook that will be forgotten under the closet.

You promise not to forget about it, but you have a bad case of forgetting promises.

There's a clear difference between forgetting and not doing, as you like to emphasize to your friend. Ah, speaking of.

"Hey, hey, you're leaving tomorrow, right?" the giddy voice on your right makes you roll onto the other side away from him, leaving the doodle and crayon behind.

You groan, stretching your limbs and sighing.

Leaving... you didn't think that such a day would come, but alas.

"Mm.." is your response—bland.

Smack!

"Ow—Kaeya!"

The boy, older than you by a couple of years, snickers as he continues to smack your back with a yawn. He does an incredible job of being indifferent to your whines.

Thinking nothing of it, he resumes messing around.

It's always been his favorite pastime before he's taken away.

You despise it, but hey, he's a brother figure for a reason.

"Hey, hey, aren't you excited?" he hums, taking the piece of paper you've been drawing on and flopping onto the couch, surveying the drawn figure.

With the little concentration you have—as expected of a child seven years of age—you turn to the plate of sweets on the table, standing on wobbling feet to reach the chocolate muffins. But alas.

You're too short. Or maybe the table's just too tall.

"A little-!" you admit, squeaking when your fingers brush against the plate and it almost clatters to the ground.

Easing your feet from tippy toes, you grumble, crossing your arms. From the corner of your eye, you spot Kaeya shuffling. "Who's not excited about leaving? Still, I like it here! So, I'm sad."

Even sadder because you can't reach the muffin.

"Yeah, I get the feeling," the spark of giddiness is uncontrollable the second you realize that the blue-haired boy is taking the plate from the table. "The people here are nice, after all!"

He lowers the plate of sweets to your level and grins as you squeal your thanks, hands reaching for the piece of muffin you've been salivating minutes ago from.

Before the pastry touches your hands, however, he snags it and takes a huge bite, laughing obnoxiously at the look of betrayal on your face.

"It's sad without you, too!" says Kaeya, words jumbled from eating at the same time as he speaks.

Paying extreme attention to your horrified expression, he proceeds to munch on the sweet pastry, his stare glinting with utter mischief.

"My brother's pretty okay though, we're good buddies!"

"Kaeya, give me a muffin!"

"Yeah, I'm in good hands."

"Kaeyaaaaa!"

When the clock strikes five in the afternoon, a car pulls up in front of the building.

A fancy one that you'd often see in the movies, black with a shine that seems to be there at all times even when there is an obvious lack of light.

You walk by the side of the blue-haired boy, eating away happily at a newly baked muffin he and the rest of the children helped bake.

A man with crimson hair rolls down the car window, beckoning your friend to hop on in so they can return home.

Home.

Kaeya notices your dispirited form before you can even process it yourself, and messes with your hair again with a grin. He had the heart not to shove your face down on the muffin, thankfully—but you're still miffed.

Though it's abated a little when you see his tiny smile and pinky extended towards your direction. "I may be gone, but that doesn't mean I won't visit, you crybaby."

"Who are you calling a crybaby, you big baby?!" you exclaim, obviously crying.

"You are, duh." He retorts, crying himself.

Still, you entwine your pinky with his, both sniffling like there's no tomorrow.

And then he waves you goodbye, as do the red-haired man in the front seat. If you tip your toes, you'd see someone of a shorter stature beside him, but you're not too sure if it's just your blurry vision playing tricks.

Kaeya repeats that he'll visit again—and the car drives away.

As you stand by the entrance wiping your tears, you hear your name being called, probably so that you'll finish the dinner you left behind.

After a call that you're going there, you start to move—only stopping when it feels like you're not carrying anything.

That's weird.

Looking down at your hands—

"... He stole my muffin.."

You can't even be mad. 

a/n: first pre-story done! this was posted first in wattpad but i figured i should bring it here too. now.. onto the taglist omg-

@cherryflushz @e7t3 @scarlet-halos @lordbugs @nebulaera @annoying-and-upset @hanniejji @applepi1415 @tjjjrsj @azirajane @hey-comrade-hold-stil @limelightsuperhero @chloeloe @loptido @windyventi @nejibot @ganyuqrt @justrinnn @yasunamilk @alana5021 @uwu-dreams @nomnom21 @milksnake-tea @layla240 @normalisthenewnorm @abbynxisys @ghostlystudentvoidbat @meinoballs @lost-in-alula @aryllechan @xiaosalmondtaro @yetchann @rayskyee @lunavixia @estelwrld @nightfloweruponahill @o0soup0o @little-fiinch @blueberrysauce @iineikoo @aestherin @hakobuns @monicahar @sirinxei @mundanenights @minitao @randomweebly @bluebeomz @emperatris-rinaka @durptwit @shioriryke @crapimahuman @cianalikesbeans @feverish-dove @sassyglassesbunny

[anakinthetrashking]

Once again, I have batfam brainrot.... Which is what I get for,,, doing basic cooking ig????? No, cooking family recipes just always makes me think of Alfred, bc I always imagine him having a box of handwritten recipe cards, and a basic recipe book with notes in it, and old recipes cut out of the newspaper and just all this loose paper in a folder and stapled together with notes and stuff... And then me while cooking is like, why not make a sideblog called Alfred's kitchen and like,,, recreate that???? (I say recreate but actually it's literally me stealing ideas from my grandma's cookbook ahdkshskk but I don't have the braincells for a sideblog anyway)

Because I mean I have so many Alfred-cooking headcanons and I definitely absorb them from other people too but like, I mean I've talked about them before, it's stuck in my mind that he wanders the grocery store when he's stressed, puzzling through how he can help his family this time, because they go through SO MUCH. And inevitably he runs across another parent or grandparent in the store who immediately recognizes the look in his face as the "stressing and worrying about family" face, and they strike up a conversation with him and he ends up leaving the conversation with new courage and a calm heart and just the right recipe, somehow.... (This is actually in a fic of mine... Link )

And then there's the headcanon that while Bruce was away on his secret Becoming-Batman-World-Tour, he sent so many ingredients and recipes back to Alfred with little notes, because that was his way of saying "I'm thinking of you" and "I miss you" and "I love you". (I have a wip that talks a bit about this... Man I gotta finish that) And while Bruce definitely can't cook, I feel like he's GREAT at writing down recipes just by observing someone making it. Bc he's so observant and detailed he would put in things so exact and yet not be able to recreate it himself 😂 I'm talking, so overly detailed he writes stuff like "stir counter-clockwise 5 times, then clockwise 3 times" etc. And then when he sees Alfred cook and he's not stirring exactly like that but the dish comes out perfectly anyways he's just, SO confused.

I just. I can't help but think of Alfred's notes in the margins that have the calculations already done for doubled recipes, and then tripled as the family grows, and stapled in vegetarian versions for Damian, and maybe, oh gosh I'm gonna cry, but maybe little notes from each of the kids who saw Alfred writing in his cookbook or on notepaper and it's just like, Tiny Child Bruce handwriting because his mom taught him to write thank you notes and so he writes several to Alfred, because Alfred makes him food EVERYDAY! And he always knows exactly what Bruce likes! And of course Alfred saves all of those, and maybe after the Wayne's are gone, Bruce just writes this tiny "Thank You" in the corner of one of the pages that holds the recipe of his favorite food while Alfred's back is turned in the kitchen– and I'm thinking of Robin!Jason spending a lot of time in the kitchen and maybe helping create new recipes or give suggestions and his handwriting is still in the book and maybe that really REALLY hurts for a while, and maybe when Jason finally comes back, maybe he has his own cookbook in his apartment and Alfred returns the favor to write little notes in thwre

And maybe I'm thinking of Tim sitting in the kitchen doing his homework and looking over and seeing all the notes and still being a fanboy at heart and just, softly, oh so softly, tracing his finger over all the little notes in there and wishing that he had something, anything at home that screamed family and love HALF as much as this cookbook and folder of recipes did.

And just– Alfred, organized, put together, but oh so sentimental Alfred, has this messy recipe book and messy folder, with messy notes and stains from being accidentally splattered with something while cooking, and notes in so many different styles of handwriting and different colored pens and pencils, on so many different types of note paper and sticky notes and the backs of receipts,,, and stickers and doodles from Cass... And when Duke shows up, and he catches glimpses of all the notes and he recognizes everyone's handwriting and he's so hesitant because this is obviously a family thing, and he's not really sure if he counts, you know??? But as Alfred is cooking the book gets slid closer to where Duke is sitting and Alfred puts a pen right in his hand before softly patting his arm and saying something so simple like "It's tradition, after all", with that warm look in his eyes and maybe that's the moment that Duke realizes that the barrier he thought was there, in-between being accepted among them as a fellow vigilante and being family just, isn't there, actually. And there's been a lot of moments that led up to that realization but it's the act of putting his own mark on something as simple as their hodgepodge mess of family recipes is what erases that last doubt and he just, relaxes into it. 🥺😭💞

I have a lot of feelings about the Batfam and food, you guys

[strange-lace]

Misunderstandings

I HAVE FINALL MADE CONTENT FOR MY SPIDER MONKIE AU! And SURPRISE, it’s angst!

Despite his best efforts, MK knew that he was a terrifying image to humans when he dropped his glamor. He loomed over most people due to his size, lower body plated with a dark exoskeleton with long legs which were sharp enough to impale someone without much effort. MK had tried to make it look less intimidating by painting bright little doodles all over his lower body. Soft and precise strokes decorated his exoskeleton with a couple of noticeably lower quality, lines shaky and uneven as if done by a beginner. Yet they were the ones he treasured the most. Particularly the large purple and orange hourglass symbol dead center on his spider abdomen.

"Am I doing this right sweetie?" She asked, long black hair pinned back to keep it clean yet it was still stained with streaks of paint. The same can be said for her worn robe, the faded fabrics speckled with rainbow flecks of paint. Her lips were pursed in concentration as the paintbrush shook in her hands.

It was certainly an image of the feared Spider Queen that few had the luxury of seeing and living to remember it, MK being one of them.

"Yeah mom, you're doing great. Try focusing on where you want the brush to go instead, it'll help smooth out your strokes," he suggested, having to contort a slight bit to see what she was doing. She followed his advice and happily finished the symbol.

"There! Now everyone will know to fear my little spiderling the moment they lay their eyes on him," Spider Queen cooed, putting the paintbrush away to pat MK on the head, accidentally staining his dark hair with the purple and orange paint which had gotten on her hands.

MK held a brief smile at the memory before letting out a sigh. 

Unfortunately, bright colors and cutesy symbols could only do so much against the large collective fear of demons, especially big ones with fangs and multiple legs. Which he was unfortunate enough to find out when fighting a demon who's whole speciality was glamor magic and could see right through him.

"That must be uncomfortable, squeezing yourself into such a small form. How about I give you a chance to stretch your legs for a while?" The demon said mockingly and before MK knew it, he was enveloped in a cloud of shimmering dust. Suddenly, everything was a lot smaller to him and MK was left to clumsily stumble as his two legs became eight without warning. He squinted as the world was now a lot brighter through his four eyes, colors even more vivid than before to the point it nearly gave him a headache.

Yet it all only registered to MK when he heard people start screaming about a giant spider demon.

“Oh no…” He whispered to himself, wincing as his vision cleared only to see civilians running away from him. And while he understood why, it still felt like a stab to his heart to see people terrified of him. The hurt quickly became panic once he hit what felt like a blockade to his magic, preventing him from re-activating his glamor.

MK was stuck like this for the time being.

“This can’t get any worse,” he hissed, freely skittering through the now empty streets now that he wasn’t at risk of accidentally stepping on someone. He was instantly proven wrong when he heard the twin sound of motors headed right him and MK had to dodge quickly to avoid getting hit by Mei’s bike head on and from Pigsy’s truck from crashing into one of his legs.

It just got worse.

"Alright demon, might be best to give up now-!" Mei froze mid-boast, face going pale underneath her helmet. She was soon joined by Pigsy, Sandy, and Tang who looked at what had her so shaken and their own confusion quickly transformed into their own individual shows of shock. Pigsy looked genuinely sick, Tang didn’t seem to be breathing with wide eyes behind his glasses, and Sandy’s entire being seemed to bristle as if to make himself look even bigger out of self-defense.

It dawned on MK once he saw they were all staring at the staff still clenched in his clawed hand.

That he was still holding while in his true form. Which wouldn’t look out of place as part of the Spider Queen’s forces, skin now covered in purple fur and eyes a dizzying bright green. And was still wearing his easily recognizable orange and purple jacket and headband now draped around his neck from the chaos.

MK now realizes that this did not paint a good picture in his favor.

“I… can explain,” he stuttered, wincing at the sound of his own voice: hoarse and deeper to his own ears.

He had no way of explaining this.

“What did you do to my boy?” Pigsy was the first to break the silence, eerily calm yet everyone could tell that his rake was close to snapping with how tight his grip was. Following behind him, everyone else’s shock and horror morphed into rage and MK felt his stomach tighten further and further in fear. Tang’s eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses with a stillness to him that made you fear he would strike at any moment before you could react. Sandy’s entire demeanor had changed in a way that made MK understand Pigsy’s past descriptions as him being a feared warrior.

And Mei?

Well Mei’s entire being was wreathed in green and vibrating with barely restrained wrath.

MK stumbled back on his eight legs, feeling incredibly small in the face of his family’s anger despite towering over them.

They didn’t know it was him. As far as they knew, he was just another demon.

He didn’t know if this was better or worse for him.

“We will not repeat ourselves, demon: What did you do to our kid?” Tang demanded with a glare as sharp as knives. MK soon found himself surrounded, breath turning shorter and shorter as his family came closer and looked ready to tear him apart if it meant getting the answers they wanted. Yet he could only see the image of the calabash copies of his family and mentor pouncing at him to prevent him from escaping, countless nightmares of them successfully trapping them in his “perfect” world weighing on his spine.

So it was only natural that he panicked when they all descended upon him as he remained silent, throat closed up in sheer anxiety. It had happened so fast but before MK knew it, he had bound them all in web cocoons without even meaning to. 

Yet he took the opportunity while they were struggling to free themselves to go for the most logical course of action according to his panic-ridden brain: run away, far and fast. He didn’t even know where he was going, all MK knew was that he had to make himself scarce around the city until he could finally use his glamor again. If he wasn't sick from panic, he could almost laugh at the image of himself struggling to balance all eight of his spider legs on the staff as he pogoed through the city.

So it shouldn’t really have surprised to find himself on the beach of Flowering Fruit Mountain, the monkeys scattering away in fear at the sight of him as he created a small crater in the sand.

The following silence was deafening, allowing his thoughts to continue to run wild without anything to focus on. He only faintly realized that tears were running down his face as the mountain breeze gently blew against him, as if trying to offer its own form of comfort as he spiraled. 

MK couldn't stop seeing the faces of his loved ones, his family, as they looked at him with such hatred and rage. He tried to keep reminding himself that it was only because they didn't know it was him, as far as they knew he was a random powerful demon who managed to get their hands on the staff. But tell that to his heart, which felt like it was genuinely breaking into pieces. The pain was enough to put MK to his knees, choking on his tears and grip on the staff tight enough to make the joints of his exoskeleton-plated hands ache.

"Kid? You here kid?" MK didn't even think, he found himself scrambling towards the familiar voice of the Monkey King, desperate for comfort. Sun Wukong grunted as he found his arms now full of a panicked spider demon but was able to adjust his footing before he could lose his balance. He let out a sigh of relief, no longer struggling to hold since he had lifted far heavier people in his long life. Questions died on his tongue as the sound of muffled sobs entered his ears, his successor’s face buried in his fur as if wanting nothing more than to hide from the world.

“What happened bud? You wanna talk about it?” MK was silent for a moment before he gave a garbled response in the Monkey King’s fur. “Sorry, what was that?”

“A demon messed with my glamor, leaving me stuck like this and they saw me. They didn’t know it was me and they saw the staff and they thought… they hated me,” he rambled, a fresh round of tears leaving his four eyes. Wukong remained silent but silently walked towards his home, MK still in his arms.

“Oh kid, I’m so sorry. You know that they wouldn’t be that way if they knew that it’s you. But that definitely explains why Pigsy called me, threatening to eviscerate me the moment he saw me if anything had happened to you,” Wukong gave a smile at the wheezy chuckle MK let out at the image of his boss and father figure calling the Monkey King just to rip into him. Yeah, that sounded like Pigsy alright. “I think I can fix up whatever that demon did to your glamor. Then you can hang out here for a while, if you want, before going back home. That sound good bud?”

“Yeah… sounds great Monkey King,” MK answered before letting out a yawn, now left exhausted now that the anxiety and panic has leaked from his system with the presence of his other father figure mentor there to comfort him. Wukong gave a chuckle, gently placing MK down on his couch and putting on Monkey King: The Animated Series without a second thought. Seemingly realizing that he was no danger to them or their king, the monkeys quickly began to use MK as their personal jungle gym without any fear. That seemed to do the trick, as he was now chuckling at the sight of the little monkey’s looking at the doodles on his exoskeleton with curiosity.

Wukong watched the scene before him with a warm look in his eyes before it quickly hardened as he slipped out of his home for a moment. Pulling out his phone, he gave a deep sigh to calm himself before tapping to call a very specific number.

“Sun Wukong, to what do I owe the pleasure?” A velvety voice answered upon the third ring.

“A demon severely messed up the kid and I figured you’d like to… return the favor,” he answered, voice dead serious.

The line went silent, the echoes of enraged hissing barely audible in the background.

“What did they do to my baby?” Any hint of playfulness was gone in the voice, the Spider Queen enraged to know that someone had harmed her son in such a way to make the Monkey King willing to contact her.

“Messed with his glamor and the others saw him, nearly attacked him thinking he was a demon that had managed to get the staff. He’s fine physically but he’s an emotional mess. All the kid was able to tell me was that they specialize in glamor magic. Think you can work off that?”

“Of course I can, what do you take me for?! But… is he alright?” Wukong smiled, almost quipping about her getting soft over the years but she could very easily call him a hypocrite.

“I have him with me and have everything under control. Just do what you do best S.Q. and I’ll keep in touch, ‘kay?” Everything about him was casual yet the look in the Monkey King’s eyes was nothing but fire that promised he would have burned whoever harmed his kid without mercy, if he wasn’t “retired”.

“Of course, might as well make use of your “retirement” after all. I’ll make sure to make our… displeasure to that foolish demon evident for the both of us. Take care of my spiderling Wukong, otherwise I will figure out a way to make you mortal to end you.” Despite her tone, Spider Queen was only half serious since she knew ending the Monkey King would make MK upset with her. And the last thing she wanted to do was lose her spiderling after searching for him for so long.

“Sure you will S.Q., I totally believe that. But until later, see ya!” Wukong said before hanging up, satisfied but antsy which was typical after every occasion he spoke with the Spider Queen. Walking back inside, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of MK now fast asleep with the monkey’s cuddled around him.

Totally worth it.

[aerynwrites]

Specter

Boba Fett x F!Reader

A/N: For @autumnleaves1991-blog Writer Wednesday! I had a lot of fun with this one as Sci-Fi is definitely my passion when it comes to writing, watching, reading stuff! So I guess a little backstory with this, is my inspirations for the reader came from the above image (left) as well as kind of mixing that with the idea of The Winter Soldier/Bucky from the MCU. Also I loved the idea of Boba facing an opponent that hes never faced before and getting his ass beat lol. So...here ya go! I hope you all enjoy! <3

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: fighting, guns, and knives.

Specter: Specter refers a ghost, or something that is widely feared or is a source of terror or dread.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

In all his years as a bounty hunter traveling the galaxy, It still surprises Boba sometimes that he doesn’t know all of the planets. Granted he is usually only called to the same ones over and over. So, seeing a new planet is something that causes surprise to tug at the edges of his mind. This is how he feels when the bounty he receives is said to be last spotted on a rather large yet secluded planet by the name of Zonuc. The memory of the exchange a few days ago replays in his mind as the ramp to Slave I lowers.

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“I’ve never even heard of this planet before, and you expect me to fly triple the distance I usually do to capture a bounty that you can’t even give me any information on? No age. No species. No name-”

“I gave you a name,” the client interrupts, waving his withering hand dismissively. The client is a wrinkly old Zabrak bastard who has caused Boba more frustration in the last half hour than he’s experienced in years.

“No,” he barks, “You have me an alias, which isn’t that helpful when they can just dump it for a new one whenever they please.”

The Zabrak rolls his eyes, “I was told you were the best. If you feel this is too much of a challenge I can just find someone else to-”

“Save your ultimatums for someone else, Kar,” Boba snaps, “I’ll get them. But I expect heavy compensation for the trouble this causes me.”

Kar sneers at the bounty hunter, “If you manage to bring them back to me alive, I assure you,” he leans back in his chair, “you will never have to worry about credits again.”

Boba scoffs before turning on his heel and leaving to find his bounty.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

The sight that greets Boba as the ramp of Slave I opens before him, is definitely different than anything he’s seen. Immediately he is struck with a familiarity. The city he’s landed in is teeming with life, bustling streets, towering buildings, neon signs hanging everywhere. It reminds him of Coruscant but less…refined. This place is definitely a place where those who want to disappear go. This place also reeks of trouble and shady dealings. What strikes him as the most odd however, is the people that seem to inhabit the place.

They look like humanoid droids. But not the kind that can’t do anything but follow their master around and translate languages. No. These things look like humanoids that have been transformed into machines. 

Boba treads carefully - senses on high alert while also listening to the tracking fob that beeps steadily at his side. He spends his first few hours on the planet trying to simply get his bearings, finally having found a non-robotic person to ask about the place. He learns that the people that inhabit the planet in majority are called Exos, a species he’s never heard of. He also finds that this place is exactly what he thought it to be - 

A place for criminals and wanted people to come and live and thrive in a life of crime. A safe haven for those on the run from people like him. 

He huffed at that information. No place is ever truly safe, and as his tracking fob starts to beep faster, he knows he’s about to teach that lesson to yet another bounty. 

He follows where the tracking fob leads him, surprised that the bounty does not seem to be moving. Finally, he rounds a corner at the end of the street he is on and he immediately feels when the bounty clocks him. You are at a stall in a marketplace in the middle of the street. He sees you turn to look just as he rounds the corner and he immediately recognizes the mask from the pictures shown to him by Kar. It's black, with orange glowing detail around the visor, creating a haunting effect. The second that visor lands on Fett, you turn on your heel and sprint in the opposite direction. 

The hunter curses to himself and gives chase.

He has faced many different bounties in his lifetime, but this one is the first that he has ever had a sliver of a doubt about. The way you dart nimbly through the streets before literally leaping off of walls to reach the roof tops, giving you a height advantage. Fett follows as best he can with his jet pack, but between dodging speeders and hanging signs he loses sight of you. For a moment, as he lands in a side alley, he thinks he actually lost the bounty. 

Until the fob at his side starts going haywire. 

He glances up above him and raises an arm just as you come crashing down onto him, razor sharp blade glancing off his vambrace as you land. Fett pulls his blaster from it’s holster and aims faster than most could blink, but not fast enough for you. You reach out and grab the end of his blaster before it even reaches chest level, and you yank it from his grip with a force that strikes a tinge of concern into hunters mind. He watches in utter shock as you break the solid metal in half over your knee before rearing back and throwing a knife in his direction. He barely dodges it and immediately reaches for his own blade to defend the attack he knows is coming. This time he is at least able to draw his weapon completely before you are on him again. 

