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fuwahua · 2 years ago

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Familiar Faces

Ship: Zhongli/Childe

WC: 3677

Summary: Fluff. Zhongli picks up a doll that resembles his hubby in more ways than one!

Much Belated present for @ticklystuff for 300 followers!! Thank you for your glorious fics I love them ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

The first time Zhongli sees the doll, it hardly seems of any importance.

Granny Shan does an excellent job of filling her toy store for every child’s whimsy and merriment: her shop is always well-stocked with broad, colorful kites for the summer and hand-carved shovels and buckets for the winter snow. A collection of painted fans, glassy charms, and knitted dolls are a common sight at her stand.

It’s not that the doll is ugly, rather, it’s simple color scheme and small shape had it blending in with the bright bursts of colors and textures offered by the rest of her wares. His eyes had roamed over it as Granny Shan greeted him, gesturing to her more expensive display of clay figures and expensive shells woven into wind chimes, and it had simply faded from his mind.

The second time, however, he realized that this particular doll is quite different from the rest.

“Isn’t that one cute?” Childe’s voice warbled in his ear, bright and cheery, as hands pinched at his waistline teasingly. Zhongli flinched away from the attack, eye twitching, though he obliged to look.

A small doll, little bigger than the palm of his hand, with exaggeratedly rounded features. A large, almost comically oversized head complete with orange felt hair and dull blue eyes embroidered onto the fabric greeted him. On closer inspection, Zhongli noticed that the doll’s chubby body was decorated with gray fabric.

His eyes trailed from the doll to Childe for a moment before he chuckled. “Ah, I see why you like it.”

“Right? Tonia would love it!”

Much to his surprise, Childe reached out not for the grey doll but instead a far more intricate one sitting besides it, with long black yarn locks and a simply fashioned silk hanfu dress. Childe grinned as he ran his hands over it, feeling the fabric. “She really liked the ones last time, and this one looks like it can handle some wear and tear.”

“That one is rather charming,” Zhongli admitted, though his eyes return to the doll he’d been staring at before. “However, wouldn’t you say this one is just as pleasing?”

His fingers closed around the dolls body to pick it up, curiously following Childe’s previous movements of pressing down on the fabric body to ascertain its quality. It felt plush, well-stuffed, and gave under his fingers with ease.

“A-Ah! W-whaha?”

“Childe?”

Zhongli nearly dropped the doll in surprise at his partners sudden shout. Childe’s shoulders scrunched up to his ears, visibly red, with one hand clamped around his mouth. Zhongli abandoned the toy to approach him, laying the back of his hand against Childe’s cheek. Warm.

“Are you alright? Perhaps we should retire to some shade,” Zhongli said. Childe took a moment before his hand dropped, though he still looked bewildered. As though somehow, within the mere two seconds Zhongli looked away, he’d been spooked by something.

Yet he felt nothing in the air. No Adeptal powers nor Abyssal presence. Zhongli frowned, then tempted to draw onto his geo power to check through the land but Childe recovered before he could.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Probably just been under the heat too long,” Childe said. He put the doll back down. “I’ll be back for that, Granny Shan! Keep it safe for me!”

She laughed at him, waving them both away. “Of course! I’ll see you both soon!”

It didn’t take long for them to retire to Wanmin for shade and food. Between an exaggerated story of Childe’s making about a debt collection gone wrong (“A hilichurls stole his mora, can you believe it!? I thought he was making it up but then I chased them down to a camp and they were just stockpiling these bags of mora in crates for some reason!”) and his own tales brought forth by the rich scent of Xiangling’s Adepti Temptation (“Have I ever told you about the origin of this soup?” “Yeah, but I’d like to hear it again.” “Of course, well…”), Zhongli found himself quickly preoccupied with other things.

Yet he finds himself at Granny Shan’s store the very next day. There, still standing in the same spot, is the familiar felt friend.

“Oh? Alone today, Zhongli?” Granny Shan greets. He hums, noncommittal; he’s long grown used to the merchant's gentle probing whenever he arrives at their stores alone. This time, however, he’d triple checked his wallet before arriving.

His hands close around the doll again as his chest squeezes tight. How could he simply dismiss the toy the first time? Indeed, the stitching of the hair and clothing is minimal, one may even say slightly childlike in its unevenness, but the colors and the detail work is charming. Cheerful and familiar.

It looks a remarkable lot like Childe.

Zhongli feels a smile pull at his lips as he affectionately pats the doll’s head. Childe seldom allows him to do so, often pulling away while whining that he’s not a child. Yet, within minutes, he’d always find his arms occupied once more with a clingy Harbinger looking for affection.

His fingers skate down the doll's body, curious. The gray top is sewn to the dolls head, meaning it cannot be removed entirely, but, similarly to Childe’s shirt, it can be opened nearly entirely to reveal flesh colored felt beneath. He pokes at the small blue heart embroidered onto the doll’s stomach. The fabric gives away easily under his finger, almost bouncing back once he retreats, and he pokes it thrice more before tucking the doll’s shirt back down.

“Oh?”

A curious noise escapes him as he stares at the doll’s face. He could have sworn that the eyes that stared up at him before were merely blank, the doll’s mouth a thin line (it had no nose, but he would not spurn Granny Shan for forgoing a simple detail on such a small piece). Now, however, the eyes appeared to almost crinkle at the ends, the mouth curved in a tiny smile.

He must have remembered wrong even if it’s hard for him to believe. How could he forget such an adorable expression?

Zhongli smiles back at the doll, completely won over by its charm. What a delightful toy.

“Granny Shan, I’ll take this one.”

There were few things that could sneak up on Tartaglia, eleventh of the eleven Harbingers, Her Majesty The Tsarita’s Vanguard, part-time Abyssal Herald. Those who could amounted to pretty much the other Harbingers, Her Majesty herself, and perhaps the other Archons.

But somehow, he must have been ambushed and poisoned. There was no other explanation for—

“W-waihahahahat! No, nohahahahaha not there!”

The sudden tickling sensations that would crawl up his body.

Childe slammed his hands over his mouth again as he bent over feebly to protect himself from the invisible perpetrator. Nearly an entire day in his office, forced to do paperwork by Ekaterina after she’d lectured him for half an hour straight on the overdue documentation due to the Qixing, most of which he’d been distracted.

Not even of his own doing! He could cry if not for the laughter freely flowing from his lips, yelping when the sensation drew in closer to his navel again.

“Eeek, coohohohome ohahahahahan!”

Whoever had ambushed him clearly knew him well. Childe’s eyes scrunched up as he barely bit back a shriek as the fingers dipped into his belly button, mercilessly wriggling around despite how he clawed at his stomach to dislodge them. It was, of course, pretty much useless.

Yes, that’s right. No matter how he thrashed or protested, the feeling didn’t go away. Mostly because despite him swearing that it felt like long fingers making their way up and down his torso, every time he opened his eyes he’d find nothing. No hands, no floating fingers, and no marks on his body where nails would be.

What was the strangest possible thing, however, is that the moment he’d begin to feel overwhelmed, the tickling would stop. And it wouldn’t start up again, despite how paranoid he was about it, until he was back to being bored to death doing paperwork.

It was almost as though the weird thing harassing him knew how he felt at any given time. Only, instead of giving him a fight to distract him, it opted to tickle him instead.

“Haha… ahh… what is happening?”

Childe collapses with a groan as the sensation faded, rubbing at his stomach and, again, sees absolutely no sign of anything on his skin.

He had to have gone stir crazy. He stares at the remaining paperwork on his desk, a tower high enough to scare most men, and sighs.

Maybe Ekaterina would let him bring it home.

“I’m back!”

“You’re home early.”

“What, you didn’t miss me?”

“I ached every moment we were apart,” Zhongli chuckles as Childe flushes charmingly at his words. Despite the others fondness for teasing him with such quips, he’d never quite been able to handle Zhongli returning his affection in kind. Surely he’d simply have to continue spoiling Childe until he would. “Of course I missed you.”

“You tease,” Childe accuses with no heat. He kicks off his shoes before stumbling into Zhongli’s arms, sighing happily.

“I’ve hardly done anything.”

“That’s why you’re a tease.”

“I highly doubt—A-Ajax!” Zhongli trembles as fingers begin to prod at his side, a now familiar sensation. Childe so often loved his tickle fights and his most frequent target these days was his lover. “Stahahap!”

“I don’t know,” Childe groans, drawing out the word as though painful despite how his fingers quicken their way downward. Zhongli’s giggles kick up a pitch as he squirms, hands catching Childe’s wrists before they can descend onto his hips. “It’s been a long day and I could really use some relaxing.”

“B-by tihahahahcklihihng mehehehe?”

“Yep!”

Incorrigible. Zhongli shakes his head as Childe presses forward. Truthfully, he could simply pry off Ajax’s hands with his superior strength, but playing like this always leaves Childe in a better mood. He does hunch however as the fingers nearly make it to his hip, only to bump into something.

Childe’s fingers still, surprise written all over his face before he grins. Cute, Zhongli thinks, staring as Childe pulls half away with a raised brow.

“Huh? Are you that happy to see me or something?”

“Wha… oh! Yes, well, I am, but no. I’d almost forgotten.”

Zhongli’s tickling-induced smile melts into something softer as he removes the doll from his pocket. Its rounded face is as sweet as before and he barely resists the urge to pinch its cheek.

“I saw this doll yesterday at Granny Shan’s store and was simply enamored by it. Don’t you think Nuitaru is adorable?”

“Nu-what?” Childe echoes. He squints at the doll. “You wanted this one? Not, like, something covered in lace or embroidered with five hundred year old threads? Or, oh, the felt is imported from Fontaine and the threads from Mondstadt, right?”

Were he a lesser man, Zhongli would roll his eyes hard enough to split Liyue. Instead he accepts Childe’s poorly disguised criticism with grace while cupping his hands around the doll almost protectively. “Nuitaru. He looks like you, does he not?”

Childe does not look convinced. He sighs, angling the doll this way and that, until he swivels its face back into his view.

“Ah, I have yet to show you the magic of this toy. There is a hidden charm, you see.” Though still skeptic, Childe’s expression smoothes out in curiosity as Zhongli cradles the toy. How could he have forgotten?

Matching dull blue eyes stare up at him, one pair Childe’s and one pair Nuitaru. He lifts the shirt of the doll, ignoring Childe’s mock gasp of how scandalous, to point at the small blue heart embroidered.

“This doll has a special function to change its expression! It already is lovely,” Zhongli huffs as Childe rolls his eyes, “but it will smile if you touch this heart repeatedly. Like so.”

He brushes his finger against the blue heart, gently swiveling around the shape, just as Childe screeches in his ear.

“WahAHAHAIT! Nahahahahaha ahahahgahahain!“

“Ajax!”

Zhongli stares, dumbfounded, as Childe’s arms snap to his stomach, curling over in laughter. His love’s face is squeezed tight as he guffaws, shaking his head slightly. He nearly drops Nuitaru in surprise only to catch the doll quickly, squeezing its torso tight and securely, and Childe’s knees buckle as he collapses to the floor in his giggles.

“What is so funny? Is everything alright?”

“Ehehehehe, it just ahahaha!” Childe’s words dissolve into laughter as Zhongli joins him on the floor, tugging him close to lay his head against his shoulder. Childe doesn’t feel warm and he certainly displayed no signs of illness when he first walked into the door. His giggling only lasts a few more seconds before it peters out.

“Ajax?” Zhongli asks again. Worry lingers in his voice. “Are you alright? Why were you laughing?”

Childe’s cheeks color attractively as his eyes turn away from Zhongli. But between the two of them, Zhongli has always had infinite more patience and it doesn’t take long for Childe to begin fidgeting in place of the silence.

“Okay, okay,” he grumbles. “Promise me you won’t laugh though.”

“Why would I?” Zhongli replies. A frown makes its way to his face, tense. “Is someone making a mockery of you? Who are they? What do they dare say—“

“No, no! Nothing so serious, jeez.” Childe interrupts, rolling his eyes. He relaxes after a moment, sighing. “It feels really silly now that you jumped straight into public harassment.”

With the hand not holding Nuitaru, Zhongli reaches up to squeeze Childe’s other hand. “Your troubles will never seem silly to me.”

There’s that familiar flustering of Childe’s face at his words. Zhongli smiles, biting back the urge to chuckle affectionately; Childe didn’t want him to laugh, after all.

“Well, okay, it just, well, it.” How odd for Childe to stumble over his words like this. He watches his love’s face grow redder with every passing second until Childe groans miserably and covers his face entirely with both hands. “This whole day, I couldn’t focus at work.”

“Hardly surprising.”

“It wasn’t my fault today!“ Childe protests. “I tried to focus, okay, but I couldn’t because-because—“

“Because?”

Another groan, longer and most exaggerated than the last. A singular blue eye peeks out from behind his fingers to Zhongli.

“This whole day, it felt like someone was t-tickling me. Like,” Childe shakes his head, turning away. His ears are stained red with embarrassment. “I couldn’t focus at work because all of a sudden, it was like someone snuck up and just started tickling me. Like a ghost? And it was random! You never knew when it would start so I waited to find the culprit but it always stopped really quickly, okay, maybe a little too quickly, just like now, and—“

“Just like now?” Zhongli repeats. Only he and Childe were in his room and the only tickling done was at his expense at Childe’s hands.

“Yeah,” Childe says. “When you were showing your new toy, it just, I don’t know, started up again.”

His new toy… oh! In the commotion, he’d quickly forgotten Nuitaru. Well, in fairness, he’d gotten the doll mostly due to how it resembled Childe, and now that Childe was right here, he could hardly be blamed for being distracted by his love instead.

Zhongli raises Nuitaru from the floor, smoothing out its fabric, when he stills.

Thus far, he’d seen the doll share two faces. One of neutrality, with dull eyes and a thin, straight lip, and the other of joy, with crinkled eyes and a charming smile.

Right now, however, the doll’s face, previously simply a beige felt, appears almost pink. Its eyes are squeezed tight as though embarrassed and its mouth tilted in a mimicked pout.

It almost certainly resembles…

How curious.

“Zhongli? What’re you thinking about?”

He hums. “Ajax, do you feel anything right now? Any tickling?”

Childe averts his eyes again but he does pause to consider it. After a moment, he hums. “Nope. Nothing right now.”

“Then,” Zhongli probes, “what about now?”

With the same hand holding the doll, he nudges the grey fabric back up and thumbs the blue heart. Instantaneously Childe shrieks as his face scrunches up in surprised laughter.

“Whahaehehehehe!?”

A smile splits Zhongli’s face as he watches Childe collapse against him, arms holding tight around his waist as he laughs. “What does it feel like?”

“I-it ehehehehhe tihIhihHICKLEHEHEHEES!”

He moves his fingers away from the blue heart, opting to squeeze the doll’s plush body instead. “Hmm, I suppose it does.”

“Whahahahat do you ehehehe mehehaahahahan!?”

Interestingly, Childe’s laughter softens once he moves away from the heart, though he continues squirming and giggling regardless of where Zhongli prods Nuitaru. A swipe on the doll’s sides earns him a sweet smattering of giggles, a poke on its underarms grants him a snorting protest, and back down to its tiny, stubby feet leads to an absolutely adorable sight of Childe kicking out his legs as he curls up against Zhongli in an attempt to muffle his laughter against his shirt.

He’s so close, fitting comfortably in his arms, that Zhongli can hardly resist the patch of exposed skin lingering so close to his hands. He places Nuitaru on the floor gently, eyes sparkling when he catches the doll’s smiling face once more, before curling his fingers against Childe’s sides.

“Forgive me for my curiosity—tell me, does this feel the same?”

“W-waaHahahait! ZHOHOHAHAHANGLIHIHIHI!“

Childe redoubles his squirming with effort now, pushing away at Zhongli’s probing hands; yet, much to his delight, the famed Tartaglia is truly not trying all that hard to get away. If anything, Childe begins to sag in his giggling after hardly a minute of protest, surrendering sweetly to the tickling and giggling into his ear.

“Do I resemble your ghost now?” Zhongli asks.

“N-nahahahahaha! Nahahahahat at all ehehehHahahaha!“

He stills, surprised. Not at all? Thus far it appeared perfectly that every touch on Nuitaru’s body resulted in one on Childe’s, and likewise Childe’s expressions would appear, though simplified, on Nuitaru’s.

“Why not?” Zhongli prods, almost upset with the revelation. “What’s different between us?”

Childe squints at him through his giggles, debating, before a hand grasps at his wrist and tugs it lower. Zhongli watches himself be dragged from Childe’s exposed side to his stomach until Childe lets go, face red.

“Ahaha… the ghost always got me… here.”