You go to throw a punch at his head, and on instinct he leans into it, used to his opponent crumpling in pain once their fist makes contact with the solid metal. However, this time, he is the one that stumbles when a deafening ringing fills his ears as metal connects with metal.

Wait - metal on metal?

He glances up from where his eyes fell to the floor to see you rearing back to hit him again, and he just manages to finally realize what is happening. The black color of your hand that he had assumed were gloves, is actually smooth metal.

He’s fighting a fucking robot. 

Before he can dwell on it too long however, he dodges another blow and thrusts his blade forward and up with the intent of burying the blade in your stomach. But before he can, you reach out and wrap your fingers around the blade - stopping it in its path. You wretch the weapon from his hands before landing a herculean blow to his chest, sending the man flying backwards into the wall behind him. He collapses to the ground in a heap and is forced to watch as you snap his blade in half too before approaching the downed hunter. He can see that you think you’ve beaten him, and perhaps you have to some extent. But Boba Fett is not going out of this galaxy sitting on his ass.

So, just as you approach him, he swings his feet out and takes your own from beneath you. And in a puzzling turn of events, he reaches for the mask on your face instead of a weapon at his side. His fingers just manage to slip the plastoid from your head before a boot is placed into his stomach and he is flung backwards with otherworldly strength once more. This time, he is again surprised to feel his helmet being ripped from his head, watching as you launch it down the alley way before hauling him to sit upright against the wall.  

You crouch down in front of him, and it's then that he finally gets a closer look at the first bounty that has bested him. The first thing he thinks is that you’re pretty. too pretty to be hiding behind some mask. The second thing he notices is the rhythmic whirring and clicking of the mechanics coming from the, what he can see now, is two mechanical arms. 

He huffs, cringing at the stabbing pain in his side as you glare at him. “So, what are you anyway?” he finally asks, eyes tracing over your arms once more before returning to your face, “I feel like I at least deserve an answer before you kill me.”

Your head tilts to the side slightly at his words, and unbeknownst to him, similar thoughts to his own are running through your head. You find the bounty hunter somewhat attractive and very intriguing

“All you need to know is one thing-” you finally breathe, and Boba finds himself entranced by your voice, “Come after me again...And I won’t go easy on you.” 

You stand then, but not before shoving the man back into the wall harshly. You scoop up your mask and slip it back over your face and turn to exit the alley way, leaving the defeated bounty hunter on the ground.

“That was taking it easy on me?” Boba huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.

You pause and turn to look over your shoulder, visor glowing ominously as you say, “I don’t think you want to find out.” and then, with a mighty leap, you disappear into the rooftops.

Boba lets out a defeated sigh as you leave his eyesight, yet, he can’t help the way his lips tug up at the corners slightly. 

“I don’t know princess,” he mumbles to himself, letting out a low groan as he finally stands, “I think I want a rematch.”

And in that moment, in a damp ally on an unknown planet, Boba decides that he isn’t done with you yet. Not by a long shot.

⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Permanent Taglist: @ajeff855 @kaermorons @imnotakilleranymore @hiscyarika @hail-doodles @mrpascals @bestintheparsec @forever-rogue​ @leaiorganas​ @wille-zarr​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @princessxkenobi​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @theocatkov​ @swimmingsloths​ @getinthepoolkeanu​ @engie115​ @somnibats​ @rosiefridayrogersunday​ @recklessworry​ @gooddaykate​ @niki-xie​ @amneris21​

Boba Fett: @words-way-of-life​  @itssmashedavo​ @gallowsjoker​ @princessbatears​ @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​

[the-crows-typist]

Hello! I recently read your azul's ficlet and i'm close to crying at how beautiful it is (its 4am emo hours). If its okay, may I request a ficlet of Jade with a gn!reader with the word 'sleep' or 'rest' (pick whichever suits better!). Thank you in advance! 💖

CW: Spoilers for the movie Your Name (Kimi no na wa), character death, body switching, angst with a happy ending, and slow burn (sort of)

Feedback in greatly appreciated!

Thank you to @opalmaplehibiscus , @jellyfishstuckinwonderland , and @raven-at-the-writing-desk for the input in the making of this fic. I greatly appreciate your help.

The Possibilities are Endless

“My name is..”

“Please remember me...!”

The crowds on the train pushed them apart, a braided bracelet was tossed towards Jade. A lifeline connecting both of them together, a connection between two souls; the face of one that was desperate to keep holding on, they yelled one last time just as the doors of the train closed and their grip on the bracelet wrap loosened.

“My name is—!”

Jade opened his eyes and he was in his room, his very dark room.  To his side was his closet and to the other a white wall. The sound of bubbling water churned behind the window of his dorm room and with one slow blink, he pulled himself up and hunched over.

The same dream, the same voice, the same bracelet tossed to him.

He craned his head to his lamp stand where the colorful wrap lay next to his earring, he doesn’t remember where he got it nor does he remember why he wanted to keep it for so long. He took the bracelet and looked at it and thought back to the voice in his dream.

“Please remember me...!”

Pushing himself off he moved to the mirror to fix his appearance, with his brush and hair gel in hand he let out a gasp when the lights of vanity shined light on a note. A note written on his cheek with a marker, a message he didn’t remember writing.

“Who are you?”

It was during breakfast that Jade began to notice the strange happenings around him, how Azul asked if he was feeling better or how Floyd said he was wearing his earring again. “What do you mean,” Jade questioned. “I always wear it.”

“You weren’t yesterday. And you looked so lost like some little guppy, you even forget how to get to class yesterday morning.” Floyd complained, eating his breakfast with a huff. “Was it a prank? Cuz’ you got me good.”

What was he doing yesterday?

He woke up, went to school...No. That wasn’t what happened. He didn’t recall anything from the previous day. In fact, he remembered being at  a different place.

In a city full of buildings and faraway from the sea, the familiar smell of white roses, the smile of an unfamiliar fellow and a bento box he had no recollection of him cooking or making.

His uniform wasn’t black but a cream with a tint of yellow, his magical pen was nowhere to be seen and was instead replaced with a pen nib brooch.  He touches his cheek, remembering the message written on his cheek. “Who are you?”

“C’mon, you gotta tell me.” Floyd pestered, his arm over Jade’s neck “Was it a prank?”

“Perhaps.” The twins laughed, Floyd pulling close but in his mind he thought of the message, his incapability to remember the previous day. He needed more answers but only questions filled his head.

His notes were a mess and full of sketches. There were sketches of Night Raven’s facade and the students, his classmates. A slew of messy messages on paper, the handwriting worrying as if the person writing was stressed beyond belief.

“The uniforms are black, the gems are pens.”

“Nothing but roses for miles.”

“Wishing well???”

“Where am I?”

“Mr Leech, please read the next line.”

“Yes, sir.”

Trein’s brow raised and he blinked. “Well, today you actually remember your name. Perhaps you were just feeling ill.” A hum of laughter passed through the class. “And your hair is fixed as well; I was beginning to think you and your brother switched places when you came into class with a messy bed head.”

Jade blinked, tilting his head. “I...see. I’ll make sure to not make that mistake again, professor.”

“Good. Continue on reading.”

“Magic transcends all meaning when twilight occurs, when the sun and the moon share the sky for a single moment.” Trein explained, using a magical pointer. “The word twilight means ‘half-light’ when the light of the sun glows and causes refraction in the atmosphere and signaling the end of the morning and welcoming of night or visa versa. At times like this does magic become unpredictable and free-forming and when realities begin to overlap each other for the time twilight occurs. This was used to the advantage of the earliest magician in recorded history.”

Trein faced his students. “Nowadays, these times of day are known as dusk and dawn as the world twilight has fallen out of favor in recent years.”

“It’s probably because of that one book.” A student yelled from the rows behind and Trein nodded his head. “Ah, yes, ten years ago was an odd time for the word ‘twilight’.” Trein blinked, shaking his head slightly. “Who would have thought the human body produced so much diamonds but that is beside the point.” The bell rang and the students began taking their books. “Be sure to read up on your lesson today, we will be having a quiz tomorrow on the topic.”

Jade stayed in his seat for some time and stared at the diagram on the board.

Twilight.

In the back of his mind, a flash of a memory comes to him. He remembers a train stopping by and the droves of people coming in and out. Jade was alone that time, buying something some seeds or fungi. The sun was setting at the time, the yellow sun turning orange and the sky dimming to a nightly violet.

“Jade.”

He didn’t know the person who called out his name nor did he remember what they looked like but he did remember the smile they had, as if they were looking for him for a long time, it was a  face relief. 

“It’s me.”

He didn’t know who this person was nor did he ever remember their face and yet, at that instant he seemed to have known them his entire life. In his heart was a feeling of warmth, of glee, of content and relief; he was confused by it all. A strike of panic pierced his heart when that smile turned into a confused and upset frown. “You don’t...remember me..?”

The next stop came and people began filing out, pushing the two of them away from each other. “Jade, please remember me!” They said as they were pushed out by the crowd. Reaching up, they pulled the braided tie from their hair and threw it out of him. “Please remember me..!”

He caught the braided tie just as the other let go and doors began to close.

“My name is—!”

“Is there something wrong, Mr Leech?” He blinked, looking to Trein with confusion. He had missed the door and stood by the wall of the classroom. “Ah—I’m sorry.” There was a hissy laugh from Lucius as Trein set him down on the table to collect his papers. “You seem to be in deep thought, is there something on your mind?”

“No, professor, I was just thinking about our topic today.” Jade lied through his teeth and Trein took it with a huff. “I know twilight is a regular phenomenon but I didn’t know that it was an important time of day for mages and magicians.” A nod came from his professor. “Many people nowadays don’t see its importance as magical materials and magic itself have grown and changed over time. With the new technology and the new breakthroughs we have, the archaic practices of the past have since then been abandoned.”

Trein looked to the window and Jade followed his gaze, the sun began to set and the color of orange and violet painted the sky. “Twilight has begun.” Picking up his beloved cat, Trein stretched his back and moved to face the student in front of him. “It’s best to get back to your dorm, you might miss the curfew.”

“Professor, have you ever experienced anything during twilight? Like the way you’ve explained it during class?” Jade asked suddenly, his professor’s eyes widened then looking to the side to think for a moment. “I have but they were more of dreams than the otherworldly claims of recording happenings. I would often see myself in another person’s shoes, seeing a world I did not know about, it wasn’t a pleasant experience but...It was interesting, for a dream at least.”

“I see. Thank you very much, professor. I’ll be on my way.”

He stared at his messy notebook unblinking, the messy handwriting and the sketches were foreign to him. He drew a few doodles but he never put any detail to it nor was he able to do sketches of his peers in movement.

“Where am I?”

Taking his pen, Jade wrote a message. What had happened to him wasn’t a dream, he knew that and he knew that what he was about to do wasn’t a sure fire guarantee that whoever wrote this will see it but the unpredictability of the situation allowed him to push through with an eagerness to see the end results.

“You are in Night Raven College. My name is Jade.”

The night loomed over the dorm, the once blue waters a dark purple and tinge of black. Twilight has ended. Jade closes his eyes for a moment and sighed, thinking back about the lesson and to the confused glances of his peers.

“Please remember me...!” The voice begged, the image of a braided bracelet flowing through the air as it flew towards him. Tugging his sleeve, the bracelet was wrapped around his wrist snugly; its design was simple and bright mix of blue, yellow, and red.

“Please remember me...!”

Jade tugs his sleeves back down, only stepping out of to his bed when he felt tired. The bracelet was removed from his wrist and sat next to him.

“My name is—!”

The voice echoed through his mind, he felt that he should remember it,  he felt like he should know who it was, and all he felt was frustration and eagerness to see this unpredictable situation through. He closed his eyes wanting to rest his eyes rather than sleep.

“So this is what Night Raven College looks like. It’s very pretty, your uniforms are very pretty too but I’m not used to the environment there. It’s probably because of the walls or the silence.”

It had been a few days since the messaging through the notebook began with Jade and his pen pal, of sorts.  It seemed that his new pen pal had been observing weird happenings to them too. Their classmates telling them of their weird behaviors, one time all they ate were mushrooms.

“I don’t even like mushrooms and because of you I ate a whole lot of them in just one day!”

It seemed that his odd dreams of seeing another world unlike his own weren’t dreams after all. The white and yellow uniforms, the sweet smell of lilies, and the pen nib brooch all pointed to Royal Swords Academy. Apparently the person he switched bodies with studied there.

“And I was told that I ate eel for lunch and it upset my brother. It seems both of us are even on this regard.”

He always wrote messages on his notebook the moment he got home and he preferred it that way rather than waking up to writings on his face and arms. The marker ink was hard to wash off, even with large amounts of sudsy soaps.

“We have a notebook to communicate for a reason, please use that.”

“I like writing on your hand, Jade.”

There were moments that he expressed frustration with them, even anger but that soon dissipated into childish antics of messages written on skin, eating disgusting foods they came to like, and a bond that transcended physical reality. They were from two different worlds and yet, here they were being friends.

All this was just like a dream to him.

“Hey, about that braided bracelet...Where did you get it? I had one just like it before it disappeared; I used to wear it on my hair.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer to that. It just came with me, I suppose. I couldn’t part with it for some reason so I’ve been wearing it ever since.”

“I guess we just so happened to have the same braided tie, huh? Hehehe!”

After class, Jade went to experience the twilight hour for once and see the students filter out of school and run about. It was the end of the week and it was a time for fun, brooms flew overhead and magical swirls of dust were thrown about by fun-loving students.

“What I like about your school is that none of you are afraid to get dirty and have fun.” He remembered his pen pal writing. “I love RSA but the uniforms and the rules we live by stop us from having fun like all of you there in NRC.”

He couldn’t blame them, RSA had some rules to go by and the uniforms really stopped them from having fun too. The chaos that he saw in RSA wasn’t like those in NRC, not by a long shot but he could see the charm it had in it despite the difference in school life.

Jade wanted them to experience this first hand one day. In their own body, of course.

 He went back to his room when the sun had disappeared and the moon stood in its place. Sitting by the notebook, he took his magical pen from his pocket and began writing his response to his pen pal’s recent message. 

“RSA has beautiful scenery, there’s no doubt about it. It’s a nice change of pace from the gothic feel NRC has, I find it rather peaceful. Though the sudden music lessons do tend to throw me off but that is something I will eventually come to get used to.

He tapped his pen on his desk, humming at his short reply. He looked at his wrist; the braid coiled around his wrist and was vibrant under the yellow light of his lamp. Unlike them, he never really gave hints of what his school life was about nor did he give details of what it was like to spend a day in RSA.

“We had a lesson about the magical phenomena known as Twilight. Apparently around that time, magic becomes different and realities begin to overlap...Do you think that’s what’s causing us to switch bodies?”

 “Twilight...I’ve heard of that phenomenon too! It actually makes sense, maybe that’s what's causing it but if it’s really true then that’s some real strong magic!” 

Jade slept that late that night, the braided tie next to his forehead. For once, he didn’t dream of the train station but of a hand coming up to take his own. No, it wasn’t his hand, it was his pen pal’s hand, and it grasped softly then tugged for him to follow. 

He was on a mountain, the sky glittering with millions upon millions of stars. It was a beautiful sight, his eyes widening as the stars grew closer and closer, the heat around him rising and rising; burning his skin and singing his hair. The world around him was destroyed and the last thing he heard was the terrified scream of someone he was beginning to hold dear. 

He awoke with a gasp, his eyes tearful and his lungs out of breath. Next to him were a concerned Azul and his brother Floyd. “We could hear you gasping from the hallway.” Azul explained but Jade kicked off his covers and ran to his desk, his notebook, their means of communication was empty. The messages he had collected with them were gone and only his own remained.

His brother tugged at his shoulder. “Look at me.” He was whirled around, their foreheads touching. “Breathe. You’re gonna give yourself an attack if you don’t breathe.” 

He closed his eyes, leaning against his brother to breathe harshly. A pair of hands pats his back, Azul’s and Floyd’s, in an act of comfort but none of their touches reached Jade. He was too confused, too shaken up, too anxious. “It was just a bad dream.”

A dream...

What he had seen in the eyes of his pen pal was all a dream...?

Pen pal?

“It’s best that you get some more rest.” Azul said, pulling Jade back to his bed. “I’ll explain to the teachers what happened to you.” Floyd nudged him down and pulled the covers up until his brother’s chin. “We need you well rested, Jade. We’ll have the others check on you every once in a while.”

He forced himself to breathe slowly and carefully, his eyes screwed shut and thoughts in a whirlwind. His memories scrambling and confusing, he tries to remember the train station, the lake that was on RSA’s sloping hills and the falling meteorite.

Had there been a meteor shower? There was no news of it, no indication.

A hand caressed his head, shushing his sounds to silence. 

“Sleep, Jade.”

The next day, Jade spent all his time in the library with books about stars and meteors and sleep being the furthest thing from his mind. He poured through the articles about meteor showers, checking online news sites, and pouring through scientific documents.

Nothing.

No recent reports of a meteor shower anywhere near the area of RSA or NRC. 

A frustrated sigh left Jade’s lips and he held his head with a huff, burying his fingers into his hair when a fluffy tail rubbed and pawed against his arm. “Good to see you’re up and about, Mr Leech.” Trein stood over him as Lucius stepped over the articles to sit on one of the books. 

“I didn’t know you were taking a liking to astronomy.” The professor commented, taking an article and reading through it. “Meteor showers, eh? I haven’t seen those for some time. The last one was beautiful but also very tragic.”

“What do you mean, professor?” Jade stared up at his teacher, slightly surprised.

“You weren’t in NRC at the time this happened but there was a meteor shower that passed by Twisted Wonderland, it was a festive time...But that soon became a tragedy when a fragment broke off from one of the passing meteorites.” He sighed, closing his eyes and setting the paper down. “Though NRC and RSA have been rivals for a long time, I can’t bear to think such a catastrophic event would happen to them.”

His heart skipped a beat, eyes wide in surprise. “You mean to say...”

“A meteorite fragment fell on RSA three years ago, specifically on the field just outside the school where some students were watching the shower. Those poor children...” 

The white crystal of his magical pen glowed bright and Jade pushed himself off his chair, figure hunched forward and head hung low. Lucius let out a meow as he scrambled away from the student. “Mr Leech, what are you doing?” Trein demanded but his voice fell on deaf ears, Jade remembers his last dream, the last time he switched bodies. He remembers the falling meteorite, the scream that wasn’t his own, he remembers them.

His pen pal.

In a burst of magic, Jade disappeared from his position leaving a scared Lucius and a confused and upset Mozus Trein.

The landscape around him was heavy, the crater left by the meteorite was massive and no traces of life were seen within the impact zone. The memory of the meteorite fragment falling right on top of his pen pal, killing them instantly played again and again in his head. Jade, normally so aloof and calm, fell to his knees.

They died. 

They died where he stood.

For the first time in a long while, Jade screamed his heart out. A wail of agony loud enough to echo through the empty void that was essentially his pen pal resting place. He sunk to his knees and continued crying until his throat became hoarse and painful.

He laid on his side as the sun went down, the braided tie peeked out of his blazer. 

“Please remember me—!”

The train station...Was that a dream too? What had he been doing when he was in there? What was he there for?

Who was calling out his name.

“Jade...?”

The sun set over him, the sky turning orange and violet. It was twilight hour.

 “Jade..”

“Jade.”

 There was a touch to his shoulder and a soft shake. His head turned, his eyes widened. A student from RSA stood over him. They smelled of white lilies, uniform a mix of white and yellow, and their magical crystal a pen nib brooch. There was a familiar gleam in their eyes, a smile he came to know from the many days they had switched bodies. 

His pen pal smiled at him, offering their hand for him to take. “It’s really you, Jade. It’s actually you.” 

They laughed, pulling Jade into a hug; his tall figure dwarfing them easily as they hugged his chest. Jade sighed, returning the hug soon after and rocking each other back and forth for a few moments the sun shined in the horizon.

“I thought I lost you, y’know?” They said, looking up at him. “I just...I suddenly couldn’t reach you.” 

“I thought you had died. I saw the meteor fall on you.”

They looked at each other for a moment and a laugh was shared, their foreheads linked together soon after. “I know but...somehow, maybe...I don’t really know what happened to me. I just couldn’t reach you to tell you what happened on that day. I nearly forgot about you and I cried for days wondering why.”

Pulling away, they looked down to Jade’s wrist. “Hey, that bracelet...”

“You gave it to me in the train station.”

It was all coming back to him now. This person, his pen pal, was someone he held dear for a long time.

He felt comfort.

“Oh yeah! I did, didn’t I?”

“Do you want it back?”

“No. Keep it.”

The two held hands for some time but were immediately thwarted by them pulling out a marker. “Hey, why don’t we write our names? That way, if we ever forget each other there’ll always be a reminder. Ah, but I don’t have any paper with me...”

Jade offered his palm, his smile teasing and knowing. “You always liked writing on my skin.”

They shared another laugh and the marker’s cap was pulled off, Jade looking over the horizon as they wrote their name on his palm. “Your turn.” 

He took the pen from them and as soon as he wrote the starting strokes of his name, the marker fell from his grasp.

The twilight hour had ended and the moon took over the sky.

“Eh...? What am I...doing...?” 

Jade was found by his peers not long after, taking him in and letting him rest as they descended the crater near RSA. Mozus Trein was their chaperone, explaining to the staff of the rival school and covering his own students.

“Someone he knew died here,” He explained, looking at Jade being covered with a blanket by his brother. Jade’s eyes were closed and he leaned against him, clearly exhausted from the ordeal and exposure to the elements.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, professor.” Said one RSA’s employees, brows upturned and frowning deep. “The meteorite crash was a very tragic event for all schools. I can’t imagine how much grief that young boy has gone through knowing that a friend of his died that day.”

“I hope you can look the other way on this. I know we shouldn’t come into each other’s premises without proper—“ 

“It’s quite alright. I’ll explain the situation to the headmaster once everything has settled.”

Floyd pulled his brother to his chest and stood up, Azul placing a hand on his back. 

“Let’s go home, Jade.” 

Jade wasn’t alone that night, Floyd and Azul wouldn’t allow him to be alone. They slept next to him, keeping him company but while the two slept, he couldn’t. The moon shone against his window and gave his room a very soft blue glow. He raised his hand to his face, the message from someone he held dear was still visible but slightly smudged.

“Thank you.”

Bitterness rose in his chest and to his throat, his brows furrowed in frustration. The tears forming stung his eyes.

“You idiot,” he brought his palm to his face, sniffling. “I can’t remember you this way.”

A year had passed and the dreams stopped coming after that night. Jade had picked up the habit of sitting outside during twilight hour, watching the set and holding the bracelet that never left his wrist for more than a second. He wore it everywhere he went but when asked; he never had a proper reason for it.

“I feel complete wearing it.”

The yearly magical shift festival brought troves of customers and onlookers, Jade and his brother sat on a bench and let their legs rest after a long day. “I’m gonna go get something to eat. You want anything?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll buy some myself.” 

“’Kay.”

Jade was left alone after that and he closed his eyes for a moment, his nose taking in the different smells of food and perfumes.

There was a familiar smell of white lilies.

“Excuse me.” 

A person stood in front of him, holding a brochure. They were a uniform of white and yellow and a pen nib brooch. They smiled at him and familiar warmth bloomed in his chest. “I don’t mean to disturb you or anything.” 

Their smile was sheepish but it felt as if he’d seen it somewhere before.

“Do we know each other by any chance?”

“I think so.” Jade’s smile was easy and suddenly their eyes began to water. “I had a feeling we did.”

“Hey,” Jade reached over and intertwined their hands, the bracelet’s colors were vibrant against his skin and theirs.

“May I…”

“Can I…”

“...Know your name?”

[fruityutas]

strike to the heart

taglist ~ @puppywritings , @xiaojours , @svchengss , @prettyjaems​

part of @du0tine​ ‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab

unstable!yangyang x psychologist!reader

not proofread

wc ~ 5k

genre ~ angst, ttiiinnnyyy fluff, thriller

warnings ~ the following writing is FICTION and has very heavy and unsettling themes like murder, suicide, and toxic relationships. if these themes are triggering or otherwise uncomfortable to you, do NOT read this story. there are also themes of religion.

synopsis ~ you were the best of the best, no one could bring an end to your golden career until he came along

note ~ i based yangyang’s personality in this off of his turn back time persona, making him very obviously mentally unstable. the plotline is based loosely off of harley quinn’s origin story, except of course, the reader dies. i also used the concept of purgatory in this story.

i realize that purgatory is apart of various religions, and i hope i made use of it in this story in the way it is intended to be portrayed as. i am not familiar with the subject, as i am non religious and have been for many years, so if i wrote anything that was disrespectful, please let me know and i will educate myself more on the topic. please note that if i do write something disrespectful, i will not be changing the writing in any way, unless necessary, because i feel that changing/erasing the mistake prevents anyone from seeing my growth as a person. 

here is the link to the website i used to read up on purgatory -> https://historylists.org/art/9-levels-of-purgatory-dantes-purgatorio.html

your parents always told you to aim for first. probably why you’re here now. you sit in the chair, watching your life play on what seems to be a screen. you can’t tell either way, everything is stark white and blends into one. the scenes are the only thing providing color to your eyes. are you dreaming? no, no that can’t be. the last thing you remember is…pain. and betrayal. how could he do this?

he was a fucking criminal. he had no true love for you, you were his final act. how could you have been so naive? every thought came too fast, it made your head hurt. a noise brought you out of your thoughts. a tall man stood off to the side of the screen. his features were sharp, and he looked angelic. “you must be y/n. you must also be wondering where you are.” you struggle to find your voice, so you nod at the man. he gives a sympathetic smile and strolls over to you. 

“you’re in purgatory. well, this is the judgment room. here your memories are played and the most influential ones are used to go to their corresponding terraces.”

“do i pick them out?” he shakes his head. 

“no, the council does that. you just sit and watch.” you shift in your chair, the hard material uncomfortable against your skin. “don’t worry, i’ll be here while it happens. you can call me sicheng.” his voice was hypnotizing, calming your mind. you turned back to the screen, and what you assumed to be the first memory started to play.

a burst of yelling snaps you from your thoughts. looks like we have a new patient. it was like this everytime a new patient arrived. yelling, taunting, sometimes as far as physical assault. it was like the right of passage for ‘newbies’ as the currents like to call them. you leave your office to peek downstairs. this one is surrounded by four guards. that’s unusual. two guards was standard, why does this patient need four? a danger to himself and others i assume. i should ask joy if i can take him. you hadn’t had a new patient in months, and all your others were making such progress they moved to a new unit. one of your patients, named chittaphon, had been released back into society. you were one of the best, even at such a young age. 

“joy! have you assigned the new patient to anyone yet? i’d like to have him.” you plopped yourself onto the couch in her office. her soft laugh brought you comfort. 

“of course you can have him, i was probably going to ask you anyway. you haven’t been busy with any others lately. yukhei is moving to a new unit next week you know. you did good with him, he asked me to tell you thank you.” your heart aches at the thought of yukhei missing you, the boy had become important to you. you would sit and let him talk about his family, his friends, and even his - what he called - soulmate. he would always gush about them and their relationship. you never suspected he could have killed them in such the way he did, or that his ill brain would rewire itself into thinking they were waiting for him to get better and be released from the hospital. the day he found that out was burned in your memory, chairs being thrown and yelling from the entire floor. it broke your heart to see him in such a state, even more when they had to lock him in isolation for a week.

but things change and he got better, and now he’s moving up a unit. more yelling snaps you out of your little thinking session. you and joy peek out her office door to see the new inmate arguing with the guards. you sigh and head down the stairs, as much as joy protests it. one of the guards notices you and tells you to stay back, and that this inmate is dangerous. you shake your head at him and push through to get closer. the inmate didn’t look much older than you, albeit a bit taller than you. he was still yelling at the guards when you came up to him and cleared your throat. he rolls his eyes and turns to you to start yelling, but you shut him down with a stern look at a shake of your head. 

“now, now, you don’t want to come in and be the hardass on the first day do you?” he says nothing, but the lack of arguing from him tells you he is agreeing. you tell one of the guards to follow you to his cell. it comes to no one’s surprise that his cell is in the lower level, it’s where all the worst patients stay. the guard that accompanied you stood directly outside the door of the cell, ready for any assistance. the inmate sat down on the cot provided but faced away from you. “are you going to speak to me?” he spares you a small glance, unwavering in intimidation, but it didn’t phase you. his face was young, yet it somehow seemed to be worn and exhausted. you wanted to open him up and see what his troubles came from, to fix him into a model member of society.

“wouldn’t you want me too huh?” his tone was annoyed and sarcastic. you stay collected and just nod at him. “why don’t we start with your name?” he stays silent. “if you don’t want to cooperate that’s perfectly fine but just know i’m the only one you can talk to if you want out of here.” you stand up and leave the cell, knowing that even though it didn’t look like it, progress was made. your last statement would sit with him until the next time you visit him, and he would talk eventually.

the screen fades away and into a new image. the only thing on the screen is the word ‘stubborn.’ you are confused as to what it means. sicheng makes his way over to you, his long legs making the distance short. “it corresponds to the first level of purgatory, stubbornness. although it wasn’t you who was being the most stubborn, it seems.” he snaps his fingers and a seat appears for him to sit. the screen lights up again and another memory begins to play.

“what do you mean he wants to see me? i just spoke to him this morning and he refused to say anything?” joy shrugs her shoulders exasperatedly. you sigh and make your way towards the lower level. the guard at the security door greets you with a nod of the head before letting you in. the inmate’s cell was at the end of the hall, dimly lit and dingey, with a slight smell of mildew. the underground location made for cold air and small windows, so there was never enough light in the place. as you made your way to your patient’s cell, a few of the other inmates down there whistled at you. they whooped and hollered to your dismay, bringing unwanted attention. you recognized one of them, guanheng was his name. he had been a patient of joy’s before she was promoted to her managerial position. no one else wanted to take him on, so they sent him down here to rot. you had expressed the idea of taking him, but joy wouldn’t have it. she simply said he was too unstable for anyone, and deserved to be down there. you disagree with her to this day, but she is still your superior and you can’t just go breaking rules just for your liking.

you knocked on the door to the cell, and a gruff “come in” came from the other side. entering the cell, you saw everything in disarray. “now, why is the cell in this condition?” he huffs and crosses his arms, almost in a cute way. you shake your head and continue in, shutting the door behind you. “are you going to tell me your name? i think it would help me connect better with you.” he looks at you with a blank stare. you don’t change your facial expression, remaining stoney faced. he sighs and starts muttering to himself, as if he was arguing with someone, before looking back up at you and finally speaking. “yangyang. at least thats what i’ve been told.” you hum lightly before asking him a few more questions.

“is it alright if i call you yangyang?” “yes” “alrightly then, do you remember anything from yesterday?” he ponders for a moment, his face going through a group of different expressions before he looks back to you. “i only know that i woke up and felt like hurting someone. but i can’t remember who or why. do you have any pens?” the last question catches you off guard. you hand him an extra pen from your coat pocket. he takes it eagerly and looks to your clipboard with expectant eyes. you tear a blank piece of paper from the back and hand it over. he immediately draws nonsense doodles, the paper quickly being filled. when he fills it, he flips it over to do the other side. “you can keep asking me things, you know. i like to draw, though i don’t know what. the other voice tells me to just make lines and things.” you’re jotting down notes when all of a sudden he throws the pen at you. it hits you square in the head, and you look up at him in surprise. he starts giggling and throws the crumpled paper at you. you remain calm as this can be a common occurrence among patients. his giggles become… unsettling very quickly, the tone and manner of them turning to a deeper octave. you slowly reach into your pocket to grab the help button, but you don’t press it just yet. yangyang stops his giggling and it becomes muttering. his words are difficult to make out, but you pick out a few, ‘kill’, ‘why’, and ‘forget’. you jot them down along with a note stating he was mumbling them in sentences that were not understood. “yangyang, are you hearing anything? do you know the other voice’s name if they have one?” he peeks out of his arms at you nodding. “they tell me that i shouldn’t have forgotten why i killed her.” you had notes on him that his previous institution gave to you, but you wanted to earn his trust by asking various questions. “who did you kill?” you knew he killed his mother, left her body hanging from the porch for everyone to see. the question cause him to tear up a bit. “i, i killed my mother. she just wouldn’t shut up, always nagging me about the house and bills, as if i could help it. she was a bitch.” “mmm, yes. but you loved her still, no?” he nods shakily as if he was unsure. “and did you forget why you killed her that morning?” another nod is sent to you. you keep taking notes on his behaviors.

you end the session on a positive note, telling yangyang that he did good today and that you’d be back tomorrow, but if he needed you to ask.

the screen once again went dark before the word ‘repentance’ appears. sicheng whips a pen-like object from nothing, grabbing your arm harshly to turn you towards him. “now, you might not like this next part but it has to be done. i have to carve five p’s into you somewhere. they aren’t permanent but it still hurts.” you panic slightly, trying to get away from his grasp.

“why?!” his face is stoic and cold, the seriousness setting in. you continue to struggle until he grips your face with vigor, causing you to stop moving. “stop. moving. it has to be done. now, where do you want me to do it?” you just point to your arm and look away as he does it. the pain is searing but bearable. “what is this for?” he makes the pen disappear before clearing his throat to speak. “for each of the sins that lead to your death, there is a ‘p’. the council shows a memory that corresponds to a sin, and you must figure out which one. if you get it right, you move one to the next one until the end, where you are allowed into heaven. if you get them wrong, you have another chance with a different memory. you only get two chances for each sin, though, and if you lose both of them a ‘p’ stays and it’s harder to get the next one correct. if you get more than two sins wrong, you spend 100 years here and then you are banished to hell. so please, be careful and choose wisely.” and with that he turns his attention back to the screen, as do you.

your appointments with yangyang were productive and you got to know him a lot better within the past few days. he hated dogs, they were too noisy and energetic for him. he really wanted to paint and draw all the time, so you gave him a few paint markers to decorate his cell with. when you had your next appointment, the walls were pretty full. he liked the texture of orange peels, he hated the taste. a lot of the things you learned intrigued you, why was his brain wired this way? you needed to dig deeper, and you knew you could. you had many awards and praises from seniors, your ego was swollen from it all. you took pride in your work, and you weren’t exactly humble about it. you would always brag to others about your accomplishments, and sometimes you made it a competition between you and your coworkers. joy was the only one that didn’t pay attention to it, she always let you go on rants about how you accomplished so many things this young.

the door to yangyang’s cell was the same grey color as usual, though on the inside, the room was filled with markings and random drawings the boy did. “yangie? what’s up?” he excitedly jumps from his spot on the bed over to the corner that the sessions took place in. two small chairs and a table were tucked in it, but it was cozy to you. a warm smile took place on your face as you sat in front of him. “well, today i really tried my best to not get angry with anyone like you said, and it worked! all i did was think about what you said to me and it helped so much. no one messed with me either.” there it is, the rush of pride in yourself. your ego is boosted, refilled for the day. you knew he could do it, with your help of course. you were the best in the field. “that is really good to hear, yangyang. i’m glad you remembered what i told you so you could control your emotions.” his hair bounced with each energized nod he gave you. you opened your clipboard and handed him a small stack of blank paper. “this is for you. now you have something clean to draw on again.” he took the papers excitedly. 

the rest of the session was yangyang rambling on about how you were the only one helping him and how he really liked seeing you. you observed him and from time to time you’d write notes down on his info sheet. every time he caught you staring, he’d blush and look back at his drawings. a smirk carved into your face, and a wink was all it took for him to turn into a stuttering mess. you left the session that day glowing in confidence and pride.

the screen fades away, and you feel a tingling on your arm where one of the Ps is. sicheng’s voice whispers into your ear, “figure out what sin you just witnessed.” it makes you jump a little, but you quickly regain your composure. all you could think about was yangyang. but deep inside your inner conscious, you knew the sin here wasn’t about him. it was about you. “i have my answer.” sicheng gives you a small nod and when you turn back around, a dark and windy figure stands in front of you. a voice not belonging to you enters your mind. “which sin is it, y/n?” with a shaky voice, and sweating palms, you manage to garble out your answer. “it’s pride. i was prideful in my ways, never backing down from challenges that weren’t meant for me.” the dark figure nods before wisping away. the tingling returns to your arm, and as you look down at it a P swiftly disappears. sicheng’s footsteps bring you back up to the screen, which begins to play a new memory.

 the continuous sessions with yangyang proved to be well. his condition was getting better, and he seemed to be taking well to the exercises you gave him. you were on your way to an appointment when joy came up beside you. “have you met with the new doctor yet?” you shake your head. “no, what’s their name? where are they located?” she tries to hide a mischievous smirk, grabbing your arm to stop your walking. “he is absolutely gorgeous! his name is kunhang and he’s actually gonna be on your unit, which means you’re training him since you are the best.” you chuckle at her enthusiasm, she’d always been trying to hook you up with people. she winks at you and runs off, probably to her next appointment. she’d conveniently stopped you in front of yangyang’s cell. you walk inside and see him on his bed pouting.

“what is wrong with you?” his eyes look up at you and shine with the beginnings of tears, worrying you. had the guards or an inmate said something to him? while you’re lost in thought he jumps up and pulls you on the bed with him, his arms wrapped tightly around you. you snap out of it and sit frozen in his arms. the feeling of butterflies in your stomach erupt and you know it’s because of the man in your arms. he lets you go and you stand up to fix your uniform. “what had gotten into you, yangs?” his pouting doesn’t go away and he speaks softly. “who is kunhang?” so that’s what he’s being clingy for. he’s jealous. “he’s a new psychiatrist here. i have to train him.” yangyang didn’t get rid of the pout on his face, and he didn’t let your hand go for the entire session. the jealousy he had even after you told him that nothing was going to happen between you and kunhang was noteworthy, though you didn’t specify why he was jealous on his chart. 

the surrounding air had become cold, and you shiver harshly. sicheng sits beside you, tapping impatiently on the table. the shadow figure returns, and before it can speak you do. “the sin was envy. but why did you show me a memory of someone else being envious? i thought this was about my sins.” the figure doesn’t move from its spot. sicheng sighs and throws a stick at the figure, causing it to grunt. “that was unnecessary, sicheng. you are the reason for this sin. you let yangyang get attached to you, causing him to become jealous and protective of you. you may not have committed this sin, but you had the first hand in causing it.” you nod in agreeance, you had let him get close with you. too close, in your opinion, because if you hadn’t you wouldn’t be in this whole situation. it’s a bit ironic, you always told your coworkers to be wary of patients, yet here you are, stuck in purgatory because of one.

in the days leading up to your death, yangyang requested to see you nonstop, and he would ask so many questions about the outside world. what was surrounding the building, how many people were in the city. in hindsight, you should have suspected him to be trying to escape, but your mind was apparently on other things.

the last day you were alive, yangyang requested you only once. it was around eight in the evening, and this was going to be your last trip to his cell, quite literally. “are you ok, yangyang?” he nods and makes his way over to you. he might be younger, but his height is not small. “i’m just fine. but i wanna ask you something.” you nod to let him continue. “i’m planning to leave, and i want you to come with me.” the words come out of him in a hurry, but you catch them. a pit forms in your chest after hearing them. what in the world was he thinking? your job was important, and he still needed the therapy sessions you were giving him. “no, absolutely not. yangyang you can’t leave without proper check out from me and my superior. you know this.” he sighs in annoyance, grabbing your hand and dragging you to sit. “that’s not the type of leaving i meant. i mean we sneak out and never look back. we leave here and head north to my good friend ten’s house. he has this bigass mansion in the middle of nowhere, and we can lie low there for a while before going somewhere else and starting new!” you can’t bring yourself to say anything, the shock of how much he’d thought out this plan sitting heavy on your shoulders. the courage to say something before he thinks you’re agreeing with him bubbles up. “yangyang, under all circumstances, you and i cannot do that. do you know how many force tasks they’d send out for us? how much trouble we’d be in when they caught us? plus, you still need these sessions that i’m doing. the real world is harsh, and doesn’t take kindly to you. i wouldn’t want you or anyone else getting hurt.” his face contorts into sadness at your statement. he pulls you in for a bone-crushing hug, not letting go. “but i thought you loved me, don’t you want us to be happy together?” your blood runs cold at his confession. love was never on the table, the flirting you’d been doing was just to open him up to make it easier to talk. you knew you were taking a risk doing that, but never had you anticipated him to fall in love with you and think it was mutual. you separate yourself from him and walk to the door. “yangyang, are you being serious? you- you don’t actually think i’m in love with you, right?” his face falls, going completely straight. no movement comes from either of you for a good minute, the situation at hand causing hesitance. “you’re not? i just thought… you were.” you scoff at the boy sitting in front of you. “y/n, i don’t think you realize that i’ve already planned for this. we’re gonna have to leave.” you start to argue with him but a flurry of gunshots and screams ring out from all around you. you turn and pull the door open to see patients and guards frantically running about, a breach in the facility causing this. “jesus fucking- yangyang why in the hell would you do this!?” you turn to see him getting up from the bed and gathering a few items. “yangyang!” he doesn’t respond, only grabbing your arm and pulling you along with him. you’re too much in shock to resist the boy, and on top of that he’s definitely stronger than you. the run towards whatever exit he’s taking you to seems surreal. the amount of trouble you’re going to be in for this is astronomical. you can hear the words “you’re fired” repeating in your mind. outside the door is an alleyway that connects the facility to a power plant. it seemed like they’d had a breach too. yangyang really wasn’t lying when he said you’d have to leave to someplace far away. he drags you into the plant and heads for the large vats of chemicals. “yangyang where the hell are you taking us? what are you doing?” he glances over his shoulder at you, a deathly look on his face. “this wouldn’t have been in the plan if you had just done what i needed you to do. now you have to pay the price.” what in the fuck did he mean. 

the vats were in sight, glowing and hot from the chemicals in them. your surroundings loud from combat, you’d assumed from runaway patients attacking. yangyang stopped in front of the largest one, looking down in it and smirking. he turns to a very shaken you, giggling like a madman. “i think you know what’s in store for you my love. you betrayed me! you gave me all the signs, and carelessly flirted, acting like you liked me.” tears were pouring down both of your faces, but for different reasons. the end of your life was staring at you, loud and proud, and you knew this. you had many goals in your life, and to see none of them get achieved hurt you. you take one last look at yangyang, who is inching closer. “i’m sorry for making you feel like that. i just hope that in the next life, you’ll be a normal person and get to experience life in a positive perspective.” he doesn’t seem to care, because as soon as he gets close enough to you, he grips your face and leans in. “and now, my love, you leave me with a kiss.” his lips lock with yours for a brief second before he shoves you hard, taking the breath out of you. you fall backwards into the vat, the acidic chemicals eating you. yangyang stares at you as you perish, the smile slowly dropping from his face.

one would think this whole tragedy could be easily resolved, but this was not a villain origin story, it was real life, and you were dead. yangyang knew what he had done was fatal, but make no mistake, you knew it was what he wanted. he did love you, but his brain was not the same as a normal person’s. the wiring was simply not supportive of any form of morals, no right or wrong could be detected. all he knew was that you were in the way of him getting out, and he needed you removed. so he did.

and as reality set in for him, yangyang realized that you were the only one who understood him. you were the one to listen to his problems and not look at him like he was crazy, to help him through the intrusive thoughts, and you did that all while loving him. 

he breaks down, dropping to his knees at the harsh reality that you were gone forever, and no longer able to make him happy. the salty tears running down his face provided a blunt sting to the cuts and scrapes adorning his face. his shoulders shook with sorrow and his sobs were melancholic. yangyang can’t even think straight, all his mind is screaming is you. your name, face, your soft hair, warm skin, and the way you laughed at all his stupid jokes. he wants an escape from the voices in his head. the grate walkways that line the perimeter of the vats are loud with yangyang’s manic running. all he wants is freedom from his personal hell, he’s had to deal with people looking down on him all his life, saying that he was never going to be able to be normal, berating him for all the fucked up things he’s done, but never helping him to be a better person, always leaving him to rot in different psych ward cells.

gun. there’s one somewhere.

the one voice in his head that wasn’t screaming made him worry no less than before, but he knew to heed his own advice. it was the only coherent thought at the moment so what’s the harm. yangyang finds himself lost, and begins to get angry until he sees a guard coming his way. attacking him, he easily finds a gun and wrings it from the man’s grip before shooting him dead. the body slumps over and yangyang decides that he’d rather not die next to it. he is far too lost to try and get back to where he pushed you to your timely death, so he just runs until he finds a room. unlocked and unoccupied, he slips in and locks the door behind him. 

the leather chair that he sits in is worn and comfortable. the desk has various papers scattered around, and the computer is off. yangyang takes one good look at himself in the reflection of the screen before pulling the trigger.

the judgement room is even colder than before. you sit in the uncomfortable chair, tears streaming down your face and sobs ripping through your chest. sicheng sits, unaffected by your pain. the shadowy figure appears in front of you, so close you can hear whispers of a large multitude floating out of it. “y/n, you must finish the trial. what was the last sin?” you try your damndest to compose yourself, wiping the tears and hiccuping. “i- he was…” “no, y/n. no excuses. what is the sin displayed here?” you didn’t need this figure up your ass about it, the answer was obvious. sighing, you look up at it, seeing it slightly resembles a man. “wrath.” the figure hums in response, moving over to show the screen again. in large font and bold letters, the word “repentance” is shown. “you have passed judgement, and you shall be going to heaven. are there any questions?” 

[natrogersfics]

After All - Chapter 3/5

Cover art by @faith2nyc​  Read on AO3​​

The hustle and bustle of the aquarium is magnified in the underwater tunnel as locals and tourists alike take in the scenery. But as Steve watches Isabel stare at the glass panels above them with fascination thick on her face and an exclamation of  wow! slipping from her lips every now and then, he notes that the ruckus is not nearly enough to drown out his daughter’s infectious excitement. She’d been intrigued the second they walked into the first exhibit and saw a school of colorful fish swim by, all but demanding to be let out of her stroller, and ever since, getting her to walk in stride with him and Natasha instead of an entire full step ahead has been a lost cause.  

As Isabel stops by one of the windows to admire an idling turtle, he steals a glance at Natasha to see a smile on her face as she watches Isabel wave at her newfound friend. To say that he was surprised when she offered him a beer last night would be an understatement. While they’ve certainly warmed up to each other in the last few days, Isabel's always been there to serve as a buffer between them, making sure that their conversations never progress longer than the time it takes for her to knock something over or cry for attention. Which is why, when Natasha had been so candid and open about her recent struggles at work with him last night, he was downright stunned. Still, the way they had smoothly transitioned into talking about life and their newfound perspective on it was reminiscent of the times they’d meet up after work to shoot the breeze at Dalton’s. Regardless of what he was going through then, he always left their self-designated booth those nights feeling better, and last night was no different. It’s something he has dearly missed.