Zhongli blinks, freezing entirely at the unspoken question lingering in Childe’s eyes. He’d always assumed based off Childe’s tendency to scream and protest every time he so much as retaliated during their tickle fights that Childe wasn’t the fondest of the activity. Yet now, watching Childe almost eagerly scoot closer, he was certain that he was wrong.

Childe had complained that the ghost tended to stop a little too quickly. Who was he to disappoint his lover?

“Here?” Zhongli pokes at his stomach, dragging his fingers upwards in slow, lazy circles. Childe bursts into giggles once more, high and panicked, as he instinctively tries to curl up. “Is this where the ghost tickled you?”

“Y-yehehehEhEHEHE! Sloahahahaaw down!”

“I can, if you really wish for me to.” His fingers slow to a lingering scratch, just lightly crawling along Childe’s skin, until he digs in at the curve of Childe’s waist to a shaky howl. “But I don’t think that would be very accurate to your ghost, now would it?”

Childe shakes his head, gasping and laughing. Zhongli hums as his hands wander. While Nuitaru was delightfully soft and small, there was so much more to Childe—hard-won muscles and a thin waist, the perfect amount of lower belly pudge and a, as he’s quickly discovering, particularly sensitive belly button.

The moment he hits it, Childe screeches in protest.

“OkAHAHAHAHAY! OKAHAHAHYNOKAHAHAHY!”

“Okay? Okay what?”

“ZhonhahahahaHEHEHEH! Too muHAHAHAHAHA!”

He hums as he scratches the rim of Childe’s navel a second longer, indulging in his frantic laughter, before coming to a stop. A teasing smile plays out on his face, charming, as Zhongli presses a kiss to the side of Childe’s red cheeks. “How was that? An accurate replication of the ghost?”

“Ehehehevil ghost.” Childe’s giggles slow as he takes in some much needed air, sagging against Zhongli. There’s a crinkle to his eyes, the same that he’d been admiring from Nuitaru all day, and Zhongli finds his heart squeezing tight.

“Did I go too far?” Zhongli kisses Childe again in apology, chuckling himself when Childe still laughs against his lips. An interesting sensation made no less sweet by the way their arms loops around each other.

“No,” Childe admits. “Though I sure hope you weren’t kissing your doll after torturing them.”

“That was hardly torture,” Zhongli says. He does, however, make a show of reaching over Childe to pick up Nuitaru and deliver a wet kiss to its cheeks. Much to his disappointment, unlike with the doll’s body, Childe doesn’t react to the kiss. “You don’t feel this?”

“Uh, should I?”

“It just resembles you so much. And you felt the tickling.”

“It doesn’t even look that much like me! My head is not that big.” Childe argues, faking upset. He watches Zhongli kiss the doll two more times before he ever so rudely knocks Nuitaru from his hands. Zhongli startles as Childe places his lips over his own, insistent.

When he pulls away, there’s a pout on his lips.

“Don’t kiss the doll when I’m right here.”

Ah. Zhongli feels himself grow red, cheeks hot, as Childe’s pout changes to a mischievous grin and a hand comes up to pinch his cheek. “Really? You’re getting embarrassed over that?”

He opens his mouth to retort (what could he say? That he’s so infatuated that every smile Childe sends his way has his cheeks warming, his heart squeezing?) only for Childe to kiss him again. And again, and again.

He’s so distracted he doesn’t even notice Nuitaru’s face has changed once more—to an expression smiling, pink, and so undoubtedly in love.

#chili #Zhongchi #childe #zhongli #genshin impact #tickling #my fic #sorry for long delay i hope u like!!!!#i still dont know how to post on tumblr so please let me know if format is weird

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poemiloallen · 4 months ago

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Summer homework part 2 - making Lilith lake rider.

Maps and landscapes aren’t my strong suit so I wanted to add something of my style to it. So I decided to make a character to go with the map. I used a character creator app to plot out my ideas. It’s only ever for the ideas it’s faster than drawing it out and is really useful for colour palettes and silhouettes. (See below the original design)

Right from the start I knew I wanted a brown and red colour palette with pops of green. I also knew I wanted a big poofy ponytail.

I used a generation one Cleo doll as my base (see below).

I cut of the hair, dunked the head in boiling water, ripped it of the neck, removed the rest of the hair with pliers and wiped the face of with acetone.

For the hair I used yarn. If you unwind it it makes a wonderful wavy texture and I thought that would be a good way to get that poofy ponytail I wanted. To add the hair you take a needle with the eye cut at an angle inserted into a tool (an exacto knife handle or a drill chuck). You then take the hair and stab it into a hole (this is a very violent hobby lol).

Afterwords I worked on the face. I took a photo of the dolls face sculpting and used it to make a mock up on procreate.

I originally went with gold eyes but in the end it didn’t work out so I ended up going for green. At this point I had painted a pair of monster high boots gold and black.

I then had to make the clothes. I find this step the hardest but most fun so I often forget to take photos but I do know where I got the patterns.

I used dollightful’s patterns on Etsy. I used the steampunk Lolita shirt (just with no sleeves) and the basic trousers.

(For some reason I can’t add the link but it’s dollightful patterns on Etsy)

The clothes turned out well. The trousers are a bit low rise but they turned out well. I also made her some earrings out of pins and bells and a necklace out of chain and another bell. The rings are made out of embroidered thread saturated with glue. The mini map also matches the other map I made if you unroll it.

All in all I love her it’s a very good doll. The face is one of my best I think (second only to my mini me).

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vermillioncarousel · 2 years ago

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Winter warmth

Fandom: Shall We Date? Obey Me!

Pairing: Barbatos/F!MC(Reader)

Word count: 1584 words

Summary: Winter has arrived in the Devildom, and Barbatos worries for the human exchange student. He decides to give her a homemade scarf, but it turns out they both had the same idea.

It was common knowledge among demonkind that humans couldn't withstand the same temperatures they could. So, when the winds blowing from the Ninth Circle foretold the arrival of the harsh Devildom winter, Barbatos couldn't help but worry about a certain exchange student. Unlike Solomon, who'd use his magic to keep himself warm, and could survive conditions other humans wouldn't be able to bear thanks to his immortality, the other human currently in the Devildom would be unlikely to handle the cold of winter. And while he doubted that Lucifer and his brothers would allow MC to suffer, Barbatos still resolved to take precautions that would ensure her comfort and safety.

On one of his daily trips to the market, he ventured to an area he didn't need to visit very often, where the textile merchants sold their wares. Green eyes scanned the many stalls, salesdemons calling out the deals they were offering, but Barbatos’s gaze was drawn to one stall in particular. Colourful hanks of yarn stretched as far as the eye could see.

"Are you looking for anything in particular, sir?"

Barbatos's gaze shifted to the face of the salesdemon at the question. He supposed that he might as well get as much assistance in buying the most suitable material as he could.

"Which of your wares would be most suited for keeping a human warm?"

The demon hummed, their expression turning thoughtful for a moment.

"Suited for a human, eh? There are a lot of things to keep in mind for them, but I suggest using one of these." They waved their hand to a particular corner of the stall. "They're harmless to the human skin, of course, but these yarns are made from the fur of creatures with fire magic. They retain heat well, so they're well-suited for winter clothes."

Barbatos made his way to the part of the stall he had been directed to. He slipped one of his pristine gloves off, humming as his hands carded through the many colours, testing the texture and quality of the yarns. His eyes took note of the ones he thought would suit his human best, considering the ones most flattering to her complexion, eventually settling on a colour MC seemed to favour wearing often.

As he paid the salesdemon, he noticed them slipping a hank of bright teal in with the rest of his purchase.

"I beg your pardon, but I didn't pay for that-"

"That one's on the house," they interrupted him, smiling. "If you plan on using this yarn on what I think it's for, wouldn't you want her to think of you every time she wears or looks at what you've made for her?"

He made no attempt at arguing as they handed him his wares.

"Come again!" the salesdemon cheerfully called after him as he left, their words weighing on his mind.

Having returned to his room, Barbatos set to work. The design he had settled on creating was simple yet elegant, but he felt like something was lacking. His hand stilled as he drew the pattern for the scarf, the teal of the extra yarn drawing his attention from the corner of his eyes. The very idea of his human in his signature colour, thinking of him whenever she wore or even saw his gift to her, did things to him that spoke to the greed that slumbered deep in his bones and blood. It made him want to show her off as his, yet at the same time he wanted to keep the sight for his eyes only.

Shaking his head, he continued drawing, adding small sections of teal, making sure it was absolutely perfect before he began knitting. Regardless of his want to keep MC to himself, he would always be by her side, in a way, if she wore his gift.

He continued to diligently work on the scarf when time permitted him to, determined to finish it before the worst chill arrived, every stitch imbued with his affection, and the desire to keep his beloved human warm. The end result was Barbatos's best work yet, in his opinion.

After putting the finishing touches on the scarf, the butler neatly folded the fabric and carefully packaged it. Then he pulled out his phone to message MC, arranging for a time and place to meet up so he could give her the scarf. In the end, it was decided that they would meet up in front of Hocus Pocus in two hours, as she still had some tasks to finish at the House of Lamentation.

As the time for their meeting drew nearer, Barbatos couldn’t help but feel slightly nervous. He straightened out his clothing and hair, making sure he looked his best.The wrapped scarf had been put into a bag, and he made sure he wouldn’t forget to take it with him when the time came to make his way to his destination.

The Young Master had smiled knowingly at him as he made his way to the castle’s doors, and Barbatos couldn’t help but slightly quicken his pace, both eager to meet up with MC and to escape the inevitable teasing his prince had in mind.

He arrived at the meeting spot early, not wanting her to wait for him, but MC seemed to have had the same idea, smiling gently at him as he blinked in surprise. She, too, was carrying something, trying to hide it from view.

"I'm glad you agreed to meet up with me, Barbatos," MC said, nervously shifting her weight as she pulled something from behind her back: a neatly-wrapped package. "I… actually have something I want to give to you."

"What a coincidence," Barbatos murmured, stepping closer to her as he pulled his gift from his bag. "I have something I prepared for you, as well."

MC's eyebrows rose in surprise before she laughed softly, tucking her gift in the crook of her left elbow.

"It's probably for the best if we sit down somewhere before exchanging these. I want to see you open it."

Barbatos made a noise of agreement, returning his package to his bag before offering MC his arm and leading her to a nearby bench. They sat down closer than would be considered proper, but neither of them paid it any mind. MC shivered as Barbatos pulled out the scarf again.

"You're cold," he said softly, tilting his head to the side a little. The longer side of his hair swayed with the movement, the teal strands brushing the shoulder of his coat. "Please take this. It will be most helpful."

He handed her the package, waiting with bated breath as she unwrapped it, her eyes widening as she laid eyes on his gift.

"This is-"

"A scarf," Barbatos finished for her, watching as her hands gently ran over the knitted fabric, idly tracing the pattern. "I was worried about you, as humans generally are not very suited to the cold of the Devildom winter. Therefore, I decided to make this scarf for you." A gloved hand reached for one of her slowly reddening cheeks, tilting her face in his direction. "Will you permit me to put it on you?"

"Yes," came her whispered reply, turning to face the demon next to her more properly. "Thank you."

Barbatos took the scarf from her, deftly wrapping it around her neck. He smiled a more genuine smile than usual. His scarf looked good on her.

"And now for what I have for you," MC said as her face returned to its usual colour. She handed him the item she had been carrying around. Barbatos neatly opened it, pausing when his eyes fell on what was inside. Then he laughed, slowly unrolling a dark green scarf.

"It seems we had the same idea, hm?" he said, his eyes gleaming in amusement.

"We did," MC replied, reaching over to put the scarf on him. "I'm afraid my work's not as good as yours, though."

She made to remove her hand from his person, but Barbatos moved before he could think, taking her hand in his, rubbing his thumb in soft, slow circles against the back.

"I love it," he murmured. "Thank you."

"I didn't want you to be cold," she replied breathlessly. She craned her head up, meeting his gaze before leaning in, placing a gentle kiss on his left cheek.

His hand that wasn't holding one of hers came to her face, holding her in place as he leaned closer. She could feel his warm breath against her face, his lips giving hers the barest brush.

"May I?" Barbatos whispered. The only reply he got was her closing the nearly non-existent distance between the two of them, pressing her lips firmly against his as her arm wrapped around him, pulling him against her.

They sat like that for a little while, kissing as snow slowly started drifting down, until Barbatos broke their kiss.

"It will get even colder," he said, admiring her face as the snow caught in her hair. "Let's return to the Demon Lord's Castle. I'll make some tea to warm us up."

"I'd like that," she replied, taking his hand as she stood up.

And as the two of them made their way to the castle, a thought came to Barbatos.It wasn't just the scarves or the tea that would warm the two of them up that winter, but perhaps also the feelings they had revealed to each other that day.

#obey me! fanfic #Obey Me! Barbatos #Barbatos/F!MC #Female MC #Self-indulgent

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fe-fictions · 3 years ago

Note

Do you still have that one story with Frederick where Robin is victim of racism since she's Plegian ? Have a nice day 😊

(One of the more recent favorite fred stories of mine,, tho tbf all of them are fave so > v > )

On one of the few days off you managed, the pair of you took the opportunity to go to the market. You did need groceries, Frederick hummed when you suggested it that morning. Plus his yarn supply was running low and Miriel tipped you off that one of your favorite authors was putting out a new book.

So you were off- enjoying the beautiful weather and each other’s company. The market was alive with bustling crowds, laughter and music. It was magical; one of your favorite places to be when the world was at peace.

Frederick was in high spirits beside you, content to see that the plaza was safe and well maintained in his absence.

You were both so pleasantly distracted that you were oblivious to the glowering stares from far behind you. There were plenty of things going on to distract from it, anyways. So you didn’t pay it any mind.

“Frederick, look there!” You pointed to a stall on the far end of the street. Delicate and rich, textured fabrics were hung along the eaves of the stall, all of which were tempting to the knight.

“We should visit there on our way home,” He suggested, “But it is heading towards the late afternoon. Perhaps we should have some lunch, first?”

“Better yet, why don’t I find us something to eat, and you spend all the time you like haggling with the shopkeeper.” You winked, “I spotted a food stall not far from here with some delicious smoked meats.”

“Hm…what kind?”

“I’m not sure- but I promise to pick the least gamey ones I can find, just fo ryou.” You patted his arm and sent him off.

“Meet me by the fountain when you’re done!” He waved to you as he headed off, “I’ll be swift- be careful!”

“I will!” You smiled after him. Even after the Plegian War ended six months ago, he truly remained ever worried for you. But you were relaxed and happy; you had a husband you loved, wonderful friends, a great job in the loveliest city you’d ever seen, and a bright future ahead.

There was nothing to worry about.

You smiled happily to yourself, walking through the crowd towards the stall. You were in a grand place in life. You didn’t see any signs of it stopping, not any time soo-

“Oof!!” Your thoughts were jarred by a man knocking into your shoulder enough that you lost your footing.

Indignant, you recovered from your stumble quickly and steadied yourself, shooting a glare twoards the culprit.

You were surprised to find an angry man glaring right back.

“Excuse me, sir- you need to pay attention to your surroundings.”

His gaze seemed to harden when you spoke, looking you up and down.

“You. You’re Plegian, just like I thought.” He growled.

“See? I told you!!” Suddenly a hand closed around your coat from behind, and you were jerked back.

You gasped, fear shocking your system.

“Of course she is! Only a Plegian would be stupid enough to wear their colors in Ylisstol!”

Your heart thundered, realizing they were looking for nothing but trouble. They picked you as their target.

“My home is Ylisse,” You spoke firmly, drawing back to face the pair. Both were large and towering, looking far more unkempt than the laziest soldiers in your ranks.

“We can see your white hair clear as day- nobody but Plegians have that!” The other snapped, “You’re a filthy desert snake, and you’ve got no business here!”

“Go back where you belong, wench!”

They were faster than you would’ve guessed- perhaps that’s why they got their first attack in. One man shoved you hard, into the bodies of innocent bystanders. You landed on your tail, hard on the stone.

You scrambled to get up, heart in your throat. There was a crowd forming around you, but none brave enough to help.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think there were more glares and jeers coming from the crowd than support.

Never had you dealt with brutes like this, not in Ylisstol. It was disorienting, but frightening because you hadn’t any weapons. Ylisstol was safe. You had Frederick. Knives and tomes shouldn’t be needed…shouldn’t being the operative word.

The other man started after you and reached out. You caught his wrist and twisted it, delivering a swift kick to his gut.

“You bitch-”

A fierce grip yanked on your hair, and a heavy boot swept your feet from under you.

“Hey-!!”

“Don’t you dare try and fight us, Plegian scum!”

“Someone needs to teach you a lesson!”