It was that camaraderie that made him act on the impulse of asking her to tag along today. And though he’d all but goaded her into saying yes, he was still a bit nervous on his way to her flat this morning. It had been ages since the three of them had gone out together, and most of those instances had been to Christine’s office for Isabel’s checkups. But thus far, he’s glad that their rapport picked up right where it left last night, slipping effortlessly into conversation, catching each other up on mundane things like what their friends back at The Daily are up to and how Natasha’s yet to find a Thai restaurant that compares to their favorite one in the East Village. Further, while he’s certainly had fun discovering new aspects of Isabel’s personality these last few days, he has to admit that it’s nice having someone who shares his amusement to her reactions. 

“Did you know that she loved fish this much?” he asks, keeping his eyes on Isabel as she begins to move once again.

“I had an inkling,” Natasha says, pushing the empty stroller. “You know those illustrations of sea creatures you made for her? I had them bound into a book before we moved so they wouldn’t get destroyed, and added it to the rotation when she started showing interest in picture books.” She nods towards Isabel, whose head keeps moving from side to side as she decides which exhibit to focus on next. She chuckles. “But I didn’t think she’d be beside herself like this.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. “She likes those?”

“They’re her favorite,” Natasha says, nodding in confirmation when he turns to look at her, surprised. “Of course, I try to mix it up every now and then, so her knowledge isn’t just limited to sea animals” – she pauses as they both laugh – “but given a choice? She’d pick that book in a heartbeat, every single time.”

“When we were at the Gardens the other day, the first urn she picked out on the fountain was the dolphin,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets and no longer trying to contain his smile.

“Well, I did have the dolphin placed on the cover,” she says.

He looks at her, raising an eyebrow at the smile she seems to be biting back. “Because… dolphins are your favorite?”

“Not particularly,” she says. “But I do distinctly remember catching you doodling it during a section meeting.” She smirks at the sheepish expression that makes it onto his face. “Consider it a pre-emptive strike for when there’s a question about who she got her short attention span from.”

“She’s barely two,” he says emphatically, “of course her attention span is short!” When Natasha only shrugs, he scoffs in disbelief. “And excuse me, you’re the one who pretends to take notes on your iPad when really you’re playing Scrabble with Darcy.”

She gasps at his retort, but it’s quickly replaced by a chuckle. “Only when Sitwell’s talking!”  

“That’s still an indictment of your attention span,” he counters, causing her to raise an eyebrow in challenge. “I’m just saying-”

“Dada!”

Isabel’s distressed voice interrupts him, but before he and Natasha can search for her, Isabel already has her arms around his leg and her face in the material of his jeans. “Izzie?” he says, scooping her into his arms just as Natasha comes around to them. “What’s wrong?”  

“Are you hurt?” Natasha asks, checking Isabel’s arms and legs.

Isabel shakes her head, pointing towards the window to the right. “Shark!”

He and Natasha look over, and sure enough, a large tiger shark looms by the panel, its teeth bared. “Oh, fig,” he says, making sure to keep his amusement out of his tone even as he and Natasha trade yet another fascinated look. “You don’t have to be afraid. We’re inside, it can’t get to you.”  

“No,” Isabel says, “home!”

The way Isabel’s arms tighten around his neck causes him to freeze, and he tries to rack his brain for a solution to calm her down. But then Natasha reaches over, patting Isabel’s hair gently. “But fig,” she chimes in, “we haven’t seen the penguins like in Happy Feet, yet.”

Isabel lifts her head from his shoulder, looking to him and then to Natasha. “Pen-gins?”

“Yeah!” Natasha says with a level of excitement he’s only ever heard her use when speaking to their daughter. “How ‘bout it, huh? Can you let Daddy put you down so we can go visit the penguins?”

Isabel smiles, nodding her head. “Okay.”

“Nice save,” he tells Natasha as he takes the stroller from her and she takes Isabel’s hand, leading them towards the hall labeled Polar Adventure.

“You pick up a thing or two after a while,” Natasha says, winking. “You’ll see.”

While he’s gone to see the penguins at Central Park before, he has to admit that the Penguin Point experience really is something special. From the simulated North Pole ambiance, complete with manufactured ice shelves and snowflakes, to the plexiglass bubble that allows visitors to come practically nose-to-beak with the Gentoos, it’s no wonder that Isabel’s been propelled over the moon. Her freight over the shark long forgotten as she and Natasha sit on the ledge of the enclosure to see the penguins wobble by. To the side, their guide dutifully informs them about the speed at which these flightless birds can swim, though he can’t say he’s paying much attention. Ever since he had seen the way Natasha had expertly diverted Isabel’s worries, he can’t seem to peel his eyes away from them, observing their interactions carefully and smiling at the unquestionable love and affection between them.

There’s never been a doubt in his mind about what a great mother Natasha is. He’s seen it firsthand, witnessed how easily she had tackled motherhood from the moment Isabel was born like it was something she was always meant to do. In many ways, he knows that she’s attuned to their daughter in a manner only she can be, instead it’s not something he feels a shred of envy over. He couldn’t be happier or more thankful that she happens to be the mother of his child, and from where he stands, that sentiment is only fortified when he sees Natasha point at the penguins jumping into the water, and Isabel, who’s sitting in her lap, claps her hands in elation.

The sight brings a warmth to his chest, and as he begins to make his way over to them, Natasha looks up, grinning softly, and he smiles back without so much as a second thought as she alerts Isabel of his presence. Isabel turns towards him, her eyes alight. “Having fun?” he asks, bending down. 

“Pen-gins, Dada!” Isabel all but shrieks, pointing to the enclosure behind them.

“I’ve never seen her this excited,” Natasha whispers over Isabel’s head as she continues to babble on. “I think she might actually pass out.”

“Good thing I thought to bring the stroller,” he deadpans, chuckling at the way her eyes narrow at him. “Izzie, can we take a picture for grandma?”

Isabel nods, and as he reaches for his phone, Natasha begins to move. “Mama, no!” Isabel says, latching onto Natasha’s arm before she can stand.

“Daddy’s going to take your picture, babe,” Natasha explains.

“You don’t have to move,” he says. “Let’s get a couple shots of the both of you.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her tone skeptical as she tilts her head to the side. “It’s for your mom...”

“I’m sure she won’t mind,” he says, taking a step back to widen the angle when Natasha goes to sit back with Isabel, pulling her into her lap once more. “Okay, in three, two, one… say cheese!”

“Cheese!” Natasha and Isabel say in unison, the both of them beaming from ear to ear, and he mirrors their expressions as he snaps a few shots of them.

“Why don’t I take some of you two?” Natasha suggests, and with a nod, he switches places with her, handing her his phone as he goes. “Look at momma, Iz! Good girl, now smile!” She moves to the left to shift the angle, and he and Isabel pivot accordingly to get the penguins behind them into the frame. “Okay, now funny face! Perfect!” She giggles from behind the screen. “Sarah’s going to love these.”   

He chuckles, accepting his phone back from her to see a picture of Isabel with her tongue out and him cross-eyed. “They’ll be on her fridge in no time.”

“Excuse me?” They look up at the question to see their guide standing before them, a genial smile on his face. “Would you like me to take a photo of the three of you?”

His head whips from their guide to Natasha. “If that’s okay with you?”  

“That would be great, actually,” Natasha says, stealing a glance at the nametag on the left side of the man’s vest. “Thank you, Heimdall.” She turns back to him and Isabel, smiling as he moves to make space for her on the ledge. “Let’s make sure she’s looking at the camera. I don’t want to hear it from Nick and Melinda.” 

“Nor do I want to hear it from my ma,” he volleys back as she sits down, laughing as she shakes her head. 

“Okay,” Heimdall says, holding up the camera before gesturing to them with his free hand. “Move a little closer, yeah?” He and Natasha do as they’re told, scooting closer to one another until their legs are touching, and he shifts Isabel to sit on both of them. “Brilliant! Now everybody lean in… and say penguin!”

“Penguin!” he and Natasha say at the same time Isabel yells cheese, sending them both into a fit of laughter.  

When Heimdall gives them a thumbs up, Natasha turns to Isabel, shaking her head fondly. “Such a little rebel.”

“And whom does she take after?” Heimdall asks, only to chuckle when he and Natasha point fingers at one another. “In any case, you lot make a beautiful family.”

He smiles politely as Heimdall passes his phone back. “Thank you.” 

“Think she has enough penguin things?” Natasha asks hours later as they sit at a café across the aquarium.

He chuckles over the lip of his coffee mug, setting it down on the table as he looks to the highchair where Isabel is working on her penguin activity book with a penguin scarf around her neck. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, “maybe ask me again later when she puts on her penguin pajamas.”

“Hey, consider yourself lucky that I was able to negotiate the pajamas in exchange for the stuffed, jumbo penguin,” she says. “We’d probably have to get it its own Oyster card just to get it home.”  

“Gift shops or death traps for the wallets of desperate parents?” he muses. “You decide.”

She smirks in agreement. “So…” she trails, propping an elbow on the table to rest her chin on a closed fist. “Christmas Eve. What’re you up to?”  

“Not much, really,” he admits. “The hotel I’m staying at said they have something going on in the lounge for a bit, but I’m probably just going to turn in since I promised everyone that I’d wrap their gifts for” – he nods silently towards Isabel – “you know who in time for Christmas morning at yours.”

“They do know she’s coming home with you, right?” she asks. “They could’ve just given it to her there.”

“Believe me, if they listened to me at all, I wouldn’t be so worried about getting sauce on one of the few shirts I have for this trip,” he says, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Point taken,” she says. “But I ask because when I realized Izzie and I weren’t going to make it back for Christmas, I decided to invite some people over to my place for Christmas Eve.” She shrugs. “If you don’t have anything set in stone, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Natasha,” he says, averting his gaze to his hands. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to intrude on you and your friends.”

“Hard to be an intruder when you’re being invited,” she counters, sighing when he remains silent. “Steve.” He looks up at her at that, catching her disarming smile. “Look, I know in the past we’ve made a mess of things-”

“Natasha,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Consider that water over the dam.”

“Okay, yeah,” she says. “But now that we’ve put that out there, maybe we can look forward? I mean, I wish I could say that this is the only time a monkey wrench is going to get thrown into our perfectly planned schedules, but I sincerely doubt it. We’re going to be in each other’s lives, Steve. Might as well get used to it.” She eyes Isabel before looking back at him. “Besides, I think she’d really like having her Dad there.”

He scoffs. “When nine out of ten times her answer is no, I’d say the odds aren’t great.” 

“Only one way to find out,” she says, tapping Isabel’s arm. “Izzie, you want Daddy to come to Christmas Eve, right?”

Isabel moves her arm out of Natasha’s reach as she continues to color over a penguin with a purple crayon. “M’busy!”

He and Natasha scoff, and she turns to him with a sheepish expression. “Technically that isn’t a no.”  

He rolls his eyes at that before letting out a sigh when Natasha raises a brow in challenge. Immediately, his mind conjures a million different reasons to refuse. Spending a day together is one thing, and while he had been the first one to color outside the lines of their custody agreement by asking to spend Christmas with them in the first place, something about this invitation feels different. Meeting the new people in Natasha’s life, when these relationships have no bearing on how well the two of them function as co-parents, seems like a weightier, riskier choice. But then his mother’s words come to mind: like it or not, you and Natasha are forever bonded by the beautiful baby girl you two brought into this world. That makes you family, and families spend Christmas together. 

When it comes down to it, with their family being as unorthodox as it is, it was always going to be more complicated to navigate than the average unit. But if Natasha, one of the most pragmatic people he knows and who he trusts to make difficult decisions, is willing to extend an olive branch, who is he to turn it down.

“Okay,” he says, smiling at the way Natasha’s eyes light up when she gets her way. “But then you’re coming cookie decorating with us in Soho tomorrow.”

“Do we get to take the cookies home?” she asks, to which he nods. “Fine, but since you’re keeping me from laundry, we’re dropping by Selfridges after this.”

He smirks. “Deal.” 

Christmas carols play softly in the background in Hela’s Cookie Boutique, but Natasha’s only half listening, too distracted by watching Steve and Isabel decorate sugar cookies with the exact same focused expression on their faces. Isabel turns to Steve, bringing a finger up to his face and giggling when he licks the red icing off, and as she catches the exchange, she smiles. Seeing Steve and Isabel interact up close now that their daughter is more engaging has been an experience she didn’t think she’d find so endearing. Of course, she knew Isabel adored him and that the feeling was absolutely and unabashedly mutual, but to see that affection unfold before her very eyes has made her heart unexpectedly expand in her chest.

Perhaps adding to her giddiness is the fact that this sight is also quite comical. With the class geared toward families, miniature workstations had been set up for the children, and as soon as Isabel had seen them, talking her into sitting elsewhere became downright impossible. Despite the smaller than usual seats, though, she notes that she fits just fine. The same could not be said, however, for Steve right next to her. She lets her gaze fall to him, taking her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from smiling. Hunched in his seat, Steve sticks out like a sore thumb, his broad frame looking even more immense as they’re surrounded by other children. Though she had offered to move stations, he’d refused – too willingly beholden to Isabel’s whims to care about his own comfort.

“I should be mad at you for unleashing our daughter in what is essentially a sugar factory,” she says, prompting Steve to turn to her as she snaps a picture of Isabel. “But I have to admit, she does look darn cute in a baker’s hat!”

He chuckles. “Doesn’t the little shoulder shimmy she does along to the music just kill you?”

“So much so I almost forget how hard it’s going to be to give her a bath later,” she says a little too sweetly, eyeing the sticky mess caked onto their daughter’s arms as Isabel puts more icing than her cookie could possibly hold and finding herself infinitely thankful for the aprons they were provided with.

“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll give her a bath tonight if you promise that my mother will never see those pictures.”

“Not that I would ever let Sarah know that her son is a traitor who took her granddaughter to another bakery for cookie decorating,” she says, putting her phone away. “But since you offered, feel free to take over bath duty anytime you want.” 

He narrows his eyes at her, shaking his head when she does not even bother to hide her smile. “That’s fine,” he says, nodding towards the cookie she’s working on. “When she starts to yell at me, I’ll just show her a picture of your lumpy cookie to distract her.”

“We’re not all aiming to make art out of cookies, Michelangelo,” she teases, making him roll his eyes when she points to his immaculately decorated Santa cookie. “Plus, it’s a lot harder to smooth out this icing than it looks!”   

“That’s why you never go for the snowflake. There’s not enough surface area,” he says, reaching over for a fresh cookie, this time shaped like a stocking, before scooping out some blue icing with his spatula. “Here, look. All you have to do is lay the icing down and glide the spatula back and forth like so. It’s all in the wrist.”

“Like this?” she asks, trying to mimic his actions, only to glare at him when he fails miserably at holding back his chuckle when the icing still does not lay smoothly on her cookie. “Excuse me for not being raised in a bakery like some people, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says through a wide smile. “Grab a new cookie and some icing and I’ll show you.” She does as instructed, barely hiding her surprise when he crouches down behind her seat, his arms all but wrapping around her as he puts a hand over the one she has clutching the spatula. “Just lay the icing” – he begins to guide her hand, first adding some pressure to flatten the blob of icing before gently moving their hands down the cookie – “and glide.” By the time the spatula reaches the edge of the Christmas tree, there’s not a single peak on the icing, and he turns to her, smirking. “Now was that so hard?”

“Guess not,” she says, craning her neck to look at him. “Thanks.” 

He grins. “No problem.” 

With their proximity, she feels his words just as much as she hears them, but the thought is fleeting, fading as quickly as it had come when she finds herself caught in his smile and the way his eyes look impossibly brighter in this moment. How long they stay staring at each other, she does not know – seconds, maybe a minute. It’s when they hear a squeal from across the table that he looks away, and when she follows his line of sight, her eyes widen when she sees that Isabel’s gotten hold of a piping bag.

“Izzie, no!” Steve says as they both rush out of their seats. 

In spite of Steve’s warning, Isabel squeezes down, and she watches in horror as icing bursts out of the bag and onto Isabel’s face. She cringes as Isabel turns to look at her, icing flowing from her chin and down to her neck. “Uh oh.”  

With a shake of her head, she laughs. “Uh oh is right, Little Miss.” She steps forward to reach for the baby bag, sighing in relief when she sees it already in Steve’s grip as he hands her a bunch of wet wipes. “Thank you,” she says, before looking at Isabel. “Say, thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you, Dada?” Isabel says, smiling through the mess on her face as they all burst into laughter. 

“Okay, new plan,” Steve says after they work in tandem to get as much icing off Isabel as they can without soap and water. He points to the tray of bare cookies before turning to her. “You lay down the base icing, I will smooth it out, and Miss Sticky over there can be on sprinkles duty.”

She laughs. “You do know she’s just going to throw too many sprinkles on it, right?”  

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of giving her already iced cookies,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “There’s only so many sprinkles that can stick before the rest just falls off.”  

When his expression turns smug, she can only roll her eyes.

The sun’s only begun to sink low into the horizon, casting a halo of warm light across the city, when a chilly breeze blows by, prompting Steve to adjust his scarf to rest more snuggly around his neck. While stopping at a park seems like a ridiculous idea in late December, the decision was strategic. As the saying goes, hell hath no fury like a toddler hyped on sugar, and he and Natasha weren’t about to tempt fate by not providing Isabel with an opportunity to expend all the energy provided by an afternoon spent consuming ludicrous amounts of icing.   While Isabel explores the surroundings on the patch of grass before them, he and Natasha sit on the nearby bench, a pile of rocks and weeds that their daughter has discovered and given to them for safe keeping only growing by the minute between them. He looks at Natasha, who’s busy admiring the scenery, to see the box of their leftover cookies resting on her lap, and instantly, the sight brings a smile to his face. Growing up in his mother’s bakery, the smell of butter and sugar in the air always had a way of evoking good feelings in him – a clear sign that wonderful things, usually in the form of a sweet treat, were to come. Today, though, as the three of them laughed and decorated cookies, he finds that those good feelings are akin to glee.    The sound of Isabel’s laughter ringing melodiously in the air catches their attention, and when they turn, they can only chuckle when they see her begin to follow a hapless duck a few feet away. He shakes his head. “Why do I feel like we should be helping that duck?”   “Because you know what your daughter is like when she’s only running on sugar and no afternoon nap,” Natasha says matter-of-factly, shooting him a knowing look. “Also, that duck’s never gonna see her again anyway. We, on the other hand, have to take her home and deal with the inevitable crash from her sugar high.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Believe me, the duck can take one for the team right now.”   “She was a bit of a menace the other night when I let her have a cupcake after dinner,” he says, nodding in concession. “But, hell, if she isn’t so easy to love.”   “Confusing, isn’t it?” she asks, to which he hums in agreement. “One minute, you want to pull your hair out because she’s acting like you’re torturing her when really you’re just trying to put her shoes on-”   “But then the next she’s hugging you and telling you she loves you?” he finishes with a smirk.   “Exactly!” she says, throwing her head back in laughter. “But like you said, she’s just the sweetest thing ever. Really intuitive, too. You’d think at her age, she wouldn’t understand when you’re having a bad day, but then just when you’re feeling really down, you get a random hug from her…” She sighs, looking off to where Isabel is. “And suddenly everything doesn’t seem so bad.”   He follows Natasha’s line of sight, smiling when he sees that Isabel’s turned her attention to some flowers, before turning back to her. “We made a pretty good kid, didn’t we?”   Her green eyes are brimming with pride as she looks at him. “Yeah,” she says, “we did.”   He does not respond with words. Instead, he just holds her gaze as they share a smile, because truly, what else is there to say. If there’s anything these last few days have proven, it’s that when it comes down to it, Isabel is a reminder that despite everything that’s gone on between them in the last few years, all the hurt that they’ve unintentionally caused one another and the distance they’ve placed between them – physically or otherwise – they’ve always made a great team. And though the thought comes unbidden in his mind, he finds himself wondering how different things could have been if he had worked up the courage to tell her how he felt back then. But more importantly, for the first time in so long, he allows himself to question whether or not he was wrong to hold back.    Before he can give the thought any more consideration, though, Isabel makes their way to them, climbing into Natasha’s lap. “Hey, you,” Natasha says, looking away from him to wrap her arms around Isabel and kiss the top of her head. “Tired?”   Isabel shakes her head, resting her cheek against Natasha’s chest. “No.”   “If you say so,” Natasha says, chuckling under her breath.   “Do you want to grab dinner?” he asks. “I saw a Thai restaurant across the street. We could see if their Pad Thai compares to the one in the Village.”   “I would love to, but despite what this one says, she’s probably going to pass out soon,” Natasha says, and as if to prove her point, Isabel’s eyelids begin to flutter. “But how about you just come over to mine?” she then adds, her smile almost shy. “I don’t have Pad Thai, but I can whip us up some pasta.”   “You cook now?” he says, his brows all but shooting into his hairline.   The glare she sends his way is sharp, but it lasts only a second as she begins to laugh. “I’m not sure I appreciate the disbelief on your face.”   “No, I believe you…” he trails, grinning when she raises a brow at him. “I just remember having to put out a bacon-related fire in your apartment once upon a time.”   “You accidentally leave the burner on while you go to answer the door one time and some people never let you forget it,” she says, rolling her eyes before she joins him in snickering. When their laughter tapers, she tilts her head to the side. “So, what do you say?”   “I say to see is to believe,” he says, dissolving into laughter once more when she picks up one of the stones in the pile between them and chucks it at him. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I’d be honored to taste your cooking… and not have to put it out afterwards.”    She scoffs, but he can only really beam at the expression of mock hurt she makes. “You know what, Rogers.”     With Isabel slumbering peacefully in her car seat, their cab ride back to Natasha’s flat is steeped in comfortable silence. London after dark is breathtaking, but even as the stunning view passes him by, he finds that he can only focus on how felicitous this – the three of them coming back from a day well spent – all feels. He steals a glance at Natasha on the other side, her face lit only by the streetlights, but even so, the little smile on her lips as she looks out her window brings a smile to his own.    As if sensing his stare, she turns, her smile only widening when she catches him looking, and he can’t help but wonder if today has felt as good for her as it has for him. His lips part to ask the question, but before he can, the cab rattles as the driver runs over a bump. Like a reflex, he reaches out to make sure Isabel stays in place, his hand colliding with Natasha’s as she, too, does the same. They both nod at the cabbie’s subsequent apology, and the rest of the way, he does not bother to utter a word about how their hands remain atop of one another’s, nor does he ask questions when their fingers somehow wind up intertwined – but, and perhaps more saliently, neither does she. 