Your head was spinning, knees hurt like hells and panic was setting in. The hand in your hair held tighter, forcing your head up while the other pinned you to your knees.

“Mounters like you are why we all suffered in the first place! You deserve to burn in all nine Hells just for exist-”

“ENOUGH!”

Frederick’s voice boomed over the crowd. You searched for him with blurry eyes, relief rushing over you.

“Step aside, now!” Frederick was forcing his way through the crowd, finally beating through to the center of the conflict. “What in Naga’s name is going-”

He froze.

You were on the ground.

A stranger was holding you down.

Pulling your hair.

His partner was spitting obscenities.

You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but it was only there for a moment.

In the next he was flying.

He punched the man holding you down, forcing him to let you go in two swift steps. You shuffled back, stunned. Then he lunged at the other man, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back.

“Argh!!”

“How dare you attack her!!”

You’d never heard such raw anger before. You weren’t sure that was the same person you were married to.

“Let him go, bastard!”

The other man recovered, red blossoming from where Frederick struck him. He charged your husband, who took the opportunity to twist his cohort into the man and send them both sprawling to the ground with an unforgiving toss of a full grown man’s body.

He stomped his foot down onto one’s back, and forced the other’s arms behind the other.

“If you value your life, stay down!” He growled, “Assaulting the Chief Tactician of Ylisse is a capital offense. I’ll have both your heads on a pike if you so much as breathe wrong, do you understand?”

“The Chief Tactician–?!”

“Isn’t that the Exalt’s second in command?”

“She’s a Plegian??”

“Does that mean-”

“Captain Frederick!!” The knights had arrived at last, parting the rumbling crowd. Sully rode at the helm, quick to you and your husband’s aid. “What’s going on here? Are you all right?”

“These blaggards assaulted my wife.” Frederick spoke in a low, trembling voice. “I want them arrested and charged with felony assault and domestic terrorism!”

“Let’s start with step one, Captain.” Sully directed the knights to apprehend the pair, both of which now had the fear of Naga coursing through their veins.

It was satisfying to know that they just realized what they had done. You were no mere Plegian. You were a very important person.

Sully and Frederick exchanged a few more words before they parted ways. His shoulders were still squared and rigid, rage still burning in his eyes.

He turned to tend to you, finding you slowly pulling yourself up from the ground. He immediately realized how shaken you were- who wouldn’t be?

He darted to you, grasping your arms and helping you back up.

“Robin, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“I’m…” You trailed off, seeing your hands shake in his hold. He followed your gaze and grimaced- you weren’t in any shape to be analyzed here. Certainly not with this crowd.

He put his arm around your shoulders and guided you away, returning to the castle post haste. That was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.

He didn’t speak the entire walk home, lips pursed and body etched in hard lines. The door opened silently, the lock clicking behind you echoing in your ears. You walked numbly into the kitchen, his hands leaving you only after he sat you down in a chair.

“Wait here,” He murmured in a far quieter voice. He disappeared around the corner, returning with the first aid supplies.

He knelt in front of you and slipped off your boots, setting them aside before getting to work unfastening the buttons on the legs of your trousers.

“They had you on the ground, on your knees…” He whispered, the anger simmering beneath. “Did they bruise?”

You shifted your leg a little, as if to test it. He looked to you and you nodded. The fabric was pulled away, revealing angry red scrapes on your knees. His jaw clenched.

“Bastards.” He hissed as though they were the most vile creatures known to man. “If only I’d been there- they wouldn’t have dared do such a heinous thing.”

He took a cloth and wet it, cleaning the scrapes with a touch far more tender than his words.

“Why did they do that?” You asked softly, almost anxious to hear an answer. Frederick shook his head.

“I’ve no doubt it was due to their lingering resentment for the Plegians. But that doesn’t excuse violence or discrimination against someone from that country- let alone someone who had nothing to do with the conflict!”

“So that wasn’t normal?”

“No. I’ve never seen that sort of behavior in all my years beside Lord Chrom. But I have heard sentiments like theirs in the capital, before. Some people feel stronger about Plegians than others, but…there is no excuse for assault because of race. It’s cowardice. Pathetic. Inhumane.”

“But there are people who…who think like that, here?” You pressed him, “Are there others who would just attack like that?”

The cloth was clenched in his hand, “If there are…I’ll find them. I won’t allow that hatred or bigotry to fester in my city- let alone against my wife!!”

“Frederick,” You placed a hand on his shoulder when his voice raised. He sighed and looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Forgive me. I do not mean to upset you. I am only…I am angry that this happened. That they would single you out, and that I wasn’t there to defend you or your honor.”

“Did you ever…feel like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like them.”

“No.” He shook his head, “I felt strongly about Plegians following the war that took the former Exalt’s life, but Lady Emmeryn showed all of us that those feelings were misguided.”

“Is that…why you d-didn’t trust me?”

“What?” His work paused. He looked up at you, surprised. But the tears welling in your eyes suggested this was a deep fear. It had taken root the moment those men came after you.

Sorrow panged his heart. Immediately he had his arms around you, pulling you into his embrace.

“Robin…no, my love, I never…” He lost his words when you buried your face in his neck, clinging onto him tightly. “I never doubted you because of your race. I never hated you nor thought differently of you for it, and I never would. And you proved me wrong in a matter of hours, long ago. You needn’t fear that I harbor any sentiments like those thugs.”

“I-I know, I just…I-I never…” You hiccuped, “I didn’t realize people felt that way. That they c-could be so cruel about it.”

“I’m sorry.” He stroked your hair, holding you as close as he could.

The two of you sank to the floor. He didn’t let you go for a fraction of a second. Not until the tears were dried and you had all the comfort you needed.

“I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry you had to face that. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to help you.”

“I-it’s not your fault. It’s not like y-you could’ve known.” You sniffled, pushing away the tears in your eyes. Frederick thumbed at your cheeks gently, rubbing away the tracks that remained. You were flushed and puffy. Vulnerable.

Gods, did it make his anger burn.

“I will speak with Lord Chrom about this, immediately. We’ll have ordinances and laws set in place that make such a thing incapable of happening, again. When he finds out what happened, he’ll be just as angry as I am. I won’t let this ever happen again. No one will ever lay a hand on you again. Certainly not for reasons as pathetic as the color of your hair.”

You nodded, silent in his arms. You believed him, and you trusted him. You were in shock that this was even a possibility in Ylisse. But you knew Frederick wouldn’t allow it, never again.

“Thank you, Frederick.”

“Anything for you.” He kissed you softly, your face cusped in his hands. “I mean it. I’ll go to the ends of the earth to protect you. I love you far too deeply for anything less.”

“I love you, too.”

You recovered enough to let him finish dressing your wounds, with Frederick insisting you go and lie down to recuperate while he handled the rest.

He left your room for a few minutes, but not before he came back trying to reel in a raging Chrom who was demanding to know who in the Hells those men were that would lay their hands on his best friend.

It didn’t take long for him to get policies moving that would make such behavior severely punishable, all with your husband’s backing.

Your husband who, in light of yesterday’s events, elected to take the next day off with you. You deserved a real day off, to make up for the nightmare from yesterday.

And of course he woke you up with a pile of new books (and perhaps a few pieces of fabric for him to work on). It was a lovely day in, with just the two of you.

All that you deserved, and more.

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eringurumi · 5 years ago

Text

The Mandalorian Pattern

Ok! Here is my original crochet amigurumi pattern for the Mandalorian, to go with my other yarn creation, Baby Yoda. As before, if you use this pattern, please link back to my page, and tag me or send me a picture! I will slam that reblog button so fast! Or tag me on insta: @ erin.gurumi

Fun fact: this isn’t my first time around Mandalorian armor... In 2013 (!) I crocheted my friend a Boba Fett amigurumi, which you can see HERE and HERE. I improved the pattern a bit, but I did want to share because there are some in-progress pics which could potentially help, as I’m unfortunately not the best at taking them while I work!

Technical stuff: I used a 3.0 mm crochet hook and these yarns:

Loops and Threads Impeccable in Walnut Tweed (body and cape)

Red Heart Super Saver in Cafe Latte (belt and bandolier)

Red Heart Super Saver in Light Grey (armor)

Red Heart Super Saver in Black (visor)

Red Heart Super Saver in Carrot (gloves)

I was really happy with the brown color I found for the body (this project was the first time in YEARS I’ve actually opted to increase my stash and it was worth it!), but I think there is plenty of room to experiment with other colors!

^ Helmet

I think it was such a bold choice to go with uncolored metal for the Mandalorian’s armor! It’s very hard to simplify and not be evocative of medieval knights or Trojan/Spartan warriors... In this picture, you can see I made a short strip of grey yarn that I thought could be the seam down his helmet, but I decided it just didn’t work for my scale.

6 sc in a magic circle

inc 6x to make 12 stitches

(1 sc, inc) 6x to make 18 stitches

(2 sc, inc) 6x to make 24 stitches

(3 sc, inc) 6x to make 30 stitches

(4 sc, inc) 6x to make 36 stitches

2 rows of 36 stitches

1 row of 36 stitches, with 12 black stitches in the front

1 row of 36 stitches with 12 black stitches aligned with previous ones

4 rows of 36 stitches in grey

1 row of grey, add two increases at the front (38 stitches)

1 row of 38 stitches

I found it easiest to eyeball where I wanted to start the black yarn for the visor, rather than count out how many grey stitches before the color change. At the end, leave a tail but don’t pull the loop through, since changing to the brown yarn for the under helmet part will be a color change.

^ Front visor section and bottom of helmet:

Before closing off the helmet, I made the front separately and sewed it on - I think that’s much easier than trying to do color changes in each row and keeping them nicely lined up, plus, it gives the helmet just a bit of texture that I like to imagine gives the suggestion of some contours.

6 foundation single crochet in black

turn, 6 sc in grey, tie off leaving a tail

reattach grey yarn to other side of the black, 6 sc, tie off

sew onto helmet

To close off the helmet, change to the brown yarn, and for the first row crochet only in the back loops to make a sharper change between the helmet and the underside (neck?) area. I was not super precise with this part, as all I wanted was for the underside to be mostly flat.

(2sc, dec) ~9x in back loops to make ~29 stitches

(1sc 1 dec) until closed (stuff part way through)

tie off and weave in tail

^ Legs (make 2)

To make the feet look more boot-like, I did all the foot-to-leg decreases on one side, but most of the shape comes from just smooshing it with my hand. Also, I tried to evoke his one larger armor piece by having an extra row of grey on his right leg, but it ended up being a bit subtle. (I know his armor is only on the front of his legs, but I didn’t want to color change that often in such a small space, and the back of the leg is hidden enough by his cape that I don’t mind!)

6 sc in a magic circle

inc 6x to make 12 stitches

(1 sc, inc) 6x to make 18 stitches

1 row of 18 sc in back loops

(decrease 8x), 2 sc to make 10 stitches

6 rows (his left) or 5 rows (his right) of 10 stitches in brown

color change to grey in back

3 rows (his left) or 4 rows (his right) of 10 stitches in grey

For one leg, tie off the tail, for the second leg, make sure that the loop is still available to start the torso section. (I chose which leg to begin the body based on the direction I was crocheting, for me it ended up being HIS right leg). Make sure both legs are stuffed!

^ Torso:

The torso is made by connecting the two legs with a round of crochet. I started with the brown yarn, switched to a lighter brown for the belt section, then for the breast plate unfortunately it’s just a bunch of color changes! My best advice is to keep securing and tying off ends as you go, and stuffing as the body gets taller.

On right leg, color change from grey to dark brown, chain 1, slip stitch into left leg, sc around both legs (~20 stitches - if it ends up more, just decrease in back to that)

another row of 20 stitches in dark brown, color change to light brown

2 rows of 20 stitches in light brown

(1 dec in the back) 7 grey in front, 12 dark brown in back (19 stitches)

7 grey in front, 12 dark brown in back (19 stitches)

(1 dec in back), 6 grey in front, 12 dark brown in back (18 stitches)

6 grey in front, 12 dark brown in back (18 stitches)

(1 dec in back) 5 grey in front, 12 dark brown in back (17 stitches)

5 grey in front, 12 dark brown in back (17 stitches)

(1 dec in back) 4 grey in front, 12 dark brown in back (16 stitches)

(1 dec in back) all dark brown (15 stitches)

(1 dec in back) all dark brown (14 stitches)

Finish off and leave a tail to sew the head on.

^ Arms (make two):

I was really happy with my decision to make his little orange mitts - for such a simple costume with very little ability to emote, those gloves really help to draw focus on small gestures!

6 sc in magic circle in orange, color change to brown

1 row of 6 stitches in brown

(inc, 2 sc) 2x to make 8 stitches

Take one tail of the orange yarn and thread it through to the second brown row, chain 3 and loop it over, securing it back into the brown yarn to make a thumb

Change to grey, 4 rows of 8 stitches

Change to brown, 5 rows of 8 stitches

Stuff and finish off leaving a tail.

^ Bandolier / Assembling body:

Sorry he looks a little dismembered here... but at this point you’re almost done!

For the bandolier, in light brown, chain ~9 (I just measured it across his chest plate from belt to shoulder)

Tie off the end and pull both tails through the body, making it snug against his chest, tie off and weave in ends

Sew head onto body using the tail from the neck, weave in ends

Sew arms on leaving a little room between them and the head (so his pauldrons will fit!), weave in ends

^ Pauldrons

These are simple! Make two!

6 sc in a magic circle

(sc, inc) 3x to make 9 stitches

To attach them, since I liked the look of the stitches sitting freely on the arms, I took the tail from the center and sewed it through the arm, then used just a single stitch on the upper arm and lower arm to hold them in place.

^ Cape:

A lot of the taper on this cape was because I was accidentally dropping stitches at the beginning of each row - I am terrible at crochet when it isn’t in the round! I used half double crochets since I like how they make a slightly looser texture than the body. You can also see here why I try to color change in the back - it doesn’t end up looking super even!

foundation single crochet 14, turn

1 row (14 hdc, turn)

9 rows of (1 dec, hdc across, turn)

This got me to approximately 5 stitches across, which looked like a good size to fit between the shoulders. I took the other tail and wove it up the side until both tails were coming from the top of the cape. Tie off the end and sew onto the back of his neck!

I know that was a lot! As always, feel free to ask me questions if you get stuck or something doesn’t make sense, since it’s very possible I made a mistake in my write up! Best of luck crocheting your very own Mandalorian! I hope to see him and his partner in crime Baby Yoda off on many adventures together!

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subasekabang · 4 years ago

Text

One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed

Title: One Blank Concrete Wall, Primed Rating: T/PG-13 for swearing and bloodless violence Word Count: 13,700 Pairings/Characters: No ships/Genfic. Neku, Joshua, Hanekoma as main characters. Appearances by most everyone else from TWEWY including Beat, Rhyme, Shiki, the reapers Warnings: brief mentions of past trauma/death (some of the Reapers discuss why they died), angelic/eldritch body horror (no blood or gore), imprisonment Summary: Neku’s in college now, and other than passing through Shibuya’s subway station to get to other parts of the city, he doesn’t really stop by much anymore. But when he gets a serious case of artist’s block before a gallery show, he decided to go back to his old stomping grounds to get inspired. Partner: @soundofez and @songsummoner Author’s Note: This was a fun, super weird piece. I also did some art for it on top of my partner’s work; all the art from me and my partners will appear in the correct parts of the fic on my AO3 link, which will go up Oct. 2. I’ll link in reply to this post with it when that’s up so you can see some really weird stuff (my own art is included below, though!!). Special thanks to Fez for designing college-age Neku’s clothes.

Also, Neku fights (and apologizes to) a building.

Enjoy!

XXX

Neku sighed. Squinting, he rolled up the blinds on his studio apartment a little, taking in the view. One window, the Skytree. The other, he could glimpse the top part of Sensouji’s pagoda. Asakusa was no Shibuya, but it had lots of car free pathways, quirky art stalls, and lots of tourists to draw. And it was a heck of a lot cheaper than living in Ueno.

He could walk to campus in about half an hour on a good day or take the subway just one stop to Tokyo University of the Arts on a bad one. It was convenient and, while a touristy area, surprisingly quiet.

Too quiet today, though. Neku fired up his tablet, pinging his friends. They always called everyone in a big group chat, though there was no obligation to answer.

“Sup, Phones?” Beat grinned into the camera, a giggle heard in the background.

“Beat, are you ever going to actually use his name?”

“I am though!” Best objected. “Neku’s tag is a pair of headphones. It’s practically his name at this point.”

“You’re not going to win on a technicality,” Rhyme chirped, turning the camera so she was in frame. “We’re between takes, anyway. What’s up, Neku?”

“Shit, did I interrupt a shoot?” Neku hovered over the hang-up button.