When they arrive back at Natasha’s flat, he lifts Isabel to him, paying the driver as Natasha collects the car seat and Isabel’s bag and they walk up the stairs to her front door. It’s only when they’ve made their way inside her foyer and she’s taking her keys out of the lock that he realizes her lights were already on when they entered.   “Were you expecting someone?” he asks, turning to her.   “Not that I remember,” she says, mirroring his concerned expression as she takes in her already lit foyer. As if on cue, they hear the sound of her cupboard being pushed shut, and hurriedly, she begins to make her way towards the sound.   “Natasha, wait!” he says, his voice thick with worry as he follows her with lengthened strides. “There might be a-”   “What are you doing here?” he hears Natasha ask as she enters her kitchen. Confused, he follows her, stopping by the doorway when he sees her arms around a man, his hair dark as night and his frame towering over hers. “I haven’t seen you in days!”   “Had to pull another double shift,” the man says, his voice smooth as silk. “Luckily, my colleague was nice enough to relieve me a couple hours early, so I stopped by the supermarket and did some food shopping.”   “You’re a lifesaver,” Natasha says, and he catches himself looking towards her kitchen island where an array of fruits and vegetables are sitting along with a six-pack of Stella and a bottle of Beluga – her favorite vodka.  “Oh, Loki, this is Steve.”   At the sound of his name, he looks up just as Natasha and the man – Loki, he reminds himself – turns to him. Loki smiles, moving around the island to extend a hand to him. “Pleasure to meet you, Steve.”   “Likewise,” he says, shifting Isabel to free his other hand before shaking Loki’s. “I’m sorry, I-” His words are cut off when Isabel stirs, letting out a little whine. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. We’re back home.” Isabel lifts her head off his shoulder, her forehead wrinkling as she grimaces, and quickly, he rubs her back soothingly. She turns in his arms, and when her eyes land on Loki, it’s almost on instinct that he holds her closer to him. “It’s okay, fig. It’s just momma’s-”   “Yo-ki?” Isabel says, her eyes lighting up with recognition. Before he knows it, she’s squirming in his arms, signaling to be let down. He obliges, staring dumbfoundedly as Loki bends down and Isabel runs into his open arms. “Yo-ki!”   “Hello, love,” Loki says, laughing and picking Isabel up as he stands. “I missed you! Did you have a marvelous time today?”   “Indeed she did,” Natasha says, and his head whips towards her to see her walk towards Isabel and Loki to tap Isabel’s nose. “I was actually about to make some-”   “Actually, Natasha,” he interrupts, his eyes going from Loki, to Isabel, and then to her. And though he does not remember reaching for it, he holds up his phone. “Something just came up with the gallery. I’m going to have to pass on dinner.”   “Oh, okay…” she says, blinking in surprise. “Something major?”   “No, um… just a misunderstanding,” he says before shaking his head. “You have that thing tomorrow at three, right? I’ll be back before then to pick up Izzie.”   “Right, yeah…” she looks at Isabel, lifting her out of Loki’s arms to place her down. “Say bye to Daddy, Iz.”   As Isabel walks towards him, he bends down to give her a hug. “Bye, fig. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”   “Dada, no!” Isabel says, stepping away from him. “Stay.”     “But it’s almost your bedtime, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing his hands up and down her arms consolingly. “Daddy will be back tomorrow, okay? I promise.”   Isabel’s bottom lip begins to quiver, but before the waterworks can begin, Natasha bends down next to them. “Izzie, baby, why don’t you show Loki the cookies you decorated, huh?”     “My goodness, you decorated some cookies?” he hears Loki say, and he’s relieved when Isabel turns towards Loki, a smile forming on her face as she nods.   The second Isabel begins to walk towards Loki, he gets up, turning away from the kitchen and making his way towards the front door. It’s only when he has one hand already on the knob that he hears Natasha call out to him, and he turns back to see her standing a few feet away, her eyes wide as she stares at him.   “Steve…” she says, her eyebrows furrowing. “Is everything okay?”   “Yeah,” he says, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “You have nothing to worry about.” He nods curtly. “I’ll be back for Izzie tomorrow.” 

He does not wait for her reply as he twists the knob and walks out, shutting the door behind him before all but running down the stairs. His footfalls are heavy on the concrete, but he does not dare look back as he makes his way down the block, ferociously trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut and the ache slowly but surely burning through his chest.  

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

[tybaku]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30691259

Midoriya Izuku finds the incarnation of beauty and divinity sitting at a window of a hole-in-the-wall café just a few blocks away from home.

Or: An artist in search of inspiration unexpectedly finds a new muse.

When Izuku lays eyes on him, it’s like salvation.

It’s a feeling of warmth, like fire licking at the grooves of his teeth and spreading throughout the apples of his cheeks. It’s a pleasant thing, the following lurch in the very pit of his chest, like all the air in his lungs had turned into honey the color of molten gold. It’s electric in the way he can feel it’s lingering buzz in his fingertips just as he’s left in a reverie.

Izuku hasn’t felt this way in weeks.

A thin, reserved smile finds its way onto his bitten lips as he twirls his mechanical pencil between his fingers. If he were an artist of a different medium—say, a photographer—he would capture this very moment for safe keeping, have it frozen in all its sharp and bright clarity and contrast. (But he is not, so he will have to make due with his pencil and paper.)

It’s a gray kind of day today. Storm clouds were rumbling gently in the sky, crooning and purring in the promise of rainfall. It set a somber mood, and a gloomy undertone to the colors of the café Izuku frequented, despite its yellow lights and setup of deep, rich browns, reds, and oranges.

Though it did pair perfectly with the man who sat by the window.

Izuku’s eyes fell, and his pencil danced on the paper of his sketchbook. Curves and corners formed a light, faint base, precise enough to embody a sitting figure. Izuku looks up again, eyes gently observing the piece in front of him.

And damn if that man at the window didn’t resemble something straight out of a Rembrandt. He was soft, pale colors, from fair skin to blond hair, and awfully kind on the eyes, muted and light. He held a dark sort of overtone over his features and the way he breathed, grays and blues amongst warmth.

He’s wearing a scarf in a bright shade of cream low on his neck, and the material gives off the impression of cotton, which is soft and comforting in the current cold of late autumn. His clothes are dark, old, and large, falling off his slim figure. His eyes are downcast, and though Izuku can’t quite tell from this distance, they are deep and dim in hue, and enraptured by the laptop in front of him, a halo of cool light illuminating his high cheeks and sharp jaw.

Simply put, the man at the window was agonizingly gorgeous, and Izuku was determined to capture his beauty on sketch paper.

He’s quietly scribbling his third concept drawing (he quietly berated himself for not bringing any paints today, but then considered the fact he wasn’t even planning to draw at the café anyway, and he could always just start a piece when he got home as long as he had a decent thumbnail) when the man stops, rolls his shoulders back, and rises from his seat.

Surprised, Izuku nearly drops his pencil, not having expected any movement and having forgotten the man at the window wasn’t actually modeling for him, nor made of marble. (He could be though, Izuku thinks. If he let me, I could immortalize him with just my hands.)

The man steps up to the counter and orders a coffee.

Izuku watches him wait as subtly as he can, glasses slipping to the tip of his nose with how often his head moves up and down, and up and down again in order to somewhat perfect the piece in his book.

Faintly, he realizes that he should maybe be a little more inconspicuous about his sightseeing, but he’s too thrilled about finally finding a view that was actually worth looking at. Plus, the man hasn’t yet noticed Izuku’s stare on his stern profile, even if the artist was just as tactful about it as a toddler.

Izuku rolls his own shoulders, a mimic of what the man had done earlier, and continues. When the man returns to his seat, Izuku is on his third sheet of paper.

They’re faint, quick doodles now, thumbnails overlapping thumbnails, because Izuku is rapidly losing his patience, and doesn’t want to spend more than a minute on a sketch. He’s too excited now, and the ideas keep coming in, insistent on making their presence known even as the page becomes more and more crowded, filled to the brim with messy artwork.

The man finally meets his eye, and scowls.

Embarrassed, Izuku ducks his head quickly, pretending to be occupied with his sketchbook. It’s a half-truth really, because he has been busy with it for the past twenty something minutes. Only now there’s a more than healthy flush to his cheeks that can’t be blamed on the chilly weather. He looks up tentatively.

The man has gone back to glaring at his laptop screen and sipping on what Izuku assumes to be his dark brew (with exactly two and a half packets of sugar substitute—Izuku knows this because he had seen him pour and stir them into his mug at the sidebar before he took his seat again).

Izuku lets out a quiet sigh of relief as the heat in his face fades out like a dying candle, and then resumes his sketching calmly. He never really could draw when he knew someone was watching, it made him feel too nervous, and much too exposed. One is meant to create art privately, and wholeheartedly, not under a persistent microscope.

Then again, Izuku probably shouldn’t be out in public if he wanted privacy and be away from prying eyes. Even if they are a deep, rich shade of brown that sat on his skin like hot, burning coal. (Even if they are red and piercing like they must be in another life, in another painting of beauty.)

And it wasn’t as if Izuku came to the little coffeehouse with the intention to create, he had simply wanted to mill about, and see if maybe he could find some inspiration outside his lonely studio apartment, and even his actual art studio. He never thought he would actually strike gold, and have to sit down to milk it for all it was worth.

Unfortunately, there comes a point where all the gold runs out, and Izuku is left with dirty hands and an ache in his chest.

The man packs up his belongings and leaves. The bell above the door sings cheerily. Izuku watches as the man breathes a puff of air like smoke before he shields his mouth from the cold with his scarf. Izuku's eyes fall when the man rounds a corner and disappears from view.

The coffee in the mug Izuku bought out of courtesy has gone cold, since he had been far too busy trying to map out the shapes and shadows of the man at the window. He looks down into it, detested, not being able to help feeling a little upset about the man’s departure.

If I had asked, Izuku thinks rather absently, would he have stayed?

He shakes his head at himself, hair tickling his cheeks, feeling a little ridiculous. That wasn’t something you could just ask of someone you didn’t even know the name of. It wasn’t appropriate by any means, to ask a stranger something so intimate. To stay. And just so you could admire them and the lines of their human body, and preserve them on sketch paper for you to have and hold selfishly.

So really, there wasn’t anything Izuku could’ve done to prevent the inevitable. The loss of a light and warmth so bright it felt holy—the inside of a dying sun, the core of a supernova.

What he does do, however, is take advantage of all that he had basked in and hurry on home with intent of creating a new art piece of paints, making sure to leave a fat tip on the underside of his untouched coffee before leaving the shop with a little spring to his step and a pink blush on his face.

He makes it home in a flurry, hair wildly windswept and cold air in his panting mouth, having broken into a sprint, and then a run, by the time he was only a block away from his apartment, nerves buzzing under his skin. He had taken two steps at a time up the stairs and into his studio, as if he were being chased by a madman. (He was the only madman around really, one who was much too eager to capture what he felt back at the café on a canvas with his oils at home, rather than make the trip to his professional workspace.)

Izuku makes a quick beeline to his art desk (it’s standing where maybe a television stand would be if he had one, right in front of his comfy loveseat, and it’s covered in all sorts of paints because Izuku tends to use it as a glorified paint palette) and sets his sketchbook down on the cleanest spot he could find, immediately crouching down in order to rummage through his art supply bins for his spare oil paints.

He mutters as he does this, about colors and brushes and the man at the window of the café, but it’s nothing short of white noise to his ears, a harmless habit. It helped him focus in fact, his own whispered musings to an empty room, and it helped him relax enough to calm the heart trying to break his rib cage and beat a gaping wound through his chest.

He finally finds the oils, and then the brushes, that he needs to replicate the image in his head that burns in the backs of his eyes. He sets them all down on his art desk, only where it’s dry, and moves about the apartment in search of the final, most important ingredient: a canvas.

He looks down, around, and behind every piece of furniture, grumbling under his breath. After about five minutes, it finally sinks in, and he makes a terrible discovery: there were no clean canvases he could use.

Usually, he would have one or two lying around, for easy commission pieces, and even when the occasional creative mood would randomly strike, but as of late, he hasn’t actually been painting much of anything, whether it be for personal purposes or professional pursuits. And his past self had figured the canvases in his art studio would suffice because of this, so he hadn’t bought any to keep at home.

His past self was a bumbling idiot.

Determined, and not yet ready to detach himself from this bout of sudden inspiration, Izuku rolls up his sleeves, gathers his supplies, and gets to work, canvas or no canvas. He paints and paints until his knuckles ache and his jaw goes sore from clenching in concentration.

He finishes his piece with tired arms and oils not only on his face, but on his plastic frames. He finishes liberated, with relief strung throughout him.

Admittedly, it’s not his best piece, for his living room wall isn’t suited for his oils, but Izuku can’t help but think it’s his most beautiful. It’s the first thumbnail he made of the man at the window of the café, one where he’s looking out the window, blown out right on the wall, his sharp yet soft profile glowing gently with warm, nude colors.

The man at the window takes Izuku’s breath away all over again.

Warm in the face, Izuku lets his eyes wander away, and fall to the wooden floor. The sun is bright and high in the sky now, a telltale sign of noon, beaming hot yellows into the apartment, and beating down onto the back of his clothes. The lighting is wonderful, and perfect for a picture, but a seed of greed is already sprouting in the mouth of Izuku’s stomach.

This sight, this piece, wasn’t one he was willingly to share with anyone just yet, if ever. It feels too deeply personal somehow, and much too intimate to showcase on any of his social medias, much less his professional art blog. Plus, it’s not even a complete piece, or one he can profit off of, since it lies dormant on his wall. There wasn’t a reason to post this anywhere, and there wasn’t a reason why Izuku should even want to. This piece was for his eyes only.

Embarrassed at the mere thought, Izuku brings his stained hands to his face, no doubt smearing more oil paint onto his blushy cheeks. Now what kind of reasoning was that? He didn’t want to share? The man at the window was only his to admire? How selfish! And how embarrassing! Izuku thinks in a flushing stupor, berating himself in belated humiliation. He hadn’t meant to think any of that, honest!

The artist smacks his face once, and then twice, to pull himself back together. Nevermind all that, there was nothing wrong with wanting to keep some of his work to himself in the first place. Just like his personal, and very much private sketchbook where he allowed himself to experiment and make mistakes, this living room piece served as an act of unexpected creativity and originality, a subjective study of an intriguing character.

At the very least, Izuku had fully convinced himself of this in less than a minute, not allowing himself to think about the matter any further lest he wanted to mutter a whole dissertation about it straight through the wall and into his neighbor’s apartment. (The walls here weren’t as thick as they were supposed to be, unfortunately.) (Vaguely, Izuku recalls his apartment lease and its rules, specifically the too-lengthy paragraph under “alterations” and how he was not allowed to “paint, wallpaper, alter, or redecorate without written consent of the landlord.”)

Izuku brings his thumb to his mouth and bites down on the painted nail to keep himself quiet, letting his eyes settle back up to his artwork. It truly was an astonishing piece, if he did say so himself. It was very new, and very different from any of his other work, and it reflected an entirely distinct side of Izuku’s artistic capabilities. It felt real, and warm, and overwhelmingly human; very dissimilar from his usual painting style.

It was nude, and dark, and utterly stunning in all the unexpectedly right ways. A handsome painting crafted by hands that never knew they could portray such divinity.

A fresh flame ignites in Izuku all over again, and his hands go back to feel the blood rising in his face once more. It was becoming increasingly more and more difficult for him to mellow out of this stage of embarrassing elation, since each time he tries to take a look to admire his piece he gets worked all up, and ends up awkward and out of place in his own home. He just—He just needs something more.

Huffing, Izuku removes his glasses and wipes them down with the hem of his shirt. His hands go a little blurry under his gaze, which was a little watery and soft at the edges, far-sightedness at its best. As he removes any paint off his lenses, he allows his mind to wander just a bit, back to his painting, and back to the prospect of sharing.

He nearly drops his glasses moments after, right on the line of a most groundbreaking revelation—a victory caused by something straight out of a storybook or myth, one where stars, planets, suns, minds, and hearts aligned.

Izuku fits his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose and quickly fishes his phone out of his pocket, inputting his passcode with no hesitation.

He had some calls to make.

[kpophours]

Summer Time

➵ The Boyz: Kevin x fem. reader / one shot, summer trip AU, college AU / fluff

➵ warnings: none

➵ word count: 2.6k

Gentle wind sweeps over you, and almost immediately, goosebumps rise all over your body. You just smile contently, and turn your head towards the sky, inhaling deeply and enjoying the soft sound of the waves. You taste the salt of the ocean on your lips when your tongue darts out to wet them. It’s already quite warm for late Spring, so you’re barefooted, able to bury your toes in the cool sand underneath your feet. You had been surprised yet pleased when Kevin had asked you to join him and some of his friends on a day trip to the beach, and being here now, you’re more than happy he did. 

The day has been great so far - filled with lots of fun, laughter and sunshine, even though you were sadly unable to go swimming, the sea still being too cold to do so. So instead, you had resorted to basking in the sun, playing beach volleyball and building sand castles. Together with Jacob, you had spent almost an hour under the blindingly bright midday sun, searching for pretty seashells to take back to your dorm as a small souvenir. That was, until you had been interrupted by Younghoon’s horrified high-pitched screech when a seagull had suddenly decided to chase him. The tall boy had sprinted up and down the beach, trying to shake off the bird, and making you laugh until your belly hurt - thankfully, the seagull had finally decided to let him be, and simply flown off into the sky again.

Now that the sun has slowly begun to set, you’re all searching for driftwood, wanting to build a bonfire and to make some s’mores, something you’ve been really looking forward to. Kevin walks a few feet ahead of you, wearing a ridiculously big straw hat - which he still somehow makes work though -, and bending over from time to time to pick up another piece of driftwood, all while humming a soft, familiar tune under his breath. You can’t help but smile when you listen to his voice, and close your eyes for a few seconds while continuing to walk. When you open your eyes again, you squeal - Kevin has come to a sudden halt, and is now standing directly in front of you, his dark eyes softly boring into yours. He giggles at your surprised expression and playfully pinches your cheek. “Never walk with your eyes closed, silly. Knowing you, you’ll just stumble and probably hurt yourself.”, he says affectionately, and you blush and roll your eyes at him, but nod nevertheless. He is right, after all. “Can you take this back to the others? I’ll search for some more and will join you guys shortly.”, he then asks, and, after you nod again, drops some pieces of driftwood into your arms. You stagger under the weight, but give him a soft smile. He returns it, gives you a mock salute, and continues to tramp towards some sand dunes not too far away. You just sigh and turn around to walk back towards your little camp, joining the small group of Kevin’s friends again. 

“Oh here, let me help you.”, Juyeon offers the second he spots you staggering towards him, and you thank him when he takes the driftwood out of your arms. “Y/N, come join me!”, Marie, Juyeon’s girlfriend, says, waving at you. You smile  and fall down beside her, stretching your legs out in front of you and wiggling your toes. She smiles as well, and hands you a bottle of water. “You should drink something, you’ve been in the sun all day. I hope you put on enough sunscreen this morning!”, she says, and you chuckle. “Thanks, mom.”, you just say playfully, but her worried words actually warm your heart. You take the bottle from her, and she grins at you, before turning around to watch Juyeon stacking the driftwood, a dreamy expression crossing her face. Without wanting to, your eyes wander towards Kevin, who’s currently trying to climb one of the sand dunes, but almost failing to do so as the soft sand continues to slip away under his feet, making it almost impossible to walk on. You press your lips into a tight line to stifle a giggle, and jump when Marie suddenly pokes your side. “You like him, don’t you?”, she whispers, low enough so no one except you can hear it, and you shoot her a surprised look. Her face is open and inviting, eyes kind, but you just shrug, averting your eyes and taking some sand into your left hand, letting it run through your fingers - you don’t really like talking about your feelings, especially not with someone you’ve only just met. “He likes you too.”, Marie just says, and you whip your head around to face her again. She just winks at you and leans back on her elbows, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “What makes you say that?”, you finally ask, and she chuckles. “I’ve known Kevin for a long time now. He’s never asked a girl to join one of our trips before, because he’s usually too shy to do so. That can only mean you are someone special to him.” You don’t answer and simply look back to watch Kevin, who has finally managed to climb up the sand dune and is now busy picking up some more driftwood. You gnaw on your lower lip, thinking about what Marie just said. 

You and Kevin have gotten to know each other thanks to a shared class, both of you being enrolled at the same college. For some reason, he had chosen to sit beside you on the first day of said class, striking up a conversation and complimenting some of your doodles he had seen you draw into your notebook, showing you some of his own in return. Even on that first day, you had already noticed that talking to him was just... easy. And by now, you can’t deny that your heart always skips a beat when you see his small smile or hear his soft giggle. You’re also definitely thinking way too much about how it would feel like to run your fingers through his soft looking, dark hair. You truly like him and enjoy his company, and all his friends have been very nice and welcoming today too. But you yourself are too shy to say anything about this to him - you’re not brave enough to make the first move. Knowing Kevin though, he’s probably never going to make the first move either... You shake your head at that thought, sigh and empty your bottle of water, leaning back on your elbows and closing your eyes as well. 

You must have nodded off, because the next thing you know is someone softly chuckling beside you, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. You scrunch up your nose and slowly open your eyes, blinking a few times until Kevin comes into focus, sitting cross legged beside you and looking at you, amusement written all over his face. He grins when he sees your sleepy expression, and shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Unbelievable - everyone is working so hard for the bonfire and what are you doing? Taking a nap!”, he jokes, and you just stick out your tongue at him, before standing up to stretch and brush the sand off your clothes. Kevin jumps up as well, helping you get rid of the sand on the back of your shirt, his hand lingering a bit longer on the small of your back than necessary. You feel your whole body heat up under his touch, and quickly clear your throat, feeling a bit awkward, but giving your friend a shy smile nevertheless, which he immediately returns. He seems to be wanting to say something to you, but before he can do so, he gets interrupted by Hyunjae: “Does anyone know how to build a fire?” Everyone looks at one another, expression clueless and questioning, until you chuckle. “I can try, I was a scout once.”, you offer, deciding not to tell them that your scouting experience was not only very brief, but also quite some time ago. 

You begin to build a cone-like structure with some small pieces of driftwood, Kevin standing beside you looking quite impressed by your skills while Hyunjae just observes you critically. “First of all, we need to use the smallest pieces of wood as kindling, then we can slowly add some bigger pieces to fuel the flames and afterwards, we can finally use the big logs you guys found.”, you explain after you’ve finished stacking the smaller pieces, taking the matches from Hyunjae and lighting one, carefully holding it to the kindling and patiently waiting for it to catch fire. Afterwards, you do exactly what you’ve just told the others, and soon, the bonfire is burning bright and high. “Our fiery queen.”, Jacob says, shooting you an angelic smile and giving you a high five, while Younghoon just stares at the flames, his big puppy eyes wide and round while his mouth hangs slightly open. “Bear Grylls is shaking right now.”, Kevin murmurs, and you just grin and playfully roll your eyes at him. 

Suddenly, he slips his hand into yours to pull you with him towards some of the pillows Marie has placed on the ground around the fire pit to make sitting on the ground a bit more comfortable. As soon as you’ve sat down, Kevin lets go of your hand again, finally taking off his ridiculous straw hat and beginning to fiddle with it, probably trying to keep his hands busy. You’re both silent, but it’s a very comfortable silence, you don’t really feel the need to make conversation right now. Jacob has begun to strum his guitar and is playing a soft tune, while the others are talking in low voices. Juyeon and Marie are laying on their backs, staring into the sky - observing how its colors slowly shift from hues of purple and red to soft blues -, their hands intertwined, sharing secret smiles and giggles. Younghoon and Hyunjae are deep in conversation, the latter one’s loud laugh piercing the quiet atmosphere from time to time. You can’t help but smile while you observe the others, curling your toes into the cool sand. 

“I- uhm, I just wanted to thank you for coming today, I truly had a great time with you.”, Kevin suddenly says, and you whip your head around to look at him. His eyes are trained on the straw hat in his hands, as if he’s afraid to look at you. Your lips twitch and you tilt your head to one side. “I’m glad you asked me to come. It was a fun day, your friends are really nice.”, you answer softly, and he finally looks up, locking eyes with you and giving you a relieved smile. “I’m happy you think so. I know meeting lots of new people can be a bit overwhelming sometimes, especially if you’re not really much of an extrovert.”, he says, and you nod in agreement, tucking your legs up to your chest and resting your chin on your knees. “Why did you ask me to come with you, by the way? I’ve been wondering, we only share one class and haven’t really hung out outside of it yet, and we only really talk via text…”, you drift off, biting your lower lip, and look at Kevin in anticipation. His gaze darts from you to the bonfire and back again, the flames softly illuminating his face. “I- uhm... I just… well, I think you are really… nice.”, he says, scratching his ear and ducking his head. You suppress a smile and raise both eyebrows. “I am nice?”, you can’t help but chuckle, and he laughs, a tad embarrassed by his own lame answer. “Well, I just… I like you. Every time we talk, I really enjoy it - you’re fun to talk to. So, I just wanted to get to know you better, I guess.”, he finally explains, apparently feeling a bit bolder now, and shrugs. You avert your eyes, a shy yet pleased smile gracing your lips. “I like you too.”, you mumble, and duck your head when you see a smile bloom on his face at your words. There’s the lightest of touches on your hand, and suddenly, Kevin intertwines his fingers with yours again. You look up, surprise written all over your face, and he gives you a soft smile which you return. “You want to take a little stroll?”, he asks, voice low, and you nod, letting yourself be pulled to your feet by him, your hand still securely held in his. The others don’t say anything, but you can feel their eyes following your every step - you decide to just ignore them for now. 

Dusk has fully settled in by now and night is falling, the first stars already lazily twinkling down at you. Kevin gently swings your intertwined hands between your bodies and you grin, following him towards where the sea meets the land. The soft sound of the waves drowns out the sound of Jacob’s guitar as well as the laughter of the others, and it feels like you’re truly alone right now. Your heart begins to speed up, hammering fast inside your chest, and you feel your hands get clammy. You jump and yelp when one of the waves suddenly comes close enough to lap at your naked feet, the coolness of the water making you shiver. Kevin breaks into loud laughter at your shocked expression, and you shove him playfully. He loses his balance, falling onto his back and pulling you down with him. You land in a pile of scrambling arms and legs, giggling uncontrollably until suddenly, Kevin’s lips are on yours. 

You inhale sharply, before you melt against him. He wraps his arms around your back to pull you even closer, while you push both hands into his dark hair - it feels just as silky as you’ve always imagined. After a few seconds, you pull back to catch your breath, staring down at Kevin, who’s looking at you with soft, dark eyes and a happy expression on his face. You break into a smile and nuzzle his nose, and he pulls you even closer, playfully kissing both your cheeks and nose before nipping on your lower lip. “I guess that’s one way of getting to know me better.”, you finally mumble, and he chuckles, pushing some of your hair back behind your left ear and nodding in agreement. “Absolutely. It might even be my favorite way, actually.” You can’t help but grin at his cheekiness, before diving in for another kiss. He just smiles against your lips and hums appreciatively. 

Suddenly, there’s a yell coming from the bonfire: “Y/N, KEVIN, WE’RE MAKING S’MORES NOW! ARE YOU COMING OR SHOULD WE LEAVE YOU ALONE AND EAT ALL THE S’MORES WITHOUT YOU?” Before either of you can answer, there’s a slapping sound followed by a yelp, and a second later, Maria yells: “DON’T WORRY, HYUN IS JUST BEING STUPID, AS ALWAYS! WE WON’T EAT EVERYTHING, SO DON’T WORRY! JUST TAKE YOUR TIME AND COME BACK... WHENEVER!” 

Kevin and you freeze for a few seconds, before you both break into loud laughter. You bury your face into his neck and he chuckles, one of his hands rubbing gentle circles against the small of your back. “Let’s stay here a little longer, before we join the others again.”, he murmurs, and you just nod in agreement, deeply inhaling the salty night air and Kevin’s unique scent. 

For now, you’re just happy to be in his arms and to bask in the warmth of his body - the s’mores can definitely wait a bit longer. 

[masterlist] | [requests] 

[ariadneah]

self para / the old brag of my heart: I am, I am, I am.

Suddenly, nothing made with her hands could be good enough. The smell of metal, the smirk off Dexter’s face as he left the room, the very fact that she was wearing shoes that would have given her blisters three years ago -- it all made raindrops of sweat form, cold, at the bottom of her back. They had seen her brother -- and she hadn’t grown much over the bones of who Orpheus was three years ago. 

She had gone over it, with a pencil in her hand instead of a knife, a million times, doodles everywhere. She could never speak a word of it to anybody, however. It was her own intimate demon to fight. What she chose, instead of dozens of romanticized elaborate plans, was a personal wound more than anything. 

She stopped, in front of the doors, knowing she was on borrowed time. A nervous Career is not a Career, and she was shaking. There was no way she would open those doors before her hands calmed down. As the plan reshuffled in her mind, stronger than ever, her heart changed beats. There was nothing to fear. It was the moment she has always dreamed of. After a lifetime of knowing the Hunger Games by heart, the Hunger Games were going to meet her back. Holding her breath, she entered, disheveled and ghostly pale. Never before had a Career been more lost in her own jungle.

But she survived. Despite her heartbeat, she managed to pull a smile, determined to not waste a moment. Her feet were quick to take her to the simulation, where she entered all information as she spoke. “Ariadne Beaurevoir. I’m happy to be here. I’ve always wanted to be here. I’m actually a few years late, but I had to give you time to get bored of one Beaurevoir before getting another.” Her nervous tongue was filling in the gaps as she prepared the field, practical manner of speech as she pushed different buttons with unintentional nonchalance and chose the highest difficulty. Specifically ready to kill.

Ariadne waited in front of the generator for him to show up, made of orange pixels. The single silhouette of a boy of her height and size mirrored her own.  He was all pixels, but she knew him by heart, even then. To her, there would never be a bigger threat. He? Dragging a mace. Her? Bare handed. Without warning, she took off, as fast as she could, long legs moving with cheetah ease towards the piles of weapons. He? Already after her, matching speed. How could he not? They were about the same person at this point. 

It almost felt like hide-and-seek in a way, except she had been the one constantly bringing up blades in every game they would play in their childhood. It was about time he fought back. She bent too quickly to pick up three knives, left hand clenched on two of them and the right hand throwing the other in his direction, missing and slipping between his knees, despite the hologram constantly moving. She didn’t want to hurt a pixel yet. One of the remaining knives moved hands in an instant. She was careful to push the shelf of weapons all in his way and sprint away.

The hologram didn’t trip, but it did slow him down. 

At this point, he was in front of her, swinging the mace with no brotherly mercy. Good. She had never asked for any. The dance was almost ridiculous. She dodged the mace for a minute straight, eyes following every move of the hologram and mirroring it as quickly as reflex. There was no striking back. As if she couldn’t. Instead, she showed her best, most graceful defense, almost choreographic. 

After a cat and mouse game where Ariadne simply bent over, moved away, stepped back and jerked her head away from every mace hit, she started running in the other way. As if when he wasn’t expecting an escape. When facing a wall, he was too close to orientate towards a new direction, so she simply plunged the first knife high on the wall, not letting go of it. Then the second. Turning around, she ducked and left the knives there to fight back barehanded. Her two palms grasped the handle of the mace too, fearlessly, surprised to feel it to begin with, and pushed in his direction as a force pushed in hers. 

She was nowhere stronger than this version of her brother. But there it was, her special talent. She never fought fair. Ariadne’s foot aimed cruelly for the space between the hologram’s legs. It reacted (though not the way Everett had last year), caught off guard for a moment. That was when she smacked the mace off his hands. It did hurt like metal would have, like a shock, but there was no time for injury. 

She turned back to face the wall and jumped, grabbing both knives by the handles and supporting her body as her feet left the sole. Straining her arms to keep hanging, she knew the first pluck out would be the heaviest for her elbow, but she took a knife out, holding only onto the other. It cut her breath away. She stabbed the wall again, higher, trying to climb. It was going to take too long. The hologram tried to drag her down, but her sneakers fought back, hitting the head with a concealed force, not to lose balance. There was nothing to push against for a propulsion, but she continued to climb up, rushing more and more until she reached a fair distance to the sole. She was up and untouchable, but her arms felt like breaking in two. Her palms were sweaty, threatening to let go, already numb. 

And besides, this wasn’t a climbing demonstration in the slightest. With strength only made up by adrenaline, she tossed one of the knives down, arrow-like, and struck the hologram’s foot, not strongly enough to pin it to the ground. The other knife she left where it was stuck. When she jumped, it was in a frog position, landing well enough in a squat. Without standing up properly, she dodged the hologram and ran back to the weapons, almost moving with both her legs and arms, like a cat. 

She picked up the first sword on sight and glued it against his hologram mace in no time, as defense. Tilting right, she wanted to make the hologram lose its grip, but it seemed close to impossible. She had never fought against steadier hands. When she realized she was never going to beat a hologram of this level in skill, Ariadne sidestepped and struck the ends where the hologram’s hands were supposed to be mercilessly, causing it to drop the weapon, once again. Then, she tossed away her own sword, no longer in need of it.

Instead, she tackled the hologram, throwing her whole body against it as if diving into a lake. The first thing she could feel, from above him, was the sharpest leg in the stomach. Now she was just starting to get mad. Though her ears were flaming red by now, it was time for anger to color them, instead of just effort. She leaned in and bit his face, the portion that should have been his nose. She bit it until her teeth clinked together with a metallic noise. That was the cue for blood, if her opponent were human.

Then she spit on him and jumped to change position, now pressing her sneaker heels against his thighs and pressing hard. Despite the continuous straining, he pushed her back. Her back hit against the cold, hard ground and, in no time, the damned hologram was choking her. Despite the moment, Ariadne laughed out loud. Satisfied, almost. She could hardly breathe, but she moved and shook her body continuously, pushing and hitting with her legs. It was like being possessed. 

There was no way out. She was going to die by the unreal hands of a simulation in a pretense fight. She raised her arms in the air and shot up her heaviest elbows in its head, however. Again and again and again as if wanting to squeeze the nonexistent cranium between sharp hits. She did have pointy bones. The release came like a fresh yet hoarse breath of air. Ariadne didn’t waste a second. She didn’t need an oxygenated brain to fight. It was all reflex. She pushed the hologram off of her and reached out for another of the weapons scattered around the floor. A mace. Fitting. 

Maces have never been her favorite, but she could work with one. Ariadne swung one over her head for soar and struck as hard as possible. The simulation seemed fresher than ever, having gained his mace back. He blocked it, but she pushed him back. Maces weren’t dueling weapons. They were only a moment away from ending things. She knew that now. 

The realization came in late. It’s been her all along. That’s when she stuck the mace in the forehead, full force, going halfway through the skull. The simulation dissipated in seconds, fading sparks in the air. At that point, she could no longer breathe.

“I can make my own mutts,” she spoke through gritted teeth, trying to make herself as audible as possible, despite the position she was in, on her knees. “And I’m not afraid to kill any version of my brother you decide to send my way.” She stood up and straightened her back, placing down the weapon gently by her feet. “I’m here for it. For all of it. Thank you.” With a small bow, she turned on her heels.

[xbelovedstar-dustx]

Blank Canvas

{Story set in my rp verse with @kaibagirl007 }

===========================

There were times when Seto loved his mansion. With it being so spacious, he could just work in silence in one of the rooms and avoid everyone. Than there are times when he hated how big it was, especially when he couldn't find something....or someone.

This was one of those times.

"Muffin?...Muffin?! Are you still here?" Seto called out through the mansion. About Two hours ago, Aqua texted him asking if it was to come over. At the time, he was busy with emails and other small mundane tasks for KaibaCorp to make Monday's work load a little easier. When he saw it, He was kinda deep and wanted to finish what he was doing, so he texted back saying he could, but he was busy so he wouldn't be able to greet him.

Well....That was two hours ago. Aqua didn't even great Seto himself. Just why did he come over anyway?

"Muffin?!" Seto huffed slightly. Damn he hated his mansion right now. And here he was excited for a cuddle session with his sugar muffin.

"Aquamarine?" Seto called out to a part of the mansion that even he rarely visited. There he heard soft singing of an angels voice. He couldn't help but smile softly and follow the voice to a door that was slightly cracked. Gently pushing it open, he couldn't help but blink from the bright Sunlight streaming from the window.

And sitting in front of it, was his sweet Aquamarine.

The smaller man was sitting on stool in front of an easel holding a small canvas. He was painting covered short overalls and messy t-shirt, and his hair was in a long pigtail. In his ears he could easily see earbuds in.

'Explains why he didn't answer me...'Seto thought with a soft sigh. Still he was happy to see Aqua and his heart melted at how cute his boyfriend was, singing and swaying to the beat, yet still was able to...do whatever he was doing. Just what was he up to?

Quietly walking over, he hugged Aqua from behind and laid his chin on Aqua's soft hair. Said name jumped and looked slightly panicked before relaxing. Giggling softly and pulling out his ear buds, he glanced up.

"Hey Teddy Bear, I thought you were busy working." Aqua asked. Both shared a quick kiss before Seto answered.

"I was, than I heard a beautiful voice and just had to follow it." Seto said, chuckling at Aqua's slight blush. While Aqua never saw his voices appeal, Seto did and loved to compliment him whenever he could. Before Aqua could argue, Seto's eyes turned to the Canvas and the sketch. It looked familiar...

"Is it...a blue eyes?" Seto asked and Aqua beamed.

"Yep...But which Blue Eyes~" Aqua said teasingly. Seto got a thoughtful look, before looking back at the canvas. It didn't look like any of his three blue eyes he had in his deck, and he doubted Aqua knew of the fourth that he....yeah.

So that left one option.

"Its Nacre!" He said grinning and Aqua nodded. Seto got a smug look on his face, and Aqua giggled.

"I finished the sketch and I'm proud of how it turned out, but I still need to paint it." He also stretched (Seto moved back when he did this).

"But I also need a break..." He sighed. Seto chuckled.

"Well you can always take one." He said smiling. "However, I must say Muffin It will never cease to amaze me how easily talented you are with art. You did something like this in just two hours-"

"Its been two hours?!" Aqua exclaimed and Seto laughed.

"As I was saying, you could do something like this in a short time span and it looks so perfect." Aqua rolled his eyes.

"Its not perfect, Her jaw is slightly out of proportion, her wings aren't fully symmetrical, her eyes aren't as detailed as I like-"

"You are your own worse critic Muffin." Seto said sighing and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend again. Aqua shrugged slightly.

"Besides this is just some practice..." He said before his eyes brightened, and he turned to his boyfriend with shining eyes.

"Wanna do a free style paint with me?" He asked excitedly. Seto blinked and looked at Aqua with confusion

"Aqua, must I remind you of Adena?" He said skeptically. Aqua gave a soft giggle before standing up.

"Yeah, I know." He started before grabbing another canvas and setting the nacre one aside. "But Freestyle has no rules! You can do whatever you please!" He said happily and looking at Seto.

"It could be fun, We could create something together..." He said with a hint of shyness and Seto relented. He really couldn't say no to Aqua...he just couldn't.

"Alright Muffin...you win." He said with an smile. Aqua giggled and started pulling out paints.

"You probably want to change clothes. Paint is messy, and takes....a lot to wash out." Aqua said laughing bitterly and Seto gave a smile.

"Alright, I'll be back in a second." He said walking back to his room. He didn't have a lot of "relaxing" clothes, outside of Pajamas, but he did have a pair of comfortable sweatpants and the aheago shirt he got for his birthday he didn't know why he kept it..

Walking back to the room he left Aqua in, He felt elated..excited! Was painting together something "normal" couples do? He gave a quiet chuckle to himself. Since when did he become so...comfortable with this feeling. He didn't know...and if he was honest he didn't care.

Walking into the room where he left Aqua, He saw that there was now a stool for him and Aqua was busy pulling out paints. He had this look of total focus on his face. It was a look that Seto wasn't too familiar with, but it was one that gave him shivers. And as soon as he saw that look, it vanished like the wind and was replaced by the soft, sunshine smile he loved so dearly when there eyes met

"Oh there you are! Come on, All thats missing is you!" Aqua said waving him over, which Seto happily obliged. Sitting on the other stool, Aqua handed him a paintbrush and held out an pallette of colors. Seto looked them all over before dipping his brush in Red Eyes Red and was about to start painting....

Except he didn't

Seto just....sat there, blank minded. He wanted to paint, but he didn't know what. Also he couldn't just undo a mistake like he could press backspace on his computer. It made him nervous...what if messed up and it looked bad?!

'This is why I work with technology..' Seto thought bitterly to himself

Aqua watched his boyfriend's eyes start to cloud over. Not a good sign as it meant Seto was over thinking...Again. Aqua gave a soft sigh before picking a paintbrush of his own. He gave a glance to the paint pallette and then Seto before a mischievous grin came to his mind. Dipping his brush in Blue Eyes Blue he painted a heart on Seto's cheek.

"What's the use of feeling blue~"

Seto blinked back to reality when he felt something wet on his cheek. Raising a hand, he felt something sticky...and heard his giggling boyfriend. A quick glance to Aqua was all he needed to know what happened. He gave a soft sigh before smiling...than looking at Aqua more closely.

Aqua has beautiful caramel skin, aside from a few tiny scars he got from childhood, it was perfectly flawless in Seto's eyes. It was also...clean. A small smirk came across his face.

Oh yeah...He knew exactly what he wanted to paint now.

Aqua's eyes were shut and he was still giggling. Seto leaned over and painted Aqua's neck. Said name yelped and looked at a now Smug CEO.

"Seto!!"

"Hey I was just painting on my Canvas~" Seto said teasingly before readying his brush for another attack. Aqua did a quick mental debate.

He could A. Use his magic and easily paint Seto or B. No Magic and get easily owned.

Both are tempting....and He shouldn't Magic to cheat when Seto was pretty powerless

Aqua gave a playful smirk and readied his own paint brush.

"Well then, It seems I have a very handsome canvas in front of me." He said waving his own brush. Both men were in a stand off, staring at each other with a playful seriousness.

They waited for whoever would strike first, a stillness was in the air.

Seto struck first, easily painting Aqua's neck more and making the smaller man start giggling. Damn Seto's speed! Aqua swiped his paint brush against Seto's forehead, and Seto instinctivly pulled back and gave a playful glare at his boyfriend. He quickly cleaned off his brush and dipped it in Baby Dragon Orange and grabbed Aqua around his waist and started painting Aqua's arms with random doodles.

Aqua started to laugh loudly and squirm. It didn't really tickle, but it did still feel funny to the smaller male and his skin was unfortunately to sensitive for his own good. Seto himself started chuckling. He couldn't deny how adorable his muffins laugh was. However his eyes drifted close while he was laughing, and Aqua struck back.

Using his magic to clean his brush, He changed the color to Dark Magician Purple and he painted Seto's neck and ears. Seto shivered and recoiled. He gave a glance to the giggling man next to him. Despite being painted on...he couldn't help but melt.

He was making Aqua laugh, a sense of proud filled him.

Until Aqua coated his paintbrush in Insect Queen Green and accidentally got it in his hair.

There was an errie silence for a second as both males looked at each other. Aqua suddenly looked worried and flustered and started trying to clean it off.

"Shit, I'm so sorry Seto, I didn't mean for that to happen! Oh Kami-" Aqua said in a rushed panicked voice. Seto took a moment to process what exactly JUST happened.

There was paint in his hair

It was green

It was probably ugly

His boyfriend is panicking. Wait What?

Seto looked to his boyfriend who's eyes darkned spectacularly. Which was never a good sign. So slowly..very slowly, Seto reached his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him into his lap, which made Aqua yelp than burst into giggles when Seto Nuzzled his neck, a clean part

"Hey now...I'm not mad." Seto said playfully kissing his boyfriends cheek. He grabbed his paintbrush again, and started painting Aqua's other arm, alongside just gently tapping his fingers on Aqua's stomach. Sending the smaller male in a fit of laughter.

Aqua squirmed and wiggled, but Seto had a tight grip on his waist so he couldn't do much. Except laugh, that he could do!

"Seto!" He managed to get out. "You absolute Bastard! You suck!" Which made Seto himself laugh. He knew Aqua was just throwing empty insults his way, and he just let them roll off his back. This was probably his favorite way to make Aqua laugh, and how he loved when he did.

But he also knew when to stop. The second he did Aqua panted, trying to fill his lungs with much needed air. He than turned to his boyfriend with a playful glare.

"One of these days, I'm going to find all your ticklish spots and go to town on you." He said, his eyes glittered with mischief. Seto gave his trademark smirk.

"I'd love to see you try~" It wasn't as if Seto wasn't ticklish, he was, but it was in very few spots, and Aqua only knew one. So he was safe for the moment. He turned and started to clean his paint brush, before handing Aqua his.

"Let's paint for real this time, Shall we?" He suggested and Aqua nodded and cleaned his brush. Coating the brush in Kuriboh Brown, he started painting a base of a tree trunk and branches, which gave Seto an inspiration.

Coating his brush in Dark Magician Purple, He started painting a resemblance of the wisteria he had growing in the mansion gardens. It wasn't perfect by any means, but it was fun..and he was doing with the person he loved most.

Aqua on the other hand, cleaned his brush and pulled out his favorite color: Ra Gold. He started painting small golden vines on the tree, sometimes making small flowers along the way.

"That's beautiful Muffin." Seto said in a warm voice and Aqua's cheeks flushed with the praise. In return he kissed Seto's cheek and went back to painting. Both men painted in a blissful silence, occasion sounds of movement from cleaning a brush or a compliment.

Soon Seto cleaned his paintbrush for a final time and dipped in blue eyes blue, and started to create his favorite duel monster with accuracy. Well he tried at least. With each stroke of his brush, he felt a little less confident in himself and felt he was disrespecting Blue Eyes. His movements started to slow.

"Hey, It doesn't have to be perfect....as long as you had fun with your work, to me it'll always be a masterpiece." Aqua's soft voice drifted into Seto's ears and a smile worked its way to his lips. He placed a kiss on Aqua's head and went back to painting.

After a few minutes he stopped and sat his brush down. The form wasn't perfect, Nothing compared to Aqua's masterpiece of earlier....but it was his. It was theirs, and that was all that mattered.

"This is probably the most beautiful work of art I ever seen." Aqua said with a happy giggle and Seto rolled his eyes.

"No its not, Its nothing compared to what you can do."

"So? This is OUR masterpiece Mr. Kaiba and I will address it however I want." Aqua said in a playfully snobbish tone which made both men laugh before they shared a tender kiss.

Soft and tender, a feeling of happiness between the two before they separated. Aqua gave a bright smile before he looked down on himself and laughed.

"I need a shower..." He said and Seto chuckled.

"So do I...and I need my hair washed."

"Wanna kill two birds with one stone?" Asked the smaller male with a tone laced with mischief. Seto smirked.

"Are you going to keep your hands to yourself Muffin?"