“I just said we were on break!” Rhyme reiterated, flailing her hands in front of her. “But Beat is shooting with your deck!”

His friend, who had only grown more muscular with the past five years, hefted up his skateboard, showing off the art of a flying squirrel on the undercarriage. “It’s still the sickest one I’ve got. You’d better have another one in the wings when it gets decommissaried, yo!”

“Decommissioned.”

“Whatever.”

“It’s not whatever, Beat,” another voice popped in, the newcomer’s eyebrow quirked in a hint of static as the visual flickered on.

“Sup, Shiki!” Beat said, waving wildly.

“Meet me for drinks when you’re done shooting? I can hop on the subway. It’s only a stop.”

“How’d you know where we are?”

“Beat, you always skate in Ikebukuro,” Shiki said matter-of-factly. “And I’m at school, so I’m only a stop away from you.”

“Oh. Right. Sometimes I wish we kept our mind reading powers,” Beat said with a pout.

“Noooooo thank you,” Shiki said with a grin. “Anyway, what’s all this about? I’ve got ten minutes ‘til my Fashion Sales class.”

Neku scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepishly at the camera. “I… er. Kinda needed some advice. I’ve got a gallery class where my one assignment is supposed to take the whole semester and I’m a bit stuck. I need to hand my draft proposition in by the end of next week.”

“What’s the topic?” Rhyme asked.

“That’s the thing. The art—even the medium—is up to me. Every fine art track has to take this thing. So, it doesn’t need to be painting, but I have to secure a space and create a work to match it. Like, get permission to paint a building, or something like that. Private or public property, just no vandalism. Street paste or yarn bombing is OK in public spaces. Basically, as long as it’s non-destructive; otherwise we need permission from the owner.”

“So, you need to scout out a place and make something that compliments it?” Rhyme asked.

“Yeah. And we can work together if we want. I don’t know my classmates well enough to know if our styles clash though.”

“Sounds tough.”

“That’s why it’s my whole assignment.”

Beat frowned. “I’ve got a good sponsorship going with Wild Boar. Could see if you could tag one of their shops.”

“Maybe,” Neku said. “But I want to step out of my comfort zone a little if I can. It’s a good backup.”

Shiki bit her lip. “Maybe you just need a little inspiration.”

“Little is an understatement.”

“What about that tag mural in Shibuya? Would that be fair game?”

The chat went silent. That wall in question was public property. It was absolutely not game—not for this assignment at least.

“Why?” Neku almost whispered, hoarse. “Why’d you even bring it up?”

“Because it’s been five years, Neku, and you haven’t gone back. CAT did what you’ve been assigned; he was a street artist who also did all these kinds of hired art too.��

“Hanekoma’s gone,” Neku reminded her. “I stopped trying. The shop was destroyed. If he ever came back, he’s not in Shibuya.”

“Then… ignore my bad idea,” Shiki said, not meeting eyes with the camera. “Sorry I brought it up.”

“No! No,” Neku reassured her, forcefully, then quiet, as if he were a deflating balloon. “Sorry if I snapped.”

“You didn’t snap,” Rhyme offered, before changing the subject. “I’ll think on it though; there’s gotta be some struggling coffee shop that could use some art, or something. Anyway… we need to get back to work, now.”

“And I have class. Neku, let’s chat tonight, after dinner? I can swing by your place. We can go get conveyor belt sushi over by Nakamise.”

“That… sounds pretty good, actually. Yeah. Let’s.”

“Later, alligator!” Rhyme said, chipper.

“Yeah! Later!” Shiki added.

“Let’s bounce!” Beat snuck in as Rhyme ended the call.

Neku was left alone to his thoughts.

Shibuya.

He and his friends romped through the city almost every weekend after they were all brought back—at least at first. Eventually exams took over for Shiki and Neku, both hell-bent on getting in Bunka Fashion College and Tokyo Arts respectively. Beat slowly got more and more skate sponsorships with Rhyme as his videographer, making her new dream to shoot the world’s best skater: her brother.

Neku closed his eyes, imagining the gleaming, ad-drenched skyscrapers, a far cry from the view from his apartment window.

Maybe.

Maybe it was time to finally go back; maybe Shiki wasn’t wrong. It was his old stomping grounds, his old home. And it was only a few hundred yens’ ride away.

Neku pinched his forearm once to ground himself, grabbed his wallet and a scarf (courtesy of Shiki’s weaving class, in a sturdy textured purple crepe) and headed out the door.

Xxx

Neku’s palm touched plaster and concrete. Slowly, he slid his hand along the wall, breathing out an exhale. Even in his high school years, when his friends would regularly bum around Shibuya after school and on weekends, he avoided the mural. It wasn’t that he stopped liking it; just… He felt he didn’t need it anymore. He had plenty of CAT’s art to keep him company, from the pins in his pocket to the billboards throughout the city.

Maybe he was young and naïve back then, but looking at the faded piece, partially obscured by other, less impressive tags… well, it didn’t seem very impressive anymore.

“‘Course it isn’t, you brain-dead binomial,” a familiar voice sneered from behind him. Neku whipped around to see Sho Minamimoto, cat whiskers and all, grinning with fanged teeth.

Sho put up his hands as a peace offering, sensing Neku’s hackles rising. “I’m not attacking the living; don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’d really rather not get divided by zero. Again.”

Neku relaxed his shoulders a little but said nothing.

“You’re a leaky faucet, you single-digit integer,” Sho explained, as he pointed to a vending machine, sending a pair of CC Lemon bottles flying out of it and at the two of them. He leaned against the mural, back to it, sliding down to sit and sighing with his drink. “I miss CAT, too, you know. Been the square-root of 25 years since anyone’s seen a new piece of his. Some of the reapers actually thought it might’ve been you.”

Neku laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. “Me?” he asked, plopping down next to his former enemy, accepting the citrus-flavored peace offering. “I was fifteen. And CAT had been active way before I was born.”

“Thought it was a title, you dumb fractal. Like Pope or Emperor.”

“Expert street artists are called Kings and Queens, you know.”

“And dead ones are Angels,” Sho added with a sage nod. “Trying to one-up a Reaper on art is like trying to find the cube root of i.”

Neku stared down at his soft drink, thinking of Hanekoma. The title suited him in more ways than one, thanks to a little packet he’d found in Mr. H’s shop back when he and Beat snuck in to see if there was anything they could save. Since Hanekoma was CAT, there had been a pretty strong likelihood some of his art was still in the ruined café, but sadly there wasn’t any evidence in there at all. Neku saw faded marks where canvases and an easel had once been stacked in a curious empty back room; someone had beaten them to clearing it out.

Sho pulled Neku out of his thoughts eventually, after one intrepid skater ate pavement attempting to grind the Cyco Records railing.

“What’s eating you, pain-in-my-vector? Well, former.”

“You don’t hold a grudge?” Neku asked curiously.

“It’s a long afterlife. Grudges are useless.”

The two sat in silence for a while, watching the skaters try their new decks outside the Wild Boar at the midpoint of the T section.

“You gonna ask me why I’m here?”

“I know why you’re here,” Sho replied testily, tapping his temple. “Was waiting to see if you’d give me the proof out of your mouth.”

“Right. Mind reading.”

“I can’t see every piece of the equation; that’s not how it works and you know it. But I can solve for x and fill in the blanks.”

Neku sighed. “What can you see?”

“That you’re stuck on a hard problem and you’ve been staring at your homework too long.”

“And by problem you mean—”

“I can’t tell—just some big project is eating you up. At least it’s not Higashizawa. That hectopascal can eat a man whole. I’ve seen it.” Minamimoto slung back his drink. “So, what’s eating you?”

“I mean, other than you being alive again?” Neku asked, eyebrow raised.

“Still dead as I was last you saw me.”

“Last I saw you, you were crushed under a vending machine.”

“Eh, I’ve had worse days.” Minamimoto shrugged. “That infinite asshole of a Composer fixed me back up and sent me right back to work. Now stop stalling, you obtuse angle. Out with it.”

“Artist’s block,” Neku admitted sheepishly. “I’ve got a big project coming up and I just can’t think of the right thing to do.”

Sho laughed, his head flung back and whole body shaking with the action. “Artist’s block, you dithering digit. You don’t think we Reapers never deal with that shit? At least for you, it’s not fatal.”

“F-fatal?” Neku asked, almost dropping his bottle.

“We run on Imagination,” Sho said, chucking his emptied-out drink with force, sending it flying halfway down the alley into a recycling bin attached to a vending machine. “No Imagination, no power. No power long enough and poof, divide by zero. Crunch. Drop a vending machine on me? I’ll walk it off. Go too long without making something…”

Sho went uncharacteristically quiet, running his fingers through a hole in his jeans.

“So, what do you do when you’re stuck?” Neku finally asked.

“I raid the trash. Something always finds its way to me.” Sho pulled a loose thread and threw it to the wind. “I don’t just mean the garbage; I mean the rest of us. Talkin’ it out’s helped. I used to think I didn’t need anybody else. But then I got subtracted out so many times by you ‘n Prisspants, well. Don’t want to admit it but dividing up the work’s helped solve the harder equations.”

Neku smiled, offering a hand. “I can leave you my number if you ever want to talk shop.”

Sho blinked twice, confused. “You’d… help me? I was an irrational digit.”

“So? I was an asshole teenager. I pass through often enough. It’s not much trouble, especially if you’re feeding me,” Neku admitted, shaking his now empty bottle. “You try keeping on weight on a college art student’s budget.”

“Yeah, all right,” Sho said, standing up, swiping Neku’s empty bottle to shove in one of his myriad pockets. “A balanced equation—I dig it. I’m using this in my next piece,” he added, tapping the bottle with a hollow thud. “Thanks… Neku.”

Before Neku had a chance to even realize it was the first time Sho called him by name, the Reaper had vanished back to the Underground, out of Neku’s reach.

Xxx

Neku stood at the mural a few minutes longer, rolling the plastic bottle cap in his fingers. If Sho was alive, well, less dead, then Joshua was still haunting Shibuya from somewhere—Hanekoma, too.

So why was the mural so worn out? Had Mr. H run out of new inspiration himself? Neku sighed, no more ready to tackle the assignment as he hoofed it back to the station, tossing the bottle-cap into the recycling as he passed.

The CC Lemon Sho had expertly pitched was mysteriously absent from the top of the pile.

“If Sho went dumpster diving to make recycled friendship bracelets, I think I’ll actually bust a rib laughing,” Neku muttered to himself.

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Neku whipped his head around to see a Reaper in a basic hoodie. A faceless grunt, one of at least tens, if not hundreds, patrolling the city. No visible wings, so at least Neku could remind himself he hadn’t gone sliding into the UG. Just another Reaper coming up to the RG for air. Or to pester him.

Or both.

“Do I know you?” Neku asked, eyeing the teenage-looking apparition in oversized clothing.

The boy huffed. “The Reaper Review remembers you.”

Neku laughed and relaxed a little. “At least you’re not the Reaper who made me show up in all Mus Rattus to break their barrier. Or the other one who made me get them a chili dog.”

“When you’re a minor officer, you’re allowed to send Players on wild goose chases,” the Reaper said with a shrug. “I’m just happy I was allowed to block mine with trivia. I hate fighting.”

“You and me both,” Neku grumbled.

The reaper tipped his hood back slightly, enough to show Neku his ethereal looking eyes. “I overheard you had artist’s block. Er, sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. It’s the worst.”

“Great. Is my mind safe from any of you?” Neku groaned, though it wasn’t in anger. He couldn’t complain. Hearing the livings’ thoughts just happened when you were dead.

“Actually, I was guarding the mural and overheard your chat with the Lieutenant.”

“Oof. Minamimoto got a demotion?”

“He seems happier in the field, anyway,” the Reaper replied with a shrug. “More time for his sculptures and harassing players.”

Neku looked at the Reaper curiously. “Sho mentioned you all do art. Have to keep your Imagination up.”

“That’s… not entirely true. I mean yeah, gotta keep the creative juices going or we stop existing. But it doesn’t have to be through art. Cooking, dance, whatever goes. When I’m stuck, I usually learn from another Reaper. Gives me some perspective.”

Neku’s smile widened. “You’re right, you know. I need to broaden my horizons. What do you do?”

“Me? Uh… I design puzzles. The player traps and stuff.”

“Ugh,” Neku groaned.

“You paint, right? I remember seeing some of your tags under the Miyashita Park underpass a few years ago. You’re pretty good. Maybe… try heading over near Shibu-Q? The Reapers that dance usually practice that way—sidewalk is wide enough. Loosen up with some life drawing or something.”

Neku smiled. “I have to do an installation project, but you know what? That’s not a terrible idea. Thanks.” He looked to the corner where Shibu-Q stood and then back at his nameless friend, but the Reaper was already gone.

Xxx

Neku didn’t know what he was expecting to find outside Shibu-Q, but a pair of Harrier Reapers doing acrobatic dancing was not it. Neku smirked as he watched the reaper woman with electric purple lipstick—Uzuki, if he remembered correctly—pirouetting before using her friend as a vaulting block to spin up and over his back.

The two continued their routine, the man—Kariya, Neku remembered after a few embarrassed moments of mental fumbling—seeming lazy and unmoving but carefully and precisely supporting his partner’s flashy moves. The two continued for another ten minutes or so, then each held out a hat for change.

Neku patted himself down for his wallet before dumping three 500-yen coins in Uzuki’s hat as it passed around. She glared at him a moment, then pushed the coins back in his face.

“Not taking money from you,” she snipped. “I already owe you enough. Shoo.”

Kariya looked over his shoulder at Neku, momentarily confused. After all, the two of them hadn’t aged a day while Neku was now a lanky, slightly scruffy young adult. Realization crossed the Reaper’s features slowly, eventually tugging his mouth into a half grin. Kariya offered Neku a backwards half-salute and went back to waving his hat around for change.

Eventually the crowd dispersed. Kariya loped over to Neku and Uzuki, clapping Neku on the shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. You’re as tall as I am now. Good on you. How’s life treating you?”

Neku couldn’t help but laugh at the double meaning behind the words. “Busy. College.”

“You know, I wondered when I would stop seeing you run around the RG so much over here.”

“Never mind me,” Neku said, sloughing off Kariya’s friendly gesture and looking at the two of them. “How are you holding up?”

“How do you think?” Uzuki spat. “There weren’t many powerful Reapers left after that mess—at least for a while. So, some ass went and got themselves promoted to Conductor.”

Kariya looked down at his feet, blush going all the way across his face. “It’s not like I asked for it; I wasn’t given a choice. At least I negotiated that I could do things my way. Uzuki’s my GM.”

Neku frowned. “So… then you know the Composer.”

Kariya’s eyes went uncharacteristically fierce. “That’s on a need to know basis and—”

“Read my mind then,” Neku countered. “There’s something I do need to know.”

Neku closed his eyes and thought of Joshua. What he really wanted was to talk to Mr. Hanekoma, but the only way he was going to be able to do that would be going to Joshua first.

Kariya whistled low. “Okay. Fine. Kid, come here a sec.”

“Kariya, come on. Why are you even telling this kid anything? He’s alive. And—”

“He knows about Josh, Uzuki, I’m not giving him anything new. Just… maybe pointing him in the right direction.”

Uzuki pushed a loose strand of burgundy hair from her eyes. “Fiiiiine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

“You’ve seen him?” Neku asked quietly.

“’Course I have. He’s my boss,” Kariya said with a sigh. “Though he only comes to speak if he feels like it. I’ve caught him sulking over past the Miyashita Park underpass though. No clue why. Out there is just a bunch of sporting goods stores and Josh and physical activity mix like oil and vinegar. Hope that helps. What do you need him for, anyway? You’re alive.”

“It’s not him I’m even looking for,” Neku admitted. “I want him to tell me what happened to an old friend.”

Kariya relaxed a bit. “If said old friend has anything to do with the UG, might as well ask me.”

“I’m looking for CAT.”

Kariya frowned, scratching the back of his head in contemplation. “CAT was a Reaper? He— or she, I guess— stopped doing anything new after I became Conductor. Yeah. You’d have to speak to Josh. That’s before my time and below my pay grade.”

“Thanks anyway, Kariya,” Neku said, genuinely appreciative. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Anytime. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Neku closed his eyes a moment, sighing quietly. “Hope so too,” he muttered, opening them to an empty sidewalk.

Xxx

Neku headed eastbound towards Cat Street, passing Stride on the left. Gone were the Tin Pin banners, long since replaced with whatever new plastic toy battling fad that had taken hold of the local kids.

“You know, I heard a commotion from some of the older guard that a carrot was running around Udagawa.”

Neku had whiplash. Poised behind him with a cigarette loosely held in between his middle and ring finger was a face Neku couldn’t believe he was seeing.