"Hey it was you last time!" Both men gave another laugh as they started to clean up the area. Besides Aqua flicking paint at Seto a few times and Seto getting revenge, the place was clean in no time and Aqua held Setos hand.

"Ready to get clean?" He sang out and in response, Seto picked him up bridal style and started to walk out. Aqua clung to him and leaned on his shoulder. Looking back at their painting one last time, he aimed a little magic at it adding one final touch.

"Are you gonna hang our masterpiece~"

"Pssh, Probably not."

"Seto!!"

While the couples little squabble grew farther and farther, if one were to look at the painting now, They'd see an new addition.

A small golden lotus on top of the Blue Eye's head.

A few days later, Seto's Home office got a new decoration.

[the-shadow-of-atlantis]

New Start

Summary: Andromeda starts high school and meets someone new

Tagging: @dilpickledd @melyaliz @coffee-randomness @speedypan

Read Earlier Parts Here

Andromeda wasn’t entirely sure why she felt so excited as she stood in front of the high school building. She looked up and took a deep breath, this was going to be a new beginning for her. Sure some kids from her middle school would be here but there would also be kids from different schools that she never met before. Letting out a small huff she headed off the bathroom to add some finishing touches to her look.

Luckily the bathroom she found was empty; the gossip girls hadn’t taken over the bathroom yet. She dug around her backpack for her makeup bag, smiling when she found her brothers encouraging note tucked into the small pouch.

Knock’em dead

Andromeda shook her head, folding the piece of paper and tucking it into the back pocket of her shorts. It was a new method he was trying to help build up her confidence. Checking her watch she quickly got to work on getting her makeup on. She nodded at herself in approval as she took in her appearance smoothing her hands over her black bodysuit. She adjusted her thin cardigan so it hung just right then packed her things and headed to her locker.

She took out the bag that had the clothes she had originally left the house in and stuffed it in her locker. A quick look at her schedule and she deposited the books she didn't need to carry before lunch. Just then the bell rang and Andromeda quickly took off to her first class.

Most of her classes had been pretty uneventful, the teachers mainly droned on about whatever their syllabus said they were going to do over the year. If there was time then they would make everyone do a meet and greet around the classroom. Andromeda's hope about making new friends seemed to dwindle over every class as some kids seemed to carry on friendships into high school.

By the time her science class rolled around she decided to stick to the back row of the class as the students started to file in. Andromeda was busy trying to get the rest of her band pins on her backpack to pass the time. She would probably need to invest in a different backpack if she wanted to decorate it properly.

“Is this seat taken?” Someone asked beside her, making her look up.

Andromeda couldn’t help but blink several times at the boy who stood by the stool that was next to her. His soft brunette hair was perfectly tousled; he had a kind smile but his eyes were hidden behind a set of visor looking sunglasses, which was a strange combination with what seemed like pretty boy clothing.

“Sure.” Andromeda cleared her throat realizing she had been staring a bit too long.

“Thanks.” He said, taking a seat. “I’m Scott.”

He held out his hand and Andromeda stared at it, was this guy serious? Still she shook his hand.

“Andromeda.” She replied.

“Andromeda?... that’s a nice name are you-“

“Nope parents like Greek things, just not the lifestyle.” Andromeda said, making Scott look at her curiously.

“Im sorry what?”

“Inside joke, never mind.” Andromeda shrugged and quickly pinned the last button she needed.

The teacher came in then and started the same speal as the other teachers. Andromeda doodled on her paper as the teacher talked, occasionally glancing over at Scott who seemed to be taking notes on his own syllabus.

“I suggest you get to know the person next to you as they will be your lab partner for the rest of the year.” The teacher said, taking a seat at their desk.

Andromeda continued to doodle but she felt Scott turn to face her after putting his paper away.

"That's pretty nice." He said eyeing her dragon that stretched along the border.

"Thanks." She said adding the finishing touches. "So how do you wanna do this? Play 20 questions? Just get basic information out of the way?"

Scott seemed to stare at her, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t find the right words to say.

“You always this articulate when talking to someone?” Andromedas asked and Scott let out a small shy laugh rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’ll admit I’ve always had a difficult time talking to new people.” He said looking down, Andromeda nodded slowly.

“Well then we have that in common.” She said smiling softly at him he seemed to stare at her in shock but she wasn't quite sure it was a little hard to read him with those sunglasses blocking his eyes.

“Really?” He asked, still eyeing her.

“I’ve lived in Bayville three years and so far my only best friend is my little brother.” Andromeda admitted a small chuckle escaping her, however she noticed Scott's face seemed to drop.

“Hey sometimes little brothers can be the best of friends." He said softly.

"You have one?"

"Had."

"Oh." Crap things got dark fast. Andromeda looked at Scott and patted his arm awkwardly.

"So you said you moved to Bayville?" Scott asked.

"Yup."

"What for?"

"The company my dad works for wanted him to relocate." Andromeda simply explained her hands trailing back to the doodle.

"That must've been hard." Scott said, looks like he was trying to be the empathic one this time.

"It is what it is." Andromeda shrugged. "What about you? No offense but you don't really strike me as a Bayville local."

It was Scott's turn to be a bit reserved now. "I lived in Alaska up until a couple months ago when my new foster dad brought me here. So I'm pretty new.

"Well then." Andromeda said signing her name on the corner of her sheet and slipped the paper towards him. "Looks like we have another thing in common."

Scott looked down at the finished doodle. "Don't you want to keep the syllabus?"

"Nah, I'm good, keep it." Andromeda shrugged and got up as the bell rang. "See you later."

~~~~~~~~~

Andromeda smiled politely at all the lunch ladies and attempted some small talk as she grabbed her food. Rule number one of making it through school always befriend the lunch ladies and the janitor they tend to have your back if something happens. Andromeda scanned the cafeteria, this part is the one that always sucked, picking a lunch table to sit at.

Andromeda had quickly spotted Scott he was sitting next to a boy she slightly remembered from one of her classes. Hmm Andromeda wasn't sure if she should sit down with Scott or not, she couldn't help but still feel a little awkward. Why was making new friends so hard? Andromeda decided to leave them alone for now Scott said he was new and it be good for them to branch out and make friends. Maybe she could just sit outside soak up some sun, however as she made her way past the table Scott was at she spotted a boy sitting alone, his little sack of lunch looking as lonely as him. Everyone seemed to avoid him as they passed and as Andromeda got closer she had to admit she realized why, he didn't really have a pleasant smell. Still she sat down at his table making him look at her questionably.

"Hi." Andromeda said with a smile.

"Hi?" The boy said, still looking at Andromeda skeptically.

"I'm Andromeda."

"Todd."

Andromeda took a bite of her burger and eyed Todd's sack lunch.

"Whatcha got?" She asked.

"Just a sandwich." He said, pulling out a soggy looking sandwich.

"Want some fries?" Andromeda asked, she had gotten some extra courtesy of Linda who smiled when Andromeda complimented her on her hair color.

Todd was about to say something when they were interrupted by a blond boy that Andromeda was all too familiar with.

"Aw looks like dummie finally got a little boyfriend.” Said Duncan his friends snickering behind him

“Duncan.” Andromeda said looking up at him. “Shocker to see you here, what did mommy have to sleep with the principal to help you get in?”

A couple of his friends stifled their laughs and Duncan glared at her.

“Jokes on you, the principals a woman.”

“And that would stop your mother because?” Andromeda heard someone choke and she turned to see Scott and his friend trying to stifle their laughs

A woman then appeared in front of Andromeda making her stiffen.

“Is there a problem here?” She asked her eyes piercing as they stared at all of them through her glasses.

“No Principal Darkholme.” Duncan said.

“Then carry on.” She said making Duncan leave quickly, she looked down at Andromeda studying her carefully before walking away.

“Well she's scary.” Andromeda mumbled.

“You have no idea.” Todd mumbled.

“What classes you got next?” Andromeda asked, wondering if they’d have any together.

“Computers and P.E.” He said warming up to her.

“Cool, we got P.E. together.” Andromeda said, pushing her fries to him again and this time he accepted them.

~~~~~~~~~~

Andromeda cheered as she flew through the air that night feeling a rush like never before.

"St- in r-ng." Her brother, Adonis, voice cut through her thoughts.

Andromeda sighed and looped backwards and hovered.

"Better?" She asked.

"Perfect." He said.

"You really need to amp the range on these little things." She said flying in a slow circle.

"I'm trying." He said, looking up at her from his spot. "You seem in a good mood. I'm guessing school was fun."

"Yeah, I made a couple friends. I think… I definitely made one friend. I'm still unsure about the other one.” Andromeda said as she slowly began to descend. “I’m gonna need a new backpack though. I literally spent most of my day putting my pins on only to have to take them off on the bus ride on top of doing wardrobe change.”

"I'll add it to the list. Maybe I can convince mom to take us to the mall this weekend." Adonis said holding his hand out so Andromeda could hand him back the communication device.

"What about you, how was school?"

"I'll admit it's not as fun when you're not around." He said putting their things away.

"Aw you miss me." Andromeda teased ruffing his hair making him smack her hand away. "We should head back, I don't want to be tired for school tomorrow."

"You seem a little too happy about going to school." Her brother noted.

"And that's a bad thing because?"

"Oh my god." Adonis stopped and stared at his sister.

"What?" She asked.

"You're crushing on someone." He said.

"What? No I'm not." She defended herself.

"You totally are." He said laughing.

"I've barely been to school for a day how could I be crushing on someone already." She said matching his pace as he started walking again.

"Oh trust me you only have that face when you fly and you still have it now."

"I just had a pretty good day at school." Andromeda grumbled.

"Alright alright." Adonis said holding his hands up in surrender though that stupid smile hadn't left his face.

"I hate you." Andromeda mumbled.

"No you don't." Adonis smirked, he was definitely going to rub this in her face later.

[redwoodwrites]

Coffee, Quirks, and Tigers

Summary: Ootsuki runs a kirei shop in a popular shopping district, but he mostly keeps to himself.  And then Fukuda shows up with his boss, who tells him to stay and pick out something for someone's birthday present.  He stays, it's awkward, but apparently not that awkward because Fukuda comes back again.  And again.  And pretty soon it becomes a weekly Thing for the two of them to go get coffee together. Now if only Suzuki and his henchmen could leave the two of them alone.

A/N: Starring Ootsuki and Fukuda from Mob Psycho 100!!  (Two of the guys who helped Shou in the finale of Season 2.)  They had basically five seconds of screen time...so I got to make up 99% of their personalities!  BWAHAHAHA THE POWAAAAAH!

 Ootsuki squinted. He'd been drawing a sketch of two fish swimming through trailing willow leaves.  It was a commission for a prestigious high school, but he couldn’t get it right yet. 

He sat back and stretched, glancing at his shop.  His drawing desk was in the back.  Framed kirei hung on the left and right walls, showing lacy outlines of flowers, people, even whole cherry trees.  Delicate three-dimensional paper animals hung from the ceiling, and three patterned kimonos were displayed in the window. 

Outside, the Tatooin Shopping District was swarming with tourists. Street loudspeakers played a constant pop culture soundtrack barely audible over the roar of people.  People came here for the chic cafes, high-end clothing stores, and a few electronic places - he got free cable from the flatscreen TVs displayed across the street.  It was usually news stories about heroes, although lately there had been a few missing person cases mixed in.  Specialty stores like Ootsuki’s kirei shop didn’t get a lot of customers.  That was fine with him.  Most of his business came from commissions, anyway.  He sighed and turned back to his drawing.  

Ding!

The front door opened and a giant strode into his shop, accompanied by a rush of street noise.  He had spiky orange hair, electric blue eyes and a blazer swung over his shoulders like a cape.  

“Now this is more like it!” he proclaimed.

“Shou, be careful!”

A second man appeared behind the first, following close enough to be his shadow. He was built like a bear, with short black hair and anxiety written all over his face. “Did you bump your shoulder in the doorway? You did, didn't you? Are you alright?”

Shou’s eyes caught Ootsuki and he jumped.  “Oi!  This your shop?”

“H-hai! Irasshaimase.” He started to bow, realized he was sitting, and scrambled to his feet, but the giant had already turned away.

“Pretty impressive,” he said, inspecting a paper sparrow hanging from the ceiling.  “Even got the texture of the feathers in there.  Nice.” 

“Shou, please!” the other man insisted. “Be careful, you could get a paper cut -”

“Fukuda!”

This time both men jumped.  “H-hai!” Fukuda stammered. 

Shou jabbed a thumb at a framed kirei piece.  “Find me something like this for Mom's birthday.  I don't want you back at HQ until you've given it at least two hours of thought – after all, it's the thought that counts!”

“But –”

“Two hours! Countin' on ya!”

Shou waved and slipped out the door faster than Ootsuki could follow, vanishing instantly into the crowd. He glanced over. Fukuda was doing such a perfect impression of a sad puppy that Ootsuki snorted with laughter. 

“Oh – er, sorry,” he said, catching himself.

Fukuda sighed. “No, no. I apologize for the disturbance.  I tend to get a bit...overprotective...and Shou is my boss.  I’m Fukuda Itsuki, I’ll be in your care.”

“Ootsuki Souta,” he said, and repeated the greeting.  After that he wasn’t sure what to do.   He ran a hand self-consciously over his bangs, glad they were long enough to cover his eyes.  “Er, well...would you like help picking something out, or…?”

“Yes please,” Fukuda said.  He nodded at the bird Shou had inspected.  “I've never been in a shop like this before. What kind of art is this?”

“It's kirei.  Most of what I sell involves cut paper. That includes the sculptures, but most of it is two-dimensional.” He stopped there - most people’s eyes glazed over at that point - but Fukuda was looking at him as if genuinely interested.  Ootsuki gestured to the framed pieces leaning in neat rows along the walls.  “Those are all made with a single sheet of paper each, and a very sharp knife. I make faces, landscapes, animals – there's one I did of paper fans, just for the irony. They're all organized by size and category...”

He led Fukuda on a brief tour of the shop, discussing his favorite pieces and the techniques he’d used to make them.  Fukuda was much calmer now that he wasn’t fussing over Shou, and asked questions about the types of paper he used and the tools he worked with.  Ootsuki grinned and pushed his bangs back from his eyes.  He never got to talk about this in such detail, but Fukuda made it easy.  Fukuda made it fun.  

They made a full circuit around the shop, ending at the window display.  The kimonos were beautiful even from the back.  Each of them had been printed in a tiny repeating pattern: a lotus blossom, a seashell, or the kanji for “jewel.”

Fukuda looked at them with obvious admiration.  “They’re gorgeous.  Although I'm a little surprised to see clothing in a kirei shop.”

“It’s the patterns.  I stamped it onto the fabric by hand.”

Fukuda's eyes actually boggled. “That's hand-stamped? I thought that was machinery!”

Ootsuki grinned.  “Nope, it’s all me.  This one was especially tricky.”  He reached for the one with seashells.

“Ah – your hands!”

Ootsuki glanced down. The light from outside caught the sheen of all the tiny, nearly invisible scars covering his fingers and palms. “Oh, that. Well, to get the best cut in a piece of paper, you have to drag the blade toward you. Better control that way. But the knives I use have to be quite sharp, and it took practice learning how to do it.”

“And your palms?”

“Pardon?”

“Knives wouldn’t cut your palms like that, look.”  He took Ootsuki’s left hand and gently turned it over.  The scars were thicker, darker. 

Ootsuki flinched and pulled away.  “I don’t like people touching my hands.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry.  It's just, my quirk is healing, but I can't heal scars...it bothers me when I see wounds that haven't been properly tended.”

“They were tended just fine,” Ootsuki said, a little too sharply. “I just wasn't good at controlling my quirk when I was little. So!” He turned away. “I think that wraps up the tour.”

“Of course. I'm sorry to have taken so much of your time.”

He sounded so sincere about it that Ootsuki softened.  “No, it's just that your two hours are almost up,” he said, and realized it was true.  How did it go by so fast? 

“Then, if it’s alright...could I have that one?” Fukuda asked.  He pointed to a piece hanging on the wall, a particularly intricate kirei with cuts so fine you could almost see the texture of the fur.  

“You like it?” 

Fukuda smiled.  “Suzuki-san did always have a fondness for cats.” 

 Ootsuki sat at his desk again, doodling. 

He was done with the fish commission, and now he had nothing to do while he waited to hear back.  It didn’t help that his thoughts kept wandering to Fukuda.  The visit had been two days ago.  Ootsuki was sorry he’d been rude at the end, and it felt worse every time he thought about it.  Why did he have to be so - so emo and awkward?  He tugged anxiously at his bangs.  He could be clever.  If Fukuda ever did come back, he’d -

Ding!

“Fukuda!”

“It's good to see you, too,” Fukuda said, grinning, and he realized he'd jumped to his feet. 

Ootsuki flushed.  “Well, um, yes,” he said.  With zero cleverness at all.

Fukuda didn’t seem to notice.  “I’m sorry to bother you again, but Shou's mother wanted to commission a piece of her cat.  Is that alright?  I brought a photo.” 

Familiar territory!  “Of course, I do commission pieces all the time.  Can I see it?”

“Right, here…”  Fukuda started digging through the bag slung over his shoulder.  “Sorry, sorry, I keep everything in here.  I don’t even know how old that granola bar is...ah, here we go!” 

He held out a photo of a small white cat.  Ootsuki moved to take it, and when he did, two coupons for the Golden Bean fanned out from behind it.  

“Oh, isn’t this that shop down the street?” Ootsuki asked, glancing up. 

He stopped cold.  Fukuda’s warm brown skin was suddenly ash-gray, and he was staring at the tickets like they were vipers poised to strike.  

“I don’t...remember these,” he whispered. 

“It’s okay!” Ootsuki said quickly.  He wasn’t sure why the coupons had unsettled Fukuda so deeply, but the look on his face was unbearable.  He yanked them out of Fukuda’s grip. 

“Wait, wait -”

“They’re just coupons!” Ootsuki said, holding the coupons well out of sight.  “Look!  I’ll just throw them away - oh.”

“‘Oh’?” Fukuda said, his face practically slate gray.  “O-Ootsuki, quickly, those tickets might be from -”

“From ‘Shou’?” Ootsuki asked drily, holding them up.  The silvery foil on the back of the coupons was covered in thick red scrawl.

Yo, Ootsuki!  Thanks for looking after Fukuda.  Take him for a walk, wouldja?  Have a cup of coffee, my treat!  - Shou

Immediately Fukuda’s shoulders slumped and color flooded into his face.  “Oh thank goodness.  It’s just Shou.”

Yes, pegging you like the lost puppy you are, Ootsuki thought.  Aloud he said, “I guess you’d like to have these back then?”

“They seem to be addressed to you,” Fukuda said.  “Would you want to go?  I feel really silly for reacting like that, and I’d like to make it up to you.  Do you like the Golden Bean?” 

Ootsuki shrugged.  “I’ve never been there.” 

“You’ve nev - you work five minutes away!” 

“The streets are crowded,” Ootsuki protested, but it sounded lame even to his own ears.  

Fukuda’s lips twitched like he was hiding a smile.  “I’m big enough to make a path for us.  Please?”

It was that unbearable puppy dog look that did him in.  Ootsuki found himself locking up the shop and heading out into the street behind Fukuda.  At least he was right - his bulk really did carve an easier path. 

The Golden Bean, however, was even worse.  It was easily three times as crowded.  People kept bumping Ootsuki and hitting his hands and he was about five seconds from bolting, self-conscious anxiety or not.  

Fukuda, oblivious, looped an arm through Ootsuki’s and somehow stepped right up to the counter.   

“What do you want to order?” Fukuda yelled cheerfully over the noise. 

Ootsuki looked at the menu, which was the size of a billboard and crammed with 12-pt font.

“Are you kidding?” he gasped out.  

Fukuda grinned, turned to the cashier, and shouted something else.  Somehow Fukuda managed to place an order, grab their cups, and find the last table left, in a little corner of the shop where the noise was down to a dull roar.  

“I am convinced this is your Quirk,” Ootsuki said, practically collapsing into his chair.  

“What, ordering coffee?” 

“Finding tables in this madhouse!” 

“It comes from having to keep a sharp eye out.”  Before Ootsuki could ask what that meant, Fukuda passed him his coffee.  “Here, drink.  You’re looking a little pale.” 

“I’m not used to dealing with people,” he said faintly. 

“But you work in one of the busiest streets of the city.” 

“Most of the people stay outside my shop.  Being near people is one thing, interacting is another.  I get nervous when people are really close to me.”

“Oh.”  Something in Fukuda’s tone made Ootsuki look up.  He was staring at Ootsuki’s hands again, and there was something behind his eyes that made Ootsuki remember how big he was.  “Ootsuki, is someone...hurting you?”

“What?  No!”

“Because if they are, I’d really like to do something about it.”

“They’re not, no one is, I promise,” Ootsuki said, barely managing to keep his hands above the table.  “Look, the scars are my fault.  I couldn’t control my quirk when I was younger.  I can channel kinetic energy through thin, flexible objects.  Plastic works, but paper is best, and school was full of paper.  Every time I picked up a piece of homework or a quiz…”  He gestured, indicating an explosion.  “It made school interesting, I'll say that much.”

Fukuda stared at him. “But you work with paper.”

“I learned to control it.”

“You saw a quirk counselor?” 

“Er...no…”  He shifted in his seat.  “When I was little, we had a neighbor three apartments over who liked origami. He’d make tigers or cranes and blow into them.  They’d come to life, just for a day or two, and he’d leave them out for other kids in the complex to play with.”

Fukuda’s face lit up. “That's amazing! So he taught you origami, too?”

Ootsuki fidgeted anxiously with a napkin. “No.  I thought it would be fun to blow his tigers up. I'm not like that anymore!” he added quickly.  Fukuda’s shock made his guts twist.  “I thought choosing not to control my quirk was easier than admitting I couldn’t.  I pretended it was funny.  So one day I blew his tigers up, and then I turned around and - and saw him standing there.  I saw his face.  And after that it wasn’t funny anymore.”

“Ootsuki...”

He ducked his head. “I avoided him for months. Then I got it into my head that if I could put the tigers back, everything would be alright. So I got a book on origami and a bunch of paper and practiced.  Even with homework.  Before I’d moved it around with erasers, but now I actively tried to manage it all the time, because if I didn’t, I couldn’t make the tigers.  When I was done, my hands looked like this and I had a dozen or so crappy tigers lined up in the courtyard.”

“And? What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Ootsuki said quietly. “He wasn't there anymore. He moved away. I was a coward for so long that I never got the chance to apologize.”

“And I think a kind person like that would have been happy with the gift you made for him.”

“It wasn't a gift. They weren't even all that good.”

“I beg to differ.”

Fukuda caught Ootsuki's wrist and he looked down, startled. He'd been folding a napkin into a paper tiger without realizing it, and he'd been about to rip it in half.

“It's quite good,” Fukuda said. “And one more thing.  I don’t think you’re a coward, Ootsuki.”

“I literally hide behind my bangs,” he said flatly. 

“You came to coffee with me,” Fukuda countered.

“That was just because -”  He stopped short, flushing.  He wasn’t about to mention that obnoxious puppy dog face.  Mostly because Fukuda was doing it right now. 

“You’re braver than you think you are,” Fukuda said.  “And I’m taking this to keep as proof.” 

He plucked the tiger from Ootsuki’s hand and tucked it safely into his bag. 