“Seven?” Neku asked incredulously. He reached out his hand for the bleach-blonde, swaggering musician’s to find it cold as ice. Neku frowned. “Smoking kills, you know.”

777 played with the cigarette between his fingers. “How d’you think I died?” He gave a cocky grin. “Actually, I fell off a roof rigging an abandoned warehouse party. This is why you do safety checks. Tenho still gives me grief about it.”

Neku smiled weakly. “That bites.”

“The dust? Oof. Yeah. But hey, all three of us went down at once. The party scattered and when we showed up to play a new set a few weeks later nobody realized we weren’t exactly alive. They probably thought we broke a bone or two at worst and hid to lick our wounds—not cracked our skulls on the sidewalk.” Neku winced. “Er, sorry, Orange. Didn’t mean to dredge up anything bad on your end. Just odd, seeing you back.”

“Looking for someone,” Neku admitted. “The owner of the café that used to be on Cat Street.”

“Hanekoma? Stopped in there for coffee sometimes. Bit odd. His shop didn’t have the Player decal, yet he definitely served stiffs. Reapers as customers is one thing—we can go to the RG—but… hell. What do I know?”

Neku flocked his eyes up and down the street. Not that it mattered; Reapers could be in the UG right next to him and he wouldn’t know. “Yeah, he could see the dead.”

“ESPer or something?” Seven asked, blowing out a smoke ring that looked like a bat. Now he was just showing off.

“Something like that.”

“Well, fat lot that did him. Shop’s been MIA ever since I got recommissioned—maybe earlier. All I remember is, I had a double shot espresso there the night before that gig you helped me with, got blown up like two weeks later, and when I’m back to my good old dead self, the shop looks like it got exploded too. What the hell went on in this city that week?”

“War,” Neku said grimly.

“And you won, didn’t you?” Seven elbowed him in the shoulder. “You’d be one of my types now if you hadn’t.”

“Yeah, I did,” Neku said, throat dry. “Thanks for the chat.”

“You come to our next gig, you hear? You’ve gotta be old enough to drink now. VIP for you ‘n the cute chick you were with. Or, uh, anyone else. Don’t know if asking her would be awkward. She made it out, didn’t she? Please say yes.”

Neku smiled. “She did, and we’re still friends. I’ll ask. She won’t look like how you’re expecting though.”

“Neither do you, not-so-short stack. Now get outta here. I’m gonna finish my drag and get back to setup before Beej screams me out. Later.” Seven snapped his fingers and the cigarette exploded in a puff of blue fiery smoke. “Open invite, Orange, just tell the bouncer ‘golden bat’ at the door.”

Xxx

Neku inhaled. He knew past here was Cadoi, then Miyashita.

Then Cat Street.

Neku passed a small spot under the park underpass where Beat and Rhyme’s flowers had once been placed, leaving behind a tiny finger skateboard. Beat would probably punch him; Rhyme would find it hilarious. He did it to honor his once dead friend. Some kid would probably see it, and abscond with it, and play with it till it broke. Beat’s skateboard, in the hands of some kid passing by—it was fitting.

Neku let his memory walk him the rest of the way to WildKat. It stood as it had since the incident: a broken front window, a door barely hanging on its hinges. How it remained like this almost half a decade without developer intervention was shocking, honestly. Or maybe not, if divine intervention was involved.

Neku inhaled and took a step forward.

Again.

He carefully swung the door, afraid the whole thing would come off the frame in his hands. It squeaked something awful but hung by a thread.

The inside was worse. Neku should have brought one of his paint masks with him. The place was a fire trap of chipped plaster, dust, and mold. An old safe in the back corner was open on its hinges. The only things that looked clean were the sink, two sealed jars of whole coffee beans, and a single drip carafe, the rest of the row shattered beyond recognition.

Neku’s sketchbook and a mechanical pencil set still sat atop the dust-crusted counter. He’d left them there when he and Beat had returned— the only time Neku stepped foot in the shop when he was alive—to check on the shop.

To check on its owner.

Leaving the sketchbook behind seemed fitting. It was half full of random crap, and half empty, nothing but open promises in the end.

Maybe Neku didn’t need Hanekoma, or CAT, or the old shop. Carefully, he made his way around a splintered bar stool, sidestepped a broken glass pitcher, and hauled himself up on the only stool left in sittable condition.

Reverently, he opened the book. He almost laughed at his fifteen-year-old self’s sketches. The first three pages were ideas for tags around the city. He actually cringed at one.

Then a page of Shiki—a quick sketch, half likely from stolen glances and half from memory, because it was her as herself on the left, and as Eri on the right.

Ideas for Beat’s skateboards.

Architecture sketches

An entire six pages of circles and cubes, shaded with hatching or a blending stump.

Neku turned to the next page.

In handwriting that wasn’t his, scrawled in large block print…

TURN AROUND, DEAR.

Xxx

Neku screamed. It wasn’t one of fear, but frustration. “You slimy, little—” he shrieked, as he spun around in the stool expecting to see a smarmy, fifteen-year-old-looking blonde, if the agelessness of the other UG residents was anything to go by.

Instead, a softly frowning man in his mid-thirties stood behind him.

With blonde fly-away hair.

And strange purple eyes.

And a blue-purple button down with white accents and charcoal slacks.

Neku bit his lower lip, holding back a fury he hadn’t had in years.

“You.”

“I come in peace,” Joshua offered, hands up defensively, glowing slightly. “I wrote that years ago. Now I kind of regret it.” Neku relaxed a little. Joshua would be dramatic enough to do that and scare him when he entered the shop, wouldn’t he?

“Only kind of, though,” Joshua added, pulling a broken chair from the rubble, fixing it with a shake and sitting down beside Neku. “It’s still Imprinted. I’m not in the RG. The note left a bit of me in it. You see it, you see me, too.”

“You been tailing me all day, too?”

“I felt you in the city, but no. Only when I got a text about it.”

Kariya. Of course.

“Your conductor rat me out?”

“He did say you were looking for me. So, might have imprinted on you a bit to push you here.”

“You could have come and—”

“—said hello? No, actually, I can’t. I’m on probation. Can’t enter the RG for a decade. Not the biggest deal for me, mind, but… humans don’t live near as long as things like I do. I needed you to come to me. Glad that thing still works.” He tapped the notebook, his hand clipping through a page or two like he wasn’t all there.

Neku exhaled. “I trust you, you know. Still don’t forgive you, but I do trust you.”

“I know. I appreciate you said it aloud, but I know.”

“You look better when your clothes actually fit.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve gotten better at keeping up with me,” Joshua said with a bit of a grin.

“You’ve slowed down in your age, you old fart.”

“Old? Fart?” Joshua pouted, and where there had been a well-put-together adult sat a petulant teenager in the same attire, now oversized to the point of baggy. He looked as the Reapers did—unaged.

“At least now you fit in with the rest of your underlings,” Neku huffed.

Joshua frowned. “I wish I did, honestly.” Quietly, he stared off, past Neku to the empty kitchen.

“Miss him too?”

“More than you,” Joshua shot back.

“Didn’t have many friends?”

“Comes with the job.”

Neku rolled a pencil between his fingers. He’d caught the proverbial tail and didn’t know what to do with it. Joshua was here and clearly knew just as much as Neku did about his former idol’s whereabouts. They sat in silence as Joshua’s likely million-yen watch ticked away.

“Well?”

“Well what?” Neku replied flatly.

“You’re no fun, Neku,” Joshua needled. “Fine. Look, Sanae liked you, more than just the fact that you were my Proxy. Hell, I’m surprised he helped you at all, knowing what you represented in my Game. You were the bad guy.”

Joshua slunk in the only-until-recently broken bar seat, kicking at a shattered tile with an awfully expensive sneaker. When he couldn’t quite reach, his form shifted back to that of an adult, flinging the chipped tile aside like a petulant child. “Neku, I need you.”

“Like you needed me to destroy Shibuya.”

Joshua exhaled, wisps of golden hair fluttering as he stared at anything but Neku. “I’ve been trying to find Hanekoma for years. Every moment I’m not here keeping the city together, I’m traveling to find him. You wouldn’t understand, but I need you to get a lock on him.”

“You’re dimension hopping.”

Joshua sat straight up, his too-long legs hitting the café bar as he did so. “Fuck,” he hissed, rubbing at his knee. “Too tall for my own good. But how? How could you even know that?”

Neku pointed to the safe at the back corner of the café, still just as ajar as he left it when he found the key pin with Beat back in the game. “Mr. H. left me a book of notes: on the game, on angels, all of it.” Neku scrolled through his phone. “I used to keep it on me, thinking it would help me somehow, someday. Eventually, I just scanned it all.”

“Gimme,” Joshua demanded, and the phone was in his hands. Neku watched in awe at the Composer’s speed reading. “I know he kept notes for the Angels, but this wasn’t for them—it was for you. Where’s the real deal?”

“My apartment.”

“Address. Specific location. I’m talking ‘fourth floor, third bedroom, under the red futon next to my stack of- ‘”

Neku cut him off quickly, rattling off his exact address and where he hid the book. Joshua held out a free hand, and in a moment, it materialized with the softest of thunks, pages fluttering in Joshua’s fingertips. “Be glad I’m on good terms with the Composer of Taito Ward,” Joshua admonished, pointing with the small hand-bound journal. “Otherwise I would have sent you home to go get it yourself.”

“What, are you going to track down Hanekoma with this?”

“No, of course not,” Joshua snorted, standing upright, shaking himself once to completely dissipate any plaster shavings or broken chips from his clothing.

“You are.”

Xxx

Neku watched in awe as Joshua’s back bloomed with light, a pair of massive swan-like silver-white wings settling on his back, iridescent with hints of lavender as he shook them loose. Before Neku could think, Hanekoma’s journal was thrust into his hands, and Joshua had him in a position he’d later call The Little Spoon of Death. With a jerk backwards, the two fell through and landed precisely where they’d been before, except the shop was in clean, working order, jazz playing on the radio, and a familiar voice humming tunelessly along with the guitar.

“Heya, Josh. Back so soon?”

Neku blinked and almost cried when he saw the man behind the counter. “H-Hanekoma?!? Mr. H?”

“One of,” Hanekoma said with a shrug. “Not the one you’re looking for though.”

Neku tried to surge forward to give the man (angel?) a hug but was held firmly in place by Joshua’s murderous grip around his waist. “Let go,” Neku whined through gritted teeth.

“Not a good idea, Boss,” Hanekoma chided. “You don’t want to get stuck in the wrong place.”

Neku let himself slacken. “I can get stuck?”

“Sure as the rain ruining my day,” Hanekoma agreed. “When you’re in the right place, you’ll know.”

“Can you help?”

“Can I? Sure. Will I? No. He’s a hellion. You’re never going to find him anyway.”

“Isn’t he another you?”

“You wouldn’t say the same thing if you met you from this world,” Joshua said, exasperated. “I wonder why the book sent us here.”

“This is where you hid after Minamimoto tried to erase you, isn’t it?” Neku asked. He flipped through the journal. “He hid somewhere high to wait for you. Because he thought this Hanekoma would turn him into the Angel Police or something.”

“I did,” Hanekoma said proudly. “Can’t have me ruining my good name.”

“Fuck off,” Neku spat at the barista. “You’re not Hanekoma.”

“I’m the part of Hanekoma that actually follows our rules.”

Joshua squeezed Neku tighter. “Hold on and keep thinking of that.”

“What—whyyyyyyyyyy?!” Neku screamed as sound escaped him. The whole universe lurched underneath as Joshua resumed pinging around between alternate realities, barely stopping to breathe.

“Focus!” Joshua ordered him through the din of dizzying WildKat cafes, Shibuya skylines, and for a brief moment, possibly the cold depths of space.

“THERE IS NOTHING TO FOCUS ON YOU DAFT ZOMBIE!” Neku shouted back, feeling his insides out and outsides in before the two bounced off a massive plate of glass and went rolling out to nowhere. Joshua pulled his wings around them, breaking the fall as they bounced a few times to the sounds of shattering glass.

They stilled. Neku could hear his own breathing and feel his heart jumping in his chest. Disquietingly, Joshua had neither breath nor a heartbeat, his torso flat against Neku’s back without any noticeable sign of life. Neku quietly filed that part under “disgusting, do not remind” and wiggled a little to loosen Joshua’s grip on his midsection.

“Hang on,” Joshua hissed out. “Easy does it.”

“That was easy?”

“You should see hard,” Joshua said, smirking as he raised an eyebrow. “And it might surprise you but… I think we’re here.”

Joshua rocked on the shoulders of his wings, pushing them both upright and parting a crack for them to see from.

The world consisted of a single, stained-glass building in a shattered-glass sky. The ground crunched with hardened paint beneath them.

“Somewhere high, following the rules… and nothing to focus on. Neku, sometimes, only sometimes, am I reminded of your genius.”

“I am in elbow-to-face range,” Neku reminded him.

“Yes, dear, and you’d best stay that way unless you want to swallow glass,” Joshua pointed out. “I’m too concerned about flying through that with a passenger, let alone someone alive, so we’re going to walk in tandem to the entrance and pray there’s no tricks along the way.”

Neku wanted to argue he wasn’t much for prayer but being cocooned in angel wings wasn’t doing him any favors in that department.

“Well at least I’m getting the inspiration I was looking for,” Neku muttered as he marveled through the tiniest of openings in between Joshua’s feathers. They both shuddered as pellets of colored glass dogged them like rain, Neku grimacing with each step.

“I think that is this world’s rain,” Joshua said aloud. “What? You’re thinking too loud. Either shut up or I’ll nitpick your thoughts. Last you want to do is swallow glass talking out loud, anyway.”

They walked in silence for what felt like eternity, roughly matching steps so their wing-cocoon tank didn’t topple. Peppered by the shards of rain, Neku was slowly getting a better view of the world outside his feathered umbrella.

The tower reminded him of Pork City, though it stretched upwards through molten clouds that burned red hot like liquid glass being worked at a forge. The whole thing was stained glass of infinite color—giant, angular panes crossed and reinforced by black, wrought iron-like supports, with sharp points sticking out at odd angles from the structure.

“I think so too,” Joshua agreed with Neku’s wandering thoughts. “That’s Pork City, all right—made from Reaper wings. It looks like a gorgeous prison. A prison all the same, though,” he added, sighing.

Soon enough, the entrance loomed overhead, its maw of black webbing haphazardly stuffed with angular pastel glass. The tinkle of the rain bounced off the overhang as Joshua ever-so-slowly folded his wings behind him.

“I think you’re safe, for now,” he said, with the authoritativeness betraying his true age. “I promise, I’m not going to let you die here—you’re still holding Sanae’s book.”

“Because that’s all you care about,” Neku grumbled, to Joshua’s pout. “Oh, come off. I’m going to make up for all the teasing you did to me. Now let’s hope there’s an elevator in there or you’ll be flying us up the stairs.”

Xxx

“Lights are on; nobody’s home,” Joshua said, looking around as the two shuffled inside. “Okay, I’m letting go.”

“You’re what!” Neku shrieked, breathing heavy as Joshua smirked, unhooking his hands from around Neku’s waist. “Didn’t that other Hanekoma say it was a bad idea?”

“Oh, it’s a cataclysmically terrible idea. You’ll be trapped here forever now.”

“Joshua–I—you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“I mean, of course. I’m an ass, but nobody’s that heartless.”

“You murdered me. Twice.”

“I also brought you back to life, so no complaints,” Joshua snipped back. “Now, what have we here?”

Neku sighed, reminded of exactly how aggravating the little god could be. He looked around the entry foyer. The walls inside the building were a blinding white, almost piercing in their contrast to the stained glass on the outer walls of the monstrous tower. “I think this thing is alive,” Neku muttered.

“It’s not,” Joshua said, almost too quickly. “Or, rather, it’s as alive as Sanae or I am.”

“So it’s, what, an angel?”

Joshua kneeled down to touch the floor, a soft white abalone with a pearlescent sheen. “Yes. And we just entered the mouth.” Neku shuddered. “Oh, it’s not really that big a deal, Neku,” Joshua said, standing up and tsk-ing him with a finger. “This building is no more going to digest you than a wooden one; though I’m sure you’ve seen trees grow around and consume cars and houses.”

“Not helping,” Neku grumbled. “Hey, I’m not sure if it’s the retina damage, but are the walls bleeding paint?”

Joshua tucked his massive wings up high on his back, where they still trailed behind him like a couture dress, and shimmy-hopped over to the interior wall. “Oh, it’s probably retina damage,” he said cheerily, “you’re looking at pure light after all. But you’re not wrong.” Joshua swiped his hand along the wall, coming off it with a smear of mustard yellow acrylic paint. He blew on it, drying it immediately, and peeled it off like a face mask. “Must be the elevator hidden in the wall and… here we go.”

With a squelching sound like wrenching a tooth out of its socket—Neku wondering with a shudder that if that actually was a tooth—Joshua dislodged the panel, revealing a plush, red-velvet-lined elevator speckled with flecks of paint.

“If that’s a tongue, I’m out of here,” Neku complained.

“It’s not a tongue,” Josh said with a suspicious grin, stuffing himself inside with his wings still exposed. Neku shuffled and squeezed in, a massive feather poking him in the backside. The doors closed. “It’s the esophagus, Neku.”

Xxx

“Can’t you put those away?” Neku asked, after what felt like an eternity of being smothered by a giant chicken.

Joshua sighed, looking more serious than Neku was ever used to. “Yes, but I won’t.”

Neku expected him to elaborate, but Joshua merely went silent, hands out and open and feathers fluffed up.

Quickly, Neku understood why. It started quietly, a ping and a plop and a hiss, and became louder and more intense with each passing second. A few moments later, Neku was positive he wasn’t hearing things; it sounded like rain pouring from a gutter except… the rain was a stream of fire-engine red and the gutter was the walls of the elevator. The liquid pooled in the velvet flooring like blood matting the fur on a wounded, furry animal.

“Neku, move in before I make you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice as Joshua threw his wings up around them again, reaching a hand out of the fluffy shield to pull the emergency stop on the elevator panel. Neku didn’t even realize how fast they’d been ascending until they screeched to a halt.

“The walls are bleeding.”

“Paint,” Joshua replied. “It’s just paint.”

“You also said the building was an angel,” Neku reminded him testily. “What’s to say that this isn’t—”

“Angel blood melts like acid,” Joshua replied flatly. Neku didn’t know if he were telling the truth or not, but the soles of his shoes, now caked in it, weren’t dissolving.

Joshua pulled him close, wrapping his left arm around his shoulders and left wing over that like a shield. Neku couldn’t see anything but white, but he felt a jolt of exertion and heard Joshua swear low.

“Neku, dear, stay close and don’t scream.”

In the time it took him to blink, the Joshua that Neku was familiar with vanished. Every pore of the elevator was leaking paint in gushes now; thankfully blues and greens and hot pinks, to put Neku slightly more at ease, balanced evenly with the remainder of the free space taken up by living, swirling paint.

Noise.

One giant one.

It was silent and snake-like, and it dug its claws into the elevator door, wrenching it open without a sound save the rushing air.

The elevator had stopped between two floors, and the Noise slipped out the bottom to slide down to the floor below.

Move, it demanded of him. Drowning in paint doesn’t belong in your obituary.

Neku more or less knew the beast had been Joshua, but the voice in his head finally cemented it.

“I’ll break my legs.”

“I’ll catch you.”

Neku didn’t even register the response said aloud, slipping down the paint-soaked velvet and landing in a nest of color-streaked feathers.

“See?”

“I’m drenched,” Neku grumped, and then realized he wasn’t. His and Joshua’s clothes were pristine again, though the wild streaks of paint still covered Neku’s arms and Joshua’s feathers.

“Not getting rid of it all. I don’t know if the building is trying to attack us and I’d rather we still smell like it.”

“You think?” Neku asked sarcastically. He looked around the room. Paint had pooled in oil-slick puddles on the floor and was leaking out cracks in the walls. Neku heard dripping from overhead, looking up to see globs of color slowly plopping from the ceiling. The acrylic paint’s own drying-to-plastic properties were likely the only thing preventing a flood of multicolored rain on them.

Carefully, Neku hot-footed around the deepest puddles and made his way to the stained glass on the perimeter.

“We are really high up,” he breathed out, looking at the world below.

Joshua fluttered, and landed gracefully next to him. “We are. Care not to break the glass.”

“I’m not that—”

“—without me,” Joshua continued, barreling for the window, grabbing Neku as he shattered an entire pane.

For a moment, time stood still, not that it mattered much in this place to begin with. The triangular pastel shards exploded out with them on the side of the building and Neku swore he heard it scream. The shards from the broken window floated around them, glittering against the glass rain pelting them from above. Joshua pulled Neku in tighter, wings curled.

“Duck.” That was Neku’s only warning as Joshua opened his wings to propel them up against the pellets of crystalline rain before hurling himself sideways, crashing into another exterior wall.

“Human bodies are too frail,” Joshua tsk’ed at him once they finished rolling in a 20 centimeters deep pool of paint. With a hand wave, Neku found himself as clean as he could be, and free of scratches.

Paint sluiced down from their entry hole, likely streaking the outside of the building as the room began to drain. Neku shook the stars from his eyes as Joshua flicked his fingers across his button-down shirt, sending the liquid colors away as he did so.

His wings were still streaked with neon.

The room had no stairs, no elevator shaft, from what Neku could see. It was just glass around the outside and a concrete floor and ceiling. Scattered about the room were pillars and flat concrete pieces, some wall-to-ceiling, but most about half height—like an art gallery.

The entire room, save the glass, was completely covered in art.

Graffiti.

Classical.

Renaissance.

Ukiyo-e

Cubist.

It was one step short of being an eyesore. And as the paint drained out, pouring down the exterior side of the building, Neku could see the floor, too, covered with incredible works of art. He felt almost embarrassed when he moved his foot, leaving behind a hot-pink footprint on impressionist lilies.

“They’re just copies,” Joshua said sternly, looking around. “Technically precise, but nothing original except in how it’s all mashed together.”

Neku nodded. “I just stepped in Monet.”

“Well, a good copy. Poor Sanae. Stay on your guard, Neku; he’s up here somewhere. And he’s probably not going to look like what you’re used to.”

“Like how you were a dragon?” Neku asked.

“His street art handle isn’t CAT for nothing.”

“I’m assuming it’s not a housecat, then,” Neku hissed back, suddenly concerned. Both of them winced on hearing a howl.

Quiet, Joshua ordered inside his head. And stay behind me.

Neku nodded and the two wove their way through the gallery, following the sound of growls and irritated hisses. Joshua slowly peeled around a corner, motioning for Neku to follow.

A great graffiti-winged panther that Neku could only assume was Mr. Hanekoma glared back through acid-paint eyes.

Xxx

Joshua shoved Neku roughly aside, striding confidently to the massive graffiti beast.

“Hello, old friend,” Joshua said, tired and aged himself.

The creature screamed. The concrete half-wall Neku had been cowering behind exploded into fragments of color and shrapnel.

The beast froze, sniffed. It took one step, then another, leaning its gargantuan head over the broken divider to look down at Neku.

Neku had never been terrified before. Even in the Game, he’d had periods when he was scared, adrenaline coursing through him like the drug it was. But this abject fear to witness a man he trusted—who he might even consider a friend—be reduced to a mindless abomination drooling tempera paint overhead was sobering.

The beast opened its maw wide. Joshua jumped to his side in a flash, throwing up a wing to protect him.

Hanekoma tilted his head a little, reminiscent of a puppy. “Ne….ku?”

Xxx

Neku and Joshua watched over the next…however long it took. Hanekoma paced, occasionally knocking over a bucket of paint or, in one case, slamming into one of the concrete half-wall dividers with his flank as his graffiti form jittered and convulsed.

He’s coming back around, Joshua hissed in Neku’s head. At this point, we just need to wait.

Neku nodded. Joshua still held a wing up and an iron grip on the other’s arm and waist, but it was with good reason. Hanekoma screamed again, rupturing the concrete and Neku’s eardrums. For a few moments, Neku saw nothing but static, before the searing pain faded.

“—Sanae, Sanae, come back to us,” Joshua pleaded in croaking whispers as Neku’s hearing returned. “Please. Your attacks are only hurting him, see? I just had to completely repair his eardrums.”

The cat-beast howled again, knocking Neku utterly unconscious this time.

Xxx

Neku came to on the floor of the gallery, slowly taking stock of the room around him through hazy peripheral vision. Most of the dividers were at least punched through, if not entirely destroyed. A cold hand covered most of his forward vision, however.

“Neku, can you hear me?” Hanekoma’s gruff voice was twanged with concern.

“He should; I fixed his eardrums twice in one eternity,” Joshua grumped.

“Mister….H?” Neku croaked.

“J, make him some water.”

Slowly, a sturdy arm pulled Neku to sitting, leaning his body back into something warm, but lacking breath and a pulse. It was too broad to be Joshua, confirmed when the other hand slipped away to take an offered bowl of water.

Hanekoma was in human form again. Human-ish, at least.

“Drink, kiddo.”

“I’m twenty,” Neku protested before coughing up a little blood, realizing that was the first full sentence out of his mouth to the former barista.

“Hey, all humans are kids to me,” Hanekoma laughed. “J, he needs his throat patched up too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joshua whined, leaning forward to place three fingers against Neku’s neck. Immediately, Neku felt a wave of calm wash over, and his throat felt clear. “Now drink, before I whip you up an IV. I can patch you up, but I’m not magically refilling you with lost fluids. I don’t have the brainspace right now for that.”

Neku slowly downed the water, leaning heavily into Hanekoma. “I don’t have the brainspace to brain for at least a week.”

“I don’t think any of us do,” Hanekoma added. “I’m not even sure how I’m back to any kind of sanity as it is.”

Joshua rolled his eyes and refilled the water bowl with a gesture. “Enough of you was sane enough to be worried.”

“You brought a living human as bait, J! Of course I was worried.”

“It worked.”

“That doesn’t make it—” Hanekoma hissed, squeezing Neku’s shoulders a little too hard.

“I missed you,” Neku cut in. “It looked like all of Shibuya did, even though they never knew who you were.”

“Of course they knew,” Hanekoma said gently. “I was the local barista, ready with a good cup ‘o joe. I was the artist that painted the town red.”

“All the Reapers I spoke to had nothing but praise for you,” Neku continued. “I ran all over the city today finding that out.”

Neku felt the single loud thump of a heartbeat from the ethereal body keeping him upright. “Really now?”

“None of them knew you had a connection to the game either,” Neku continued, getting a second wind. “They just praised CAT’s art and WildKat’s coffee.”

“Hmph.”

“Won’t you come back, Sanae?” Joshua asked, a pleading smile on his lips. “It’s been too long.”

“I wish I could, J.”

“What do you mean you wish? You’re an Angel, for Someone’s sake!”

“Er, about that,” Hanekoma said, scratching the back of his head. “I’m… well. I’m not not an angel, I guess. But this is my punishment.”

“You’re definitely under supervision,” Joshua said testily. “Your warden was more annoying than anything else.”

“I take offense to that,” Hanekoma’s voice reverberated through all three of them.

Joshua nearly growled. “You know, you could have skipped the theatrics. If you wanted us gone, you could have Erased us, or just booted us out.”

Neku blinked the last of the daze away. “Hold on. I’m missing something here.”

“Remember how we passed a million billion WildKats and Sanaes and Shibuyas trying to find this place?” Joshua grumbled. “And how Sanae knew what we were doing? Angels have a singular hive mind. Mostly. I’m not actually an Angel, mind you—sort of just a hatchling, an infant. But he’s a real-deal Higher Plane beastie.”

Neku frowned, putting up a finger, lost in thought. Hanekoma went to speak, only for Joshua to shush him.

“Neku’s smart enough to put the pieces together. Give him a moment.”

“I gave him at least a concussion, if not brain damage, J.”

“Which I fixed.”

“The building.” Neku’s face sharpened into a frown.

Joshua and Hanekoma turned their heads to Neku, now sitting upright unassisted as he bopped his finger to his own internal music, slotting what he knew in place. “You said the building was an angel. This building, this whole thing, is this dimension’s Mr. H. All of the other yous are mad at you, aren’t they?”

Hanekoma nodded, exhaling a sigh. “I’m… sort of still an angel. But they cut me off from the Hive and took my inspiration. I can’t leave until I have them back.”

“I’m going to have a word with Management.” Joshua hoisted himself off the shrapnel-pocked floor, stomping a foot. “Elevator, if you please.”

“J, you’re crazy.”

“Aware. So?”

The three heard a ding as a concrete cube rose from the floor, the elevator with it. It opened with a smooth motion, the door already fixed but the interior still caked in paint.

“Am I the hostage negotiator, or can all of us go?” Joshua asked the elevator, irritated, arms crossed and wing-feathers fluffed in annoyance. In response, the elevator ballooned sideways, expanding the interior to accommodate three adults and one massive pair of wings.

“All right,” Joshua sighed out. “Everybody in.”

Xxx

The elevator hummed pleasantly and dinged, opening back up to the pearly-white entryway. The large front doors—triangular shards of crisscrossing stained glass—were blocked off by an aggressive black chain and padlock. A gleaming solid front desk sat at the entryway with a bored Hanekoma flipping lazily through a completely blank magazine. He shot them a grin; Neku noticed he was missing a tooth.

“Ah, hello. Thanks for giving me one heck of a sore throat, J.”

“Can it. I’m busting him out,” Joshua snapped, straight to the point.

Hanekoma put down the magazine, all high-gloss and solid-white pages. “Oh? How?”

Joshua pointed at the door, the chain and lock melting like acid under his gaze. “The front door, how else? Unless you want a few more teeth popped out.”

“That isn’t what I meant, J,” Hanekoma-behind-the-counter said simply. “Your me isn’t an angel right now. You take him out of here and he’s a mortal. I give him a few decades, tops. Stay and he’ll pay his price eventually; won’t you, you sorry excuse for a me?”

Joshua’s Sanae wrung his hands. “I’ll head back up. I did say you didn’t need to come for me, J.”

“If you leave before your sentence is up… you’re mortal?” Joshua asked, his voice cracking a little.

“Yeah, sorry Boss. I’ll take the long way ‘round.”

Neku frowned, scratching at some dried paint on his cheek. “Hang on. What is his sentence exactly? Josh, you said yours was being banned from the RG, but nothing stopped you from letting me see the UG.”

Joshua broke out into a nasty grin. “Ohhhhhhhh Neku, dear. I need to have you get brain damage more often.”

“No,” Neku interjected flatly.

“Aw, it was only a temporary inconvenience. Anyway, Sanae—either of you—what is his exact punishment from the Higher Plane? I want the full contract.”

The glass world’s Sanae slid him the blank magazine. “They were pretty thorough.”

Xxx

When Neku turned his back on the front desk, a couch, two chairs, and a coffee table, all in different shades of blinding alabaster, existed under the overhang just to the side of the entryway. The tinkle of stained-glass-shard rain peppered the overhang roof and a rainbow of garish light streaked in between the storm clouds outside. Joshua lifted his wings, draped them over the back of the sofa, and got to reading.

The only sounds were the tinkling of the rain, Joshua’s ever-ticking watch, and the occasional turn of a page.

Neku tapped his fingers on his jeans. “Can I do anything?”

“No,” muttered Joshua, half in thought flipping through the plain pages.

“Haven’t you done enough?” asked the bored warden, slouching at his desk.

“I could… clean the elevator,” Neku offered, trying to figure out something to do. He was definitely caught in some sort of celestial war, played out in miniature. Everything was over his head right now as he looked sideways to the glass-world Hanekoma. He looked the same as all the others—rolled-up button down, slacks, waistcoat, watch, sandals, sunglasses, messy hair—though he did seem a bit more… shiny, like light was reflecting off of him. Neku didn’t want to consider what it meant for him to both be standing at the front counter as well as being the entire building.

“You’d do that?” the glass angel questioned, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’m just standing here. And it’s partially my fault that happened. More so if it’s hurting you.”

“Angels aren’t people, Neku,” he replied, handing him a bucket of soapy water from nowhere. “We don’t feel pain.”

“You’re clearly in pain,” Neku shot back in a whisper after Joshua rustled the magazine loudly, clearing his throat in a way reminding Neku to not disturb him. “Let me help.”

“Help, huh?” The glass Hanekoma smiled, the missing tooth returning to its space after a moment of static. “That’s a new thought.”

“Nobody’s ever helped you before?” Neku asked, concerned, as the elevator dinged and opened. He walked to it, both Sanaes following. One handed the other another bucket, then made one for himself. The three went inside and Neku took to the floor, carefully washing down the carpeting. The door slid closed and the three worked in silence.

“Not me, no,” the glass one admitted. “Not most of us. Angels don’t interact with your kind, or they really aren’t supposed to. I think some of us are jealous of the us from your world.” Another beat of silence. “I know I am.”

“Then why don’t you leave?” Neku asked.