 Fukuda came back two days later, and again two days after that. He said it was because Shou's mother had more orders, but Ootsuki secretly suspected that Shou himself was responsible. He was probably the littlest bit annoyed with being watched like a hawk for stubbed toes and sent Fukuda off for two straight hours of peace.

Ootsuki didn't mind.

Fukuda, meanwhile, seem to have extended his overprotectiveness to Ootsuki, and was frequently checking to make sure he didn't have any fresh paper cuts, got eight hours of sleep a night, and took breaks from drawing so he wouldn't strain his eyes.

Ootsuki didn't mind that, either.

The two of them took to buying coffee and walking around to look at all the shops.  Once in a while Fukuda saw a window display for a fluffy sweater and just had to have it, and Ootsuki bought a new halogen lamp for his desk.  Fukuda finally got Ootsuki hooked on pistachio-flavored coffee, which Ootsuki hadn’t even known existed (and wasn’t convinced that it should).  

Two weeks into their coffee tradition, Ootsuki was hanging a new sparrow sculpture when he heard the door open behind him. 

“You’re early,” he said, turning.  Then he stopped short.  “What happened?” 

Fukuda was standing in the doorway, face pale, hands shaking at his sides, clothes rumpled like he hadn’t slept for days.  He was looking around the shop like he didn’t even see it.  

Ootsuki jumped off the stepstool and hurried over.  “Are you alright?  Are you injured anywhere?” 

“Huh?  No, I...no…”

“You look like hell!”

Fukuda laughed weakly, but it wasn’t a joke, and they both knew it.  “Sorry.  I’m, uh, I had a rough day.  Should we get going?”

“Now?  Like this?” 

“I really will be fine after some tea.  Or something.”

Ootsuki hesitated, thinking.  “Alright,” he said slowly.  “But it’s getting kind of cool out.  Come on back, I need to grab my jacket.” 

“Sure.”

Ootsuki headed for the back of the shop - without letting go of Fukuda’s hand.  He trailed along after him like an oversized puppy.  Ootsuki reached the employee’s door and pushed it open.  He even got a few feet inside before Fukuda drew up short. 

“I-I’m sorry for intruding,” he stammered.  “I didn’t know you lived back here.” 

Ootsuki had converted the back room into a one-room apartment.  There was a western-style bed on the right, a table in the center, and a kitchenette on the left, with the bathroom door in the back left corner.  Most of his expendable income had gone into a TV and game system set up next to the bed.  The place was spare but functional.

He shrugged.  “My budget’s pretty modest, and anyway I don’t see the point in buying a second place just for a bed and a bad commute.”

Fukuda’s lips twitched.  “You do have a point.” 

“Sit down anywhere, I’ll just be a second.”

Ootsuki went to the kitchenette and Fukuda sat down at the table.  A few copies of Ootsuki’s best works hung on the walls, and Fukuda was looking at the cityscape one with interest.  Then he blinked and seemed to come back to himself again.  “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Ootsuki turned around, a mug in each hand.  “Making tea.”

“You didn’t have to,” Fukuda said weakly. 

“It’s just instant tea, nothing fancy.”

“We were gonna get coffee.”

“Next time.”  He set the mug down.  “Sit.  Drink.  Breathe.” 

Fukuda obeyed while Ootsuki grabbed the quilt from his bed.  He sat down next to Fukuda so their legs were touching and wrapped the blanket around their shoulders.  

“Let me know if this bothers you, but sometimes pressure helps me calm down.” 

“I’m the same,” Fukuda murmured.  “When it’s someone like you.”

Ootsuki’s face felt as hot as the tea.  “Okay.  Um.  Anime.  I mean - let’s put on an anime or something.  Or not.  Or we can talk if you want.  Or not.”  Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking.

“Anything is fine.” Fukuda lowered his mug to the table, eyes down.  “You really didn’t have to do this.”

Ootsuki rolled his eyes.  “Pretty sure I did.  You worry a lot about other people, Fukuda, but not enough about yourself.”

Fukuda gave a tiny smile.  “You know, in your own way, you're nearly as stubborn as Shou.”

“Your boss?”

“And longtime friend. We met doing underground hero work.”

“Ah,” Ootsuki said.  Then the words sank into his brain. “Wait, what? Underground heroes? How is he an underground hero with that bright red hai – I'm sorry did you say you're a hero?!”

“Yes?” Fukuda glanced up, eyes twinkling. “Is it that much of a surprise?”

“I mean – you're so – lost puppy –”

“I'm a what now?”

“Mild-mannered! Is what I meant to say!”

“Yes, I'm a hero,” Fukuda said, grinning.  He had absolutely heard the puppy comment. “My healing quirk isn't particularly useful for offense, but it's invaluable as backup for the others in our agency.”

“I can imagine,” Ootsuki managed. Fukuda didn't fit Ootsuki's image of a hero at all. Fukuda wore fluffy sweaters and an open expression and exuded the kind of warm calm people normally associated with a good cup of hot chocolate.  Being a “hero” seemed to involve more exaggerated muscle development, primary colors and...teeth?

Fukuda chuckled as if he could read Ootsuki’s thoughts. “That's exactly why I'm so useful as an underground hero. I know how to dress and act a certain way.  How to give off a certain impression or persona. If you drop me in the middle of a city anywhere in Japan, I could disappear in an hour and never be found. I mostly work on organizational crimes, but sometimes I get asked to pursue missing person's cases.”

“Missing...but don't kidnapped people usually end up –”

“Yes,” Fukuda said.  His voice was low and his shoulders were trembling.  Ootsuki wrapped him in a hug.

“It must be hard,” Ootsuki said quietly. 

Fukuda leaned into him, eyes cast down.  “I can - I can usually find them in time.  And heal them.  I’m very, very good at both.  But Shou - there’s a man we’ve been tracking - you’ve seen the rash of missing people in the news?”

“I think so,” Ootsuki said slowly.  It sounded vaguely familiar. 

“The man we’re tracking is responsible, and today we found one of his facilities.  They’d known we were coming and abandoned the place.  But we found evidence of some of the missing people, and the - the Quirk research they were doing -”

His voice broke.  Ootsuki rubbed his back in small, slow circles.  “I can’t even imagine what it’s that’s like,” Ootsuki said softly.  He wished he had something better to say.  “I guess this explains why you were so scared when we found Shou’s coupons in your bag.”

Fukuda rubbed at his eyes with one hand.  “I’ve been wondering lately if I’m being tracked.  One of the man’s top followers is very good at electronic spying.  We’re closer to finding them every day, and I think they’re finally feeling the pressure.  We’re going to have to face them soon.”

“Shou doesn’t seem like the type of person to lose,” Ootsuki said. 

“He’s not.  He really doesn’t need my help most of the time.  But with the man we’re tracking, he will.  Soon.  Even then we might not be enough to beat him.  I have to make sure he’s at the top of his game.  If I don’t, if he’s even a little bit tired, a little bit slow, if I’m not enough, then he might – he might actually –”

Fukuda folded into himself.  Ootsuki pulled him gently so that Fukuda was leaning into him, head just below Ootsuki’s chin.  He knew there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do.  For the first time he wished he knew how to use his quirk for something...more.  His heart ached. 

When Fukuda was calmer, they drank their tea and quietly watched anime movies on Ootsuki’s cell phone.  Ootsuki pulled the blanket off his bed and wrapped them up in it, shoulder to shoulder.  They stayed like that, pressed together in quiet, comforting warmth, for a long time.  

 It was two minutes past coffee time. 

Ootsuki sat at his desk, trying not to fidget.  He glanced out the window.  Back to his desk.  Back to the window.  Then he got up and looked down the street, shoving his face between the kimonos, trying to peer through the crowd.  Five minutes past coffee time.  Still no Fukuda.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket.  

Fukuda picked up on the second ring.  “Yes?” 

“You’re late.”

“I’m five minutes late,” Fukuda said, and Ootsuki could hear the smile in his voice.  “I’m rubbing off on you.  You didn’t worry so much last week.” 

“Last week I didn’t know that you regularly risk your life for a living,” Ootsuki retorted.  

Fukuda laughed.  They’d texted a few times since the last time he came over, but it wasn’t the same.  Ootsuki was glad to hear him back to his usual self.  

“You’re almost here?” he asked. 

“Yes, yes, I’m almost there.  You can probably see me from your window.  Look.” 

Ootsuki looked.  An arm in a fluffy green sweater sprouted from the crowd three stores down, waving. 

“You look like a bean sprout,” Ootsuki told him, just to hear him laugh again.  “Alright, alright, I’m hanging up.  But you owe me coffee for making me worry.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

Ootsuki pocketed the phone and realized he was smiling.  A new coffee shop had opened next to the Golden Bean.  There was a semi-playful war between the two on which was better.  Even the music on the street speakers was interrupted with updates on which shop had gotten more likes on Facebrick.  Ootsuki and Fukuda both thought it was hilarious. 

And Ootsuki wanted to try the new shop.  More specifically, he wanted to try it with Fukuda.   

His friend’s face finally came into view, swimming toward him in the crowd.  Ootsuki’s grin widened and he turned for the door. 

Suddenly the street speakers screeched.  The sound was so loud Ootsuki felt it in his teeth.  He jerked badly and people outside shouted in pain and surprise.  

Then the security gates on every shop came slamming down. 

“HEY!” 

Ootsuki flung himself at his door.  The bars were on the outside, but Ootsuki couldn’t even get to them; the door had locked and wouldn’t open.  He heard screams and saw that some people had been crushed under the gates and were struggling to get free.  The electronic store across the street had a safety gate that swung down like a garage door, and it had someone pinned by her shoulder.  Fukuda was already cutting through the fleeing crowd, hand outstretched and glowing.  Ootsuki took a shuddering breath.  That’s right, Fukuda was a hero, he could help – 

“AH-AH-AH,” tutted a voice from the speakers. 

The electronics shop exploded.  Every single device inside suddenly burst through the windows, walls, and ceiling.  Fukuda dove right into the falling shards, shielding the pinned woman.  Pipes and cables ripped up from the street.  The electronic devices whizzed toward them and the wires and metal wrapped around them, rising up to form a many-tentacled octopus shape.  A multitude of cables coiled and writhed ceaselessly around a bulbous conglomerate of tech, studded with cameras that blinked in every direction and crowned with three flat screen TVs.  The screens flashed to life, showing a composite view of a pale man in square-framed glasses. . 

Fukuda snarled.  “Hatori!”

“You really made it too easy to find you,” Hatori sneered.  “For an underground hero, it’s surprising that you’d risk falling into a routine.”

Ootsuki sucked in a breath.  The electronic spy!  Fukuda was right, they’d been watching, they knew he’d been meeting with Ootsuki every week!

Fukuda’s hand plunged into his bag.  Immediately Hatori’s cables lashed out, striking Fukuda’s chest so hard Ootsuki could hear an audible crack from across the street.  He flew through the air until he hit a telephone pole and the cables immediately caught him, ripping his bag from his shoulder and lifting him into the air. 

“Fukuda!” Ootsuki slams his palms against the glass, desperate.  Kinetic energy vibrated painfully through his wrists and the glass buzzed but didn’t break.  No, no, the villain had him, it was going to kill him!

He backed up and a hanging sculpture hit his head.  All that paper – but he wasn’t a hero, he had to call the police, had to get help – 

“Rats are really more trouble than they’re worth to keep around,” Hatori said, smirking.  Fukuda gave an airless scream, and Ootsuki heard a terrible, organic pop. 

The cables were squeezing. 

“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

He wasn’t sure how it had happened.  He’d been standing in his shop, frozen in horror, and then he was outside and his arm was moving in slow-motion and the paper fan he was holding cut clean through the cables holding Fukuda. 

Fukuda hit the ground with a gasp, still wrapped in the metal coils, but his eyes were on something past Ootsuki.  Immediately he turned and swung the paper.  Again time skipped and there were stripped wires and computer bits littering the street in a circular blast radius, and Hatori’s metal octopus was hissing and stitching three of its limbs back together with angry clanks.  

“Not another one!” Hatori snapped, face red.  “Why – are – there – heroes – everywhere?!”

“Ootsuki!” Fukuda gasped. 

Cables reared up behind the octopus and struck like snakes.  Ootsuki tried to dodge but his legs were frozen.  Fukuda tackled him and they went rolling seconds before electrified prongs gored them to the street.  Fukuda grabbed a metal trash can and flung it hard.  Ootsuki winced when he heard the noise Fukuda’s chest made, but the trash can slammed down on the prongs with extra force and it lodged in the asphalt.  The two of them ducked into a narrow alley.  

“The hell do you think you’re doing?!” Hatori demanded.  

“I don’t know, I don’t know, my body just moved!  What do we do?!” 

“I need my bag, you stay here!” 

“Somehow I don’t think he’ll let me!” 

“Correct!” 

Ootsuki shrieked and flung his arm up right before a huge muscled octopus limb came sweeping down on them.  The blast broke it in two and they darted out of the alley.  Fukuda grabbed a loose bit of the broken limb and jammed it into another tentacle as they ran, forcing it back.  Ootsuki sent two more blasts at the tentacles darting into Fukuda’s blind spots and they sprinted out of range.  

 Hatori snarled.  “Hold still already!”

“No thanks!” 

The street was almost empty of shoppers except for the few who had been pinned or those trying to help them.  Ootsuki saw the moment Hatori caught sight of two teenagers wedged in a clothing shop entrance.  Something blazed in his chest and he slammed the fan down through the air, again and again, actually forcing Hatori back.  

“Agh!  Little freak!” 

“Ootsuki, your hands!” 

He glanced down.  He saw the red dripping down his fingers and wrist but couldn’t feel the pain or even the wetness.  

“Forget it, get the bag!” 

“But – you – fine, just don’t die!” He turned and sprinted down the street, where his bag was sticking out from under someone’s discarded shopping bag.  Ootsuki darted forward, scooped a handful of receipts off the ground and hurled them.  The paper burst into confetti and was immediately attracted by the static cling of the TVs, blocking out all the video cameras facing their way.  Hatori shouted with rage.  

Ootsuki stumbled back, gasping.  He was starting to feel the pain now.  His hands were shaking and blood dripped from his skin, under his fingernails.  He knew he’d cracked his bones because he suddenly knew exactly where they were in both hands.  

He turned and sprinted for Fukuda, who was desperately hunting through his bag. 

“Where is it, where is it, where is it,” he muttered. 

“What are you looking for?” 

“The EMP gun.  Small, black, yellow tape – I know I packed it, I definitely grabbed it off the counter –”

“THERE YOU ARE!” 

Something sharp and hard slammed into the side of Ootsuki’s head.  He hit the ground.  The drone that had hit him banked hard and circled, two more joining it.  Ootsuki realized his hands were empty and rolled away before their blades could slice his arms.  Fukuda had done the same, but his broken ribs had hampered his movement and a lucky hit had knocked him flat.  Immediately a cable burst out of the ground and bound him tight. 

Ootsuki’s hand plunged into Fukuda’s bag and pulled out what he’d hoped he would find - his little leatherbound book.  He tore out a dozen pages and struck, kinetic energy blasting the drones away.  

He’d forgotten the octopus, though, and just as he made to cut Fukuda loose a cable came out of nowhere and slammed him in the stomach.  

He lost time in a daze of gray and yellow pain until sharp hit his shoulder and he fell to his knees with a cry.  His vision slowly cleared. 

The drone that had been aiming for his shoulder had switched off at the last second and now lay cracked and silent on the ground.  The other drones hit the ground beside him, and the cable that had been whipping out to grab him suddenly collapsed on the asphalt, limp, live wires still sparking at its tip.  

Fukuda was standing in front of him, a small, buzzing gadget the size of a cell phone in his raised fist. 

Hatori’s octopus spasmed and flailed.  Chunks of machinery were already falling off.  For a second Hatori looked livid, but then his face twisted in a vicious sneer and an octopus leg sliced clean through the whole front wall of a restaurant, peeling it away from the building like a slice of cake.  The people inside screamed.  Ootsuki readied his fan, but apparently that had been the most Hatori could do.  The TV screens distorted to static and went black.  With a final, ear-splitting shriek of tearing metal, the octopus slumped over, dead. 

Ootsuki hadn’t realized he was about to join it until Fukuda grabbed his shoulder to keep him upright.  The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds, breathing hard. 

“You,” Ootsuki said finally, “are going to owe me so many coffees after this.”

“You can have them after I murder you for jumping into the line of fire,” Fukuda said.  But there wasn’t any venom in his voice, and his eyes had the puppy dog look cranked up to eleven.  “What were you even thinking?!  You have zero battle experience, and that guy was - villains aren’t a video game, Ootsuki!  He would have actually murdered you!”

He ducked his head.  “Sorry.” 

“Don’t - don’t apologize, just -”

“Hero-san!” called a voice.  It was one of the teenagers Hatori had almost attacked.  They were in the store right next to the restaurant, and it looked like he’d managed to squeeze himself out, but his companion had a thick river of blood running down their face that Ootsuki hadn’t noticed before.  “Hero-san, I - please help him - ” 

“Coming,” Fukuda called immediately.  “And stay put, Ootsuki, you’re next.” 

“Not going anywhere ‘till I get my coffee.” 

Fukuda shot him a look, part concern, part exasperation, then turned to help the teenager.  

Ootsuki leaned on a trashcan, catching his breath.  His hands hurt.  He was trying to avoid looking at them because he was pretty sure they were fractured and he’d pass out if he saw it.  

It had felt...strange, to be out on the battlefield like that.  Not natural, not exactly, but like he had fit perfectly into place.  As if the universe had simply been waiting for him to do it and the response was simply, “Of course.” 

Shock gave people such weird thoughts.  He shook his head and looked around.  Little shreds of torn paper drifted through the air, like scattered snowfall.  Bits of computer modems and gaming consoles covered the street, torn open, their silicon circuits glittering in the sun.  The security gates had retracted.  Some of the trapped shoppers were cautiously poking their heads out of the buildings, checking that it was safe.  It wasn’t; there were a lot of live wires sticking out of the ground and the octopus carcass, throwing sparks.  

It didn’t smell all that great, either.  His senses were still sharp from all the adrenaline pouring through him.  He could smell the burned plastic from the machines and the ozone of the sparking wires.  He could even smell something odd from the restaurant Hatori had sliced open.  Something burning?  

He looked closer.  A dark shape was sticking out of the wall.  It looked like a pipe with a little yellow sticker on it.  

Gas. 

He saw everything in perfect clarity.  The brilliance of the sky, so bright blue it looked painted by a child.  The shadow of Fukuda’s back, the exact way his head turned when he smelled it too.  The hot metal of the trash can under Ootsuki’s broken fingers.  And floating gently past, torn free from that little book by the explosions, a napkin folded like a tiger. 

He grabbed it and slashed with everything he had. 

The blast he made created a huge vacuum down the middle of the street, sucking away the explosion and heat and gas.  Hot blades drove up the bones in Ootsuki’s arms, splitting them in half.  Blazing pain seared his brain.  Sound warped and distorted like it was coming from underwater.  He thought he heard someone screaming, realized it was himself.  

He was on the ground.  His arms were on fire.  They had to be on fire.  They hurt so badly.  Shadows were moving over him.  One of them reached out to him, familiar, calling his name, but before he could answer more shadows came down like a curtain and he sank into the heavy black. 

 Ootsuki woke up slowly.  He was lying on a bed that crinkled loudly whenever he existed, and the ceiling was styrofoam-white.  The smell of rubber and cleaner filled his nostrils. A hospital.  

“I guess it’s nice that I survived,” he mused aloud.  

“Gee, you think?” 

“Fukuda!” 

He bolted upright.  Fukuda was sitting on a chair next to him, a book on his lap.  He smiled and put a warm hand on Ootsuki’s arm.  “Relax, the doctors saw you but you’re still going to be pretty tired.” 

“You’re okay!” 

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, but how are your hands?” 

“My - oh…”

He held them up.  The last thing he remembered, they were bleeding like crazy and felt like he’d fractured every bone in his fingers.  Now they looked perfectly fine.  In fact…

“No scars?  They’re gone?”

Fukuda looked apologetic.  “You, er.  Sort of blasted most of your skin off.  So when I healed it, all the skin grew back more or less uniform.  I hope you don’t mind.  We’re mostly here because it’s standard procedure to bring someone to the hospital just in case there’s something a field medic missed.”

“But you’re okay?” Ootsuki asked again, searching his face.  “Last time I saw you, you were covered in blood and I think your rib had broken.” 

He grimaced.  “Ribs, plural.  But I promise I’m okay.  I just - the way you nearly got killed - ”  He broke off, shaking his head.  “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I...I guess so?”  He looked around, trying to distract himself.  It wasn’t just a hospital room, it was a private room, with a flatscreen TV, a vase of fresh flowers, and a window with a panoramic view of the city. “I can’t afford all this.” 

“Don’t worry, heroes get free private rooms.” 

“I’m not a hero.” 

“I don’t see why not,” said a voice from the door.  They looked up as Shou phased through the doorway, a tray of hospital goop in his hands.  “Whoops, almost lost the Jell-O.  I pulled a few strings and got you a temporary hero’s license about thirty minutes after the whole Hatori thing.  So technically you’re a hero for the next three months.  Welcome to my agency.” 

“I-I’m not a hero!” 

Shou raised an eyebrow.  “Again, I don’t see why not.  How do you feel?  I’m not asking about your physical state.  Do you feel horrified, apathetic, jittery - or do you feel like you’re ready to do it all over again?” 

Ootsuki blinked a few times.  “The second one, I guess.  How did you…?”  

He nodded.  “I saw the fight.  You got thrashed because you’re a total noob, but you have good reflexes and use your quirk in creative ways.  My agency could use you.  And Fukuda’s obsessed with you now and not me, which is a plus.” 

“Shou!” Fukuda protested.  “I’m not obsessed with him -”

“You use the first sweater he ever bought you for ‘emergency hugs’ and set his picture as the background on your phone.  Besides,” Shou continued cheerfully over Fukuda’s sputtering, “Hero work pays well.  Unless you have another source of income I don’t know about, because your shop is basically gravel.”

“What?!” 

He leaped for the TV remote and flipped channels frantically.  He found the evening news and, there in the background, was his shop - or rather, a lot of vacant air and broken plaster where his shop used to be.  He could still see a few strips of paper fluttering through the air. 

“Oh, no no no no no,” he moaned.  “Everything I owned was in that shop!” 

“Everything?” Shou asked curiously.  

“He lived in the storeroom at the back,” Fukuda explained.  

Ootsuki dragged a hand down his face.  “I have a little money saved up, but I’ll need that for food and inventory until my insurance kicks in.” 

“I have an extra bedroom,” Fukuda said.  “I mean - it could be only temporary, if you like.  And only if you’re comfortable with it.  I have about three bonuses I haven’t even used yet, we could buy furniture or paper or anything you’d need.” 

Shou made a muffled-sounding squeak. 

“What,” Fukuda said flatly. 

“You two are actually sharing an apartment?” Shou asked. 

Ootsuki turned red.  “I - I guess you could say that?  We never really - I

Shou was grinning like a cat that had drunk half the cream and intentionally spilled the rest.  “So, to be clear.  You met by chance, had a coffee shop AU side story, fought a villain, and then…”

“Don’t you dare,” Fukuda warned.   

Shou was grinning from ear to ear. 

“And then they were roommates,” he whispered.

Then he phased through the door, laughing, dodging pillows from two very red-faced heroes.