“The other mes would make me a traitor, same as that one.” He jabbed his thumb at his duplicate. “In all honesty, I think it’s better than wasting away with only our own thoughts for company. All of us know it too—only that one said the quiet part out loud. There’s a small and finite number of angels, but an infinite number of each of us. One broken hive is a massive blow to the higher plane—kind of contradictory when you realize we run on Imagination. Think about it for five seconds and—”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Neku cut in, satisfied with the state of the floor, moving on to an aggressive teal spot on the wall. “If you run on Imagination but you’re made up as a ton of fragments that all have to think alike, any dissent and your own self turns on you. Seems a bit counterintuitive to have it that way.”

“The only possible outcome is to break apart from within,” Hanekoma agreed, but Neku wasn’t sure which one of them said it. Inside the elevator, the glass one didn’t have the odd shine he’d had in the foyer. At this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered.

Xxx

Neku and both Hanekoma exited the elevator, Joshua still pouring over the magazine. “They really did try and close every possible loophole,” he muttered. “I can’t see a way out… shy of killing you,” he added, looking up at the two angels. “And now I can’t even tell you apart.”

One of them smiled. “Neku just opened one up for you.”

“Oh?”

“Clause 16b.2.”

“Yes, ‘should the warden be unfit for service, Hanekoma is to serve the remainder of the sentence under a new warden.’ I was going to kill you and claim myself warden.”

“There’s no way the Higher Power would allow that. He’d just be transferred,” the other one said. Joshua raised an eyebrow to the first one—his Hanekoma. He slid his eyes between the two of them and the glass one scratched the back of his neck.

“Sit. I’ll get us something to drink.”

Neku shrugged and practically threw himself into one of the chairs, sighing as he sank into it. It was soft and warm and the light pinging of the rain overhead was lulling him to sleep.

“Stay awake,” Hanekoma ordered, pinching his elbow. “You started going see-through when you passed out last time—it’s what jolted me to consciousness. You aren’t coming all this way just for me to see you fade to nothing, Neku.”

Neku jolted upright, just as a steaming cup of coffee was placed in his hands. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” the glass Hanekoma said, determined. A third settee appeared between the other two; their captor-slash-host sat in it, placing a tray of coffee, tea, and snacks on the table between them. “And anyway, I’m unfit to be Hanekoma’s warden now. The Higher Plane may come for me soon. Though, soon here could be eons off. I know my time doesn’t run at the same pace as most of the other dimensions; that’s why I was picked to watch him. Joshua, they would never accept you under probation, but… Neku—you seem to be a favorite of upper management. Transferring to you shouldn’t be a problem. Hand him the contract, J.”

Neku blinked a bit of the daze from his eyes, downing the beverage. It felt like more than mere coffee, a solid glass of liquid courage, emboldening him.

Joshua hesitated, but passed the blank, glossy magazine sideways to Neku. He then stared down at the tray of offered snacks and carefully picked out a chessboard cookie, frowning at it, before biting the head off the knight’s horse.

Words swirled on the paper in Neku’s peripheral vision before he could see them straight off. “Can I get a translation?” he asked meekly, looking at the mess of block print before him.

“Did I not write it in Japanese?” Glass-Hanekoma asked.

“That’s not what I meant,” Neku sulked. “I can’t read lawyer.”

Joshua craned his neck sideways. “It’s a transferal of ownership contract. Standard language, except… hm. Neku, would you want to be an angel?”

Neku scrunched up his face. “Seeing what you deal with? No. I have enough trouble with artist’s block as it is. I’d rather it not be fatal.”

“Take out paragraphs eight and twenty, then.”

“Wait, this would have…”

“Made you one of us, yeah,” Joshua cut Neku off. “It does mean that if Hanekoma didn’t finish his sentence before you died, he would be mortal; so some sort of transferal clause needs to be added.”

Hanekoma snatched up the magazine, flicking it. “Consider it done. Sign and get out of here before I’m taken away too.” He grinned slyly. “Maybe I can keep the domino chain going. Wouldn’t the upper management just love that?”

Neku flicked his eyes to Joshua. “I still trust you, Josh. How’s it look?”

“We can take him with us. You’re his warden ‘til you die or his sentence is done, then you can renegotiate angelhood if you want.”

“But… what is his sentence?” Neku asked, looking between the now indistinguishable Hanekoma.

“I have to re-earn my Imagination: the human way.”

“No magic?”

“Some magic. About as much as Josh has. Which is a lot compared to you. Very little compared to before. And none at all when I’m not near my warden… though I’m not sure how near near is.”

“Don’t worry about that,” the second Hanekoma said, squeezing the first’s shoulder. “I’ve given you a little extra juice on your way. I’m sure they’ll take mine from me anyway. It’s enough to manifest your wings again, at least. Now get out of here, before there’s bigger problems. All of us is already tattling.”

“Bunch of assholes,” Hanekoma hissed under his breath.

“We both were, too. Well, me at least. Think you were always the black sheep. Now, sign and get.”

Joshua plucked a pen from nowhere, handing it to Neku who turned to the angelic twins. “You trust me?”

“With your life,” both Hanekoma said with a nod.

Neku signed with a flick of his wrist, the pull of slumber taking him again. He could barely hear Hanekoma and Joshua shout something as they hauled him upright at the torso.

With a jerk that felt like someone had tied a rope around his waist and then yanked on it from behind, Neku blinked his eyes open to Hanekoma’s shop, as destroyed as it was when they’d left it. He gasped for breath, completely winded and woozy, the world spinning around him until he succumbed, sliding out of Hanekoma and Joshua’s shared grip to bounce on the cracked tile floor.

Xxx

Hanekoma frowned, flapping feathered wings he forgot he’d missed. “J, you know you can’t throw yourself around the mortals—not like that. Not even to someone like him.” Carefully, Hanekoma pulled Neku out of the rubble, flinging his body over a shoulder. “Be glad he’s just passed out. If he stayed a moment longer in that dimension, he would have been gone. You could have killed him or worse.”

“But I didn’t,” Joshua insisted. “I needed him.”

“Did he know the risks?” Hanekoma asked roughly, finally free to yell at his former boss-and-ward without Neku overhearing. “He didn’t. You never told him.”

“You said in your notes that I’d be a strain on him. He had to know what that meant.”

“There’s a difference in knowing what your toned-down presence would do over a week versus what the full force of your power would do to him in a few hours,” Hanekoma chided. “He may have known the former, but you certainly didn’t tell him the latter.”

“What’s your point?” Joshua asked, watching Hanekoma shift Neku’s unconscious form into a more comfortable carry.

“My point is, stop breaking things, J. Stop treating everything like a broken bone that’s healing the wrong way. Not everything has to be shattered even more to fix it.”

“You were imprisoned by the Angels! All for trying to protect this city!” Joshua protested.

“I would have finished my sentence eventually,” Sanae countered in a calm and even tone. “I may have been in that place for eons, but it was—what? Three years here, maybe?”

“Five,” Joshua whimpered with a pout.

Hanekoma’s eyes flicked up and down Joshua, seemingly searching for something. “I’m putting Neku down in a room and warding it. He needs to recoup.”

Hanekoma turned on his heel to the shop backrooms, leaving Joshua standing confused in the mound of rubble.

Xxx

Whatever Hanekoma was doing, he was taking his sweet time. But Joshua heeded the barista’s words and waited, rolling his shoulders and slowly ratcheting his own wings back into the ether. Bored, he made himself a broom from Imagination and began idly sweeping up the chipped plaster and shattered tile. Eventually, Hanekoma returned to the shop portion of the building, eyeing Joshua.

“Physical labor? That’s a first.”

“I… I feel,” Joshua said, stopping to roll the broom handle in his fingertips. “I feel responsible.”

Hanekoma lowered his shades, peering over them. “Responsible. Who are you and what have you done with J?”

“I grew up, Sanae. Someone had to. You weren’t here. I have a new Conductor and Producer now.”

“What, so I’m outta a job?”

“I’m not kicking you out,” Joshua said, almost pleading. “You just don’t have any obligations. Other than your sentence, I guess.”

“With Neku as my warden,” Hanekoma sighed out. “You didn’t need to plan a jailbreak, J. You’ve waited longer than five years for things before. It’s hardly an eye-blink to people like us.”

Joshua slunk to the floor, defeated and boneless as he slid down the broom handle. A small cloud of debris puffed up around him as he went.

“Drama queen,” Hanekoma tsk’ed as he joined his former colleague on the floor, nesting his wings around himself. “I can’t say this isn’t nice though. Missed ya, J. Being honest, I don’t remember much at all from that place, anyway. Could’ve been a long time there before I became myself again without your little stunt.”

Joshua didn’t answer.

They sat in silence a few moments, then Hanekoma choked back a cry as his coworker—his friend—grabbed him from behind, wrapping his arms around him just under his wings. Hanekoma flapped them in surprise as Joshua buried his head in the down.

Angel and Reaper wings were their Soul; one didn’t just touch them—not without explicit permission. To touch someone’s wings meant someone else could feel what they did. Feel their joy, their disgust, their pain, or all at once.

Hanekoma didn’t pull away. He could hear—just barely, but it was there—Joshua sobbing silently into his back. Joshua was, for the first time in his so-called-life, showing Hanekoma a vulnerability he didn’t know the other even possessed. Slowly, the barista relaxed both sets of shoulders, taking on more and more of Joshua’s weight until his Composer was literally leaning on him as much as metaphorically.

Seconds ticked away from Joshua’s Pegasso crystal-quartz watch, which turned to minutes, then a solid half hour. Slowly, Hanekoma felt the weight lift.

“You let me,” Joshua said, a bit hoarse, patting the down where wing phased through clothes.

“You needed it, J. Pain shared is pain halved. I was happy to listen.”

“You didn’t want to be saved,” Joshua said sharply. “Forgive me for feeling like you were ungrateful. But… you weren’t. You were protecting me from the angels and a sentence like yours. You were a fall guy.”

“Yes,” Hanekoma said slowly. “I didn’t want you to suffer, too. Not being visible to the RG is hardly a penalty compared to what I have.”

“Pain shared is pain halved,” Joshua threw back at him, wiping snot off his face. If he’d been in his teenage form, he would have looked like just another kid. But Joshua was an ugly crier, and as an adult, he just looked silly—more so with a few errant feathers from Hanekoma’s back stuck to his dripping snot and hair.

“Wash up—the backroom sink works,” Hanekoma insisted, flapping his wings a few times to get rid of any other loose feathers. “I need to do some tidying, anyway.”

Joshua reverently ran his fingers through the shoulder of Hanekoma’s left wing. “Clean the shop all you want; you know all about me and dirt. But leave this part to me.”

Xxx

“I kinda expected more, Sanae.” Joshua leaned in the doorframe, pristine as her always presented himself to the public.

“I’m not exactly going to waste my magic, Boss.” Hanekoma went back to wiping down the countertops with a wet rag. The only change Joshua could see was all the broken furniture piled in a corner, with the floor debris in an equally uncoordinated pile.

“The human way?” Joshua asked with a smirk.

“If I’m not your Producer, I need a little art project to keep me busy.”

“Wouldn’t really call fixing a coffee shop art,” Joshua scoffed.

“It’s not not art, though,” Hanekoma countered, flinging the wet rag on a shoulder and smiling at the dented, but still functional, kettle on the burner, whistling away. “Tea?”

“Mm,” Joshua hummed with a nod. “Also, Neku’s phone was ringing nonstop.” He pulled his own from a pocket. “Oh. It’s past ten PM. Someone’s probably been wondering what happened to him. Least it’s still the same day we left.” Joshua cracked a small smile. “Gone for a week and the mortals think you’re dead or something.”

Hanekoma threw the rag square in Joshua’s face, storming past him to go retrieve the offending cell phone.

Xxx

Hanekoma sat on one of the two useable stools, Joshua behind him on the other, sipping tea from one hand while using the other to pull out stuck feathers. The barista unlocked Neku’s phone, scrolling through twenty missed calls. “Shiki. That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“You planning to call?”

“I should. Neku’s probably going to need a day or more to recuperate. And then you’re going to call his mother and let her know he’s sick with a fever.”

“Can’t. RG people can’t perceive me for another few years, remember? Phone calls included.” He grinned toothily. “You’ll just have to clean up the mess for me.”

Hanekoma sighed, stretching out his wings a little so Joshua could pull out all the powder down stuck from his eons of not taking care of himself, and pressed a familiar name in the missed calls history. “Hello? Shiki?”

“Oh my god, is this the police? Where’s Neku?”

“Shiki,” Hanekoma smiled a little, glad for a familiar voice. “It’s… Hanekoma Sanae—the café shop owner on Cat Street.”

Hanekoma waited patiently as Shiki processed what that meant. “If Neku is dead, I’m wringing a long line of necks. Joshua’s first; something tells me this is his fault.”

Joshua laughed hard enough to slam forward into the angel’s back; Sanae shot him a glare. “Neku is alive, but he’s taken a massive hit of Imagination. He’s probably going to sleep a day or two.”

“But he’s alive.”

“Alive and in no pain, with no injury. Mortals just can’t handle being around a city Composer too long.” Hanekoma glared over his shoulder at a snickering young-looking man in a lilac button down.

“I’m coming over there,” Shiki insisted. “And Joshua better be ready to take a knee to the balls.”

“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to see or hear him, but hang on,” Hanekoma said, pushing back on the deadweight behind him with his wings. “I’m putting you on speaker. Feel free to yell at him—I already have.”

Hanekoma clicked to speakerphone, maximizing the volume and holding the phone out behind him.

“Go ahead, Shiki. He can hear you.”

Shiki took in a deep breath, expelling a gasp of colorfully laced expletives so pointed Joshua’s hair began to catch fire. The moment she was out of breath, she slammed the end-call button with enough force that Joshua’s wings twitched, even within their aether.

“Josh, you’d better be out of my shop before she gets here or you’re going to be in deep shit.”

“I didn’t realize someone who played the Game before could deal that much splash damage,” Joshua complained, patting out the embers on the edges of his loose curls.

“You were human once yourself, J. Now bolt before she sets all of you on fire.”

“Good night to you too,” Joshua grumped, crossing his arms as he slid off the seat, leaving Hanekoma’s wings in a worse looking state than when he’d started. He saluted awkwardly to the sighing barista, disappearing out into the night.

Xxx

“How are you holding up, kiddo?”

Neku rubbed the crust out of his eyes. “What year is it?”

“Same one you were in before this mess.” Hanekoma smiled. “You slept away three days, though. I impersonated you on the phone to your mom and college—hope that’s alright.”

“So it’s…”

“Monday night. Six PM. Josh’s going to stay away from you for a while.”

“That why I feel like shit?”

“Mhmm. You want me to bring you in some food?”

“Bathroom,” Neku complained.

“Think mine still works.”

“You think?”

“Neku, I’m not human. I’ve never needed it.”

Xxx

“So now what?” Neku bit into his burger; nothing Hanekoma made, but then again, his kitchen was mostly still in shambles.

“I guess I rebuild. Maybe I take some art classes at community college.”

“Then I’m helping.”

“No, you’re-”

Neku glared up from his dinner. “That’s not up for debate. I’m your prison warden, remember? I help and in return, you let me paint in here.”

Hanekoma laughed. “You don’t even need to ask permission for that.”

“Oh, so I can tag every wall, floor, and ceiling in this bombed out husk of a deserted island?”

The barista frowned, leaning forward on the counter. “That didn’t get me any closer to having any inspiration, you know.”

“And I think that’s a lie,” Neku replied, crossing his arms. “Josh didn’t see it either. Maybe the individual components were copies, but that space you made in that other place was like nothing I’d ever seen before. Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it. Nothing we do is truly unique anyway; we’re always working off the backs of those who came before us. It’s what voice we add to that conversation that makes our art what it is and… I should really be following my own advice. Hang on. I’m making a few calls, and you’re not stopping me.”

Neku pulled out his phone and rolled through his contacts list. “Hey, Sho. I’ve got a destroyed café here ripe for a giant-ass chandelier. You in?”

“Neku,” the other end of the line sounded annoyed. “I don’t do electrical.”

“So? You do the sculpture; I’ll get someone else to wire.”

“It’s going to be made of trash.”

“Why do you think I called your ass? Take notes; here’s the address.”

Xxx

“I haven’t done heavy lifting in… forever,” Hanekoma said, wiping actual sweat off his brow. It was a weird feeling, being sort-of human, but he couldn’t say he didn’t like it. The past six weeks had been a whirlwind with Neku in charge, directing a steady stream of ethereal beings— self included— into a massive renovation of his shop. The place was an explosion of color and life, an irony in real time to contrast the lack of both on the owner.

“Quit complaining,” Uzuki demanded, hauling the other end of the new bar counter. “If I can get Kariya to lift your tables in, you can help with your own damn high-top.”

“The one you danced on,” Hanekoma said with a grin, looking down at the hot purple and neon orange footprints crisscrossing the acrylic-sealed bar counter. The two had tangoed across a plank, then encased it for eternity in enough two-stage resin that it would never fade—Neku was particularly proud of that collaboration. Uzuki pushed the shop door with her shoulder, so both of them could bring the counter inside.

“—and you don’t need to hold that ladder, Neku.”

“I don’t want you falling,” Neku snapped back, looking up at the Reaper wiring in the shop’s new light fixture. It looked like a vending machine had exploded on the ceiling, and Hanekoma loved it.

“Neku, I can fly,” Triple Seven replied, waving a pair of wire strippers. He was flapping his wings to show those off as well, not that Neku could see them from the RG.

“My masterpiece can’t,” Sho grumbled from the corner, looking on in a mix of horror and awe as Seven worked his stage rigging magic to get the recycled-bottle chandelier hooked into the building’s wiring.

“Look, it’s way easier for me to do this if I’m not trying to balance,” Seven sighed out. “Sho, get up here and hold it in place, so I can finish. Neku, go help do something that doesn’t involve a ceiling or frying yourself on open electricals.”

Sho sighed, stood up, and vanished back into the UG, flapping up to hold the sculpture as Seven jumped off the ladder. Neku winced, unable to see either of them.

“If you can hear me, I’m going to check on Shiki and her friends making chair cushions.” Sho rattled the ladder with his foot, and Neku smiled. “Hey, Mr. H, your shop’s haunted.”

“I’d be more worried if it wasn’t.”

Xxx

“So?” Hanekoma slid a ceramic cup down the acrylic to Neku. “Get your grade back yet?”

“Semester ends in January, Mr. H; it’s gonna be a while yet. How about your magic?”

“While this helped, no. It’ll be a while yet for me too. Can’t complain about the décor, though.”

Hanekoma and Neku grinned, taking in the space. Except for one section of wall painted with chalkboard paint for patrons to go wild doodling on, every square inch of the shop was covered in art altogether dizzying and explosively contrast in design.

“Opens tomorrow, right? My teacher is coming around again to see it.”

“Soft open today though.”

“Sign said closed,” Neku pointed out with his teaspoon.

“Maybe for the living.”

“Ah, a few reapers pass by?” Neku asked with a smile. “Hey, make a bet with you.”

“What?”

“How many days the shop’s open before a paying customer draws a dick on your wall.”

“Zero.”

Neku looked sideways as a handful of change bounced across the counter, Sho coming into view. He downed his already half-drunk coffee and loped to the chalkboard to vandalize it. Neku flicked his eyes at the empty tables and chairs, a massive grin breaking out on his face as every single one was filled in with a Reaper, raising glasses in toast.

“We all needed someplace to stay,” Hanekoma said on the room’s behalf. “Thanks for giving us a home. It’s still pretty broken and lopsided, but I promise we’ll keep the lights on.”

“Mr. H, this was already your home.”

He shook his head. “No, Neku. It was only a shop.”

“If its home, does that mean the drinks are free?” A few reapers turned to the furthest corner of the room—Joshua grinned, sitting backwards in his chair.

“J, what did I say about coming ‘round when Neku’s here?” Hanekoma scolded.

“…Don’t?”

“Short bursts only, lest you want to clean up the exploding brains on the wall.”

Neku shrugged. “It’ll probably add to the ambiance.”

#TWEWY #The World Ends With You #TWEWY Bang 2020 #Subarashiki Kono Sekai #divisionten #submission

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keeroo92 · 5 years ago

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What about something for my boi Dante? I really like how you write him too! Prompt: "You just wanted them because they light up.” Hmmm... 🤔😂

I’m all to happy to oblige! Hope you enjoy this spicy taste of Dante...

Word count: 2,211

______________

Window shopping with Dante was one of your favorite ways to spend date night. Red Grave had such a wide variety of shops, you never knew what you would find. Even if you didn’t end up buying anything, Dante’s commentary often left you holding your gut in pain as you tried to stop laughing.

Tonight was no exception.

“Eugh, that looks like something my grandma would wear!” your white-haired boyfriend commented, pointing at a knitted shawl in the window of a boutique. He wasn’t wrong; the white yarn would’ve been at home draped over a rocking chair. You chuckled and mimed using a walker, pretending to straighten a pair of glasses as you tried to get a closer look at the item.

“Oh, sonny, it’s lovely!”

Dante cracked up and gave you an exaggerated round of applause. You bowed theatrically and moved on to the next pane of glass, featuring several mannequins dressed in risqué lingerie. A slight blush tinted your cheeks as Dante wolf-whistled suggestively.

“Babe, we gotta go in! That black number would look incredible on you!”

The piece he was referring to displayed the pale plastic of the mannequin’s stomach like a piece of artwork. The dark lace clung to the chest and the first tendrils of heat pooled in your belly as you imagined Dante ripping it off you. You grabbed his hand and tugged him inside the dimly-lit shop.

“ID’s, please,” a voice requested by the door. You dug through your purse and smiled as you handed the clerk your driver’s license, Dante’s waiting in his hand.

“Perfect! Can I help you two find anything?” the young woman said with a smile, holding out the plastic card.

“That black one in the window, you got that in a medium?”

She turned away and vanished into the racks, leaving you and Dante to browse as she fetched the item in question. You wandered around aimlessly, pointing out the bridal section’s penis shaped lollipops to Dante with a chuckle. He held out a pair of boxers made of a shiny, stretchy material that looked far too small for a full grown man to wear, and you giggled in return.

“Here we are! Let me show you to the fitting room!” the clerk said, reappearing like a mirage in the desert holding a length of black fabric.

“Have fun, babe! Take a few pictures for me,” Dante quipped with a saucy wink as you walked away. You shook your head as the clerk laughed.

She led you to a hidden alcove, tugging aside a thick red curtain and leaving you to it. It took a few minutes, but you managed to get the beautiful piece of lace on. When you caught your reflection in the mirror, you gasped. The black lace hugged your curves sensually, hinting at the sensitive flesh beneath. The texture of the fabric sent goosebumps up and down your skin as you posed to take a picture for Dante, a teasing smirk twisting your lips.

You had to hand it to him, the man had excellent taste in lingerie.

You found Dante a few minutes later by a rack of silicone rings, reading the label of one with a child-like grin. He turned his gleeful eyes to you excitedly, holding it out for your inspection. You raised an eyebrow and smirked playfully.

“You only want it because it lights up!”

“So? Look, it has seven speeds! It’ll be great,” he assured you. You rolled your eyes but nodded, curious despite yourself. You headed to the register and paid, taking the lingerie for good measure. The clerk gave you a knowing smile as you took the bag and left.

Outside, the air had turned chilly and you crossed your arms to insulate yourself. Dante hummed and stood behind you, his arms going over yours and squeezing gently. His stubble tickled your cheek as he leaned down to press a teasing kiss on your neck.

“How bout we head back for some fun?” he whispered. His tone was dangerously seductive and you could feel the his growing hardness pressing into the small of your back as his hands ran down to rest on your hips. You giggled and stepped out of his reach, heading back the way you came with a saucy smile.

He smirked and gave chase, growling like a lion on a hunt when you twirled away from his grasp. It gave you such a thrill to taunt him, pretending to be scared of his gentle hands and rough passion. He cornered you against a brick wall a block from home, pinning you to it and pressing his body to yours as his mouth descended to devour you. A low whine escaped your lips as his tongue darted out to sample you.

But you wanted to keep the game going, and playfully shoved him away to dart past, biting your lip as his hungry eyes followed you.

“You’re asking for it, babe,” he said, stepping closer.

“Then you’d better deliver,” you replied, and took off running. You knew he could catch you easily, but he let you reach the door to Devil May Cry before he made his move. You barely had time to squeak as he picked you up and slung you over his shoulder, kicking the unlocked door open and using his free hand to smack your ass.

You squirmed until he had to set you down, but you only made it three feet before his firm grasp stopped you in your tracks. He gripped your hips achingly tight, sending a bolt of lightning up your spine as he dragged you to his desk.

“I always deliver!” he growled, reaching down to rub a single finger over your aching bundle of nerves. You arched your hips and moaned, begging him for more friction, but he only smirked and moved his hand away. You reacted instantly, ripping his red leather jacket off and throwing it to the ground. Gods, his shoulders were too much!

Dante bared his teeth and hastily tugged his shirt off, his lips crashing against yours before the fabric even hit the floor. You wrapped your arms around his gorgeous back and lifted yourself onto the desk, spreading your legs and tugging him closer to press against your core. Your chin was raw from his scratchy white stubble, your lips swollen as he plunged his tongue past them to explore your mouth, but all you wanted was more.

He pulled back, panting as he brushed strands of white out of his hooded eyes.

“Now… where’s that bag?” he asked. You pointed to where it lied, forgotten by the door where you’d dropped it. As he went to retrieve it, you peeled your sweater off. The fabric took your shirt with it, and you tossed the bundle aside just as Dante returned, already tearing at the complicated packaging of his new toy.

“I’ll keep myself busy…” you murmured, tugging your pants down and kicking them away, taking your panties with them. Dante’s jaw dropped as you leaned back onto his desk and your hands drifted lower, teasing at your slick folds. You let out an exaggerated moan, letting your eyes flutter closed as you threw your head back and rubbed circles over your clit. You extended a single digit and dipped it inside yourself, curling it to hit that perfect spot. You could hear his panting breaths as he watched your little show.

“Dante…” you whimpered, using your free hand to pinch your stiff peaks.

And then his hands were on your flushed skin, his teeth biting just right on your needy thighs. He pulled your hand away and dove in, his tongue lapping at the fluids leaking from within. Every lick and nibble sent surges of pleasure through you, his expert mouth rending you into a quivering pile of lust.

“Dante, please!”

He hummed, taking your swollen bud into his mouth and sucking gently. His hot tongue crossed over the sensitive nerves and you came with a cry, tangling your hands in his hair and pulling him against your folds. He kept going, drawing out the blissful moment for what felt like an age as he tasted your heady flavor. Your lips stretched into a wide grin as the last wave rushed through you, every nerve in your body still tingling as he stood tall over your sweat-slick body.

He held out his hands as if he was taking a picture, framing it carefully with one eye squinted shut.

“You look perfect like this, babe. So damn hot…” he said, lowering his hands as you chuckled, raising yourself to your elbows to meet his eyes. At some point he’d finished stripping and put on the cock ring, and seeing his length pointed right at you made you lick your lips. A small drop decorated his head, his readiness almost as obvious as your own.

His cock bobbed as he flexed, smirking at your glazed expression. One of his hands dropped to wrap around it and stroke, sending another small bead rolling out from the tip as he groaned. You couldn’t take it and dropped to your knees before him, staring deep into his eyes as you licked the delicious morsel and took him into you hot mouth.

“Fuck, babe…”

You hummed and hollowed your cheeks, bobbing a few times and reveling in the way he filled your mouth and tickled the back of your throat. You ran your palms up his legs, coming to rest on his hips and encouraging him to move, but he pulled away with a muttered curse.

Dante took your wrists and turned you, pushing you down over the dark wood of his desk. You grunted at the impact, but it morphed into a gasp as he sheathed himself in you with a single thrust. He held you down with one hand as he started pulling back. The rough surface beneath you felt ice cold to your heated skin and you gripped it firmly as he rolled his hips forward again, slowly stretching you to fit his girth.

“Ready for me to turn it on?” he asked.

“Please…”

He hummed and withdrew, and a beat later you heard the telltale buzz as he flicked the toy on. The vibrations reverberated down his length and into your core, and your eyes rolled back into your head as you saw stars and moaned. Dante pressed into you again, not stopping until his hips were flush with your ass. You could feel the buzzing in every nerve now, the toy positioned so it pressed right against your clit.

“Damn, your pussy looks amazing in blue!”

“Bet it makes your cock look good too, especially with me wrapped around it…” you responded with a taunting smile. He wove his fingers in your hair and made a fist, sending jolts of heat through your scalp to match those between your legs.

“Nothing ever made my cock look better, babe,” he replied, resuming his movement. You could picture his head scraping at your walls as he thrusted, his panting breath joining the low buzz and the wet sounds of your pleasure, but there was one sound missing.

“Harder, Dante! C’mon, I can take it!”

He chuckled and obeyed, the slap of flesh echoing in the air with every roll of his hips. You rocked your body to meet his, using the desk for leverage until it was rising and falling with a crash along with your bodies. You clenched your internal muscles, milking him and making him feel positively huge as he fought his way past the tight ring. The vibrations pulsed at your flesh as his head hit your cervix and sent you over the edge again, howling his name.

His hands clenched on your hips, brutally tugging them to meet his movements as fireworks flashed behind your closed eyes. With another few thrusts he exploded with the sexiest moan imaginable, pounding into you and sending his seed deep into your body. His hips stuttered against yours as he rode out his release, quiet gasps escaping his parted lips with each contact.

Spent for now, he leaned over to kiss your shoulder and switched off the cock ring, leaving your drenched folds tingling at the sudden absence. You sighed happily as he slipped out, content to feel the dripping fluids on your legs.

“Here, lemme get you something…”

A smile graced your still swollen lips as Dante’s footsteps retreated. You didn’t move, basking in the afterglow. Within moments, he returned with a soft cloth to wipe away the worst of the mess and you rose to wobble to where your panties lied on the floor. Dante’s sapphire eyes followed you, making sure you didn’t fall.

“So, for the record, that was fucking incredible for you too, right?” he asked quizzically. You couldn’t help but laugh before you answered.

“I’d say that was a twelve, on a scale of one to ten. And we didn’t even use the lingerie!”

Dante smirked as he pulled his pants on. “Well, the night’s still young…”

#writing prompt #ask response #dmc dante #spicy #lemon #fanfic #dante x you

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jedimanda · 6 years ago

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May I present, DOCTOR STRANGE! Yes, I’m Mr. Cumberbatch can’t you tell?! Well I will tell you that I’m not Stephanie Strange. Who isn’t a character in the Marvel Universe but yet I get called that for some weird reason? Hmmm.. I wonder why.🤷‍♀️ #womenincosplayprobs. BUT, I digress. Let’s chat about how I made my favorite cosplay, yes I said it, MY FAVORITE COSPLAY I EVER MADE. That’s a tall order since most people would believe that my Star Wars cosplays are my favorite. Queen Amidala is right behind Strange in the “favorite costume line up of mine”. It’s all about the connection to the character. I love Doctor Strange. He is my favorite comic book character. I will say I came into this Strange dimension later than most. I’ve read some Avengers and Defenders comics before and I’ve always been intrigued by the character but never really dove into his storyline. It wasn’t until the movie in 2015 that I just fell in love with the character. I really loved that movie. So, I immediately dove into all the comics I could get. From the old 70s comics to the newest ones, I became enthralled. To show my appreciation for my new found comic love, I had to make his outfit.

I knew this build wouldn’t be a super long build (like 9 months for Amidala), but I knew I would be figuring things out along the way. The cloak was the first piece I wanted to tackle. I fabric swatched at Joann’s Fabric and on the first go, I found the exact fabric for the cloak. It was a special order upholstery fabric. More like fabric for a beautiful red couch. I needed that heavy drape looks but still have a little free flow to it. Next, I found a sensible red velvet and boom. The outer fabric has been sourced. Then, I headed over to Spoonflower.com to find the lining. Easy! Click here for the link to Spoonflower! The design was created by Shawna Lay. Thanks, Shawna!

Yippee! Fabric found. The next items I found were all the trims, cording, interfacing, and thread that I would need for the details on the cloak. I did use some pretty special interfacing for a lot of stiff parts of this whole cosplay such as the collar and shoulder padding on the vest. This stuff is pretty awesome, it’s called Super Structure Foam from the company Sew Much Cosplay. Click here to grab some and check them out.

With all the fabrics and notions for the cloak, it’s time to build. First, the draping. I did drape the cloak, so no pattern exists from me. If you are interested in finding a pattern for the cloak. Use the McCall’s 7676 Doctor Strange pattern. You can easily chop it up and use it. In my case, draping was the easiest.

Once the cloak was draped and I had the shape I wanted, I moved to the details that needed to be handsewn or machine sewed on. The collar has couching details on the back, check it out. This took some time.

From here on out it was a lot of topstitching trim and sewing on big pieces made like the shoulder pieces. Take a look.

I got creative with the trims and textures I had. Luckily Joann’s had a lot of great choices so I didn’t have to dye anything. Let’s move to the magic checkboard velvet pattern I created by accident. The cloak has these distinct velvet checkboard pieces on it. It really boggled my mind on how to get that exact design on the velvet. I thought that I would have to use chemicals to achieve that “burnout” look, so I purchased some. I really couldn’t get it to work well and I just hated dealing with it. I was using wax based chalk to draw out the designs on the velvet to establish an area for the chemicals. At one point, I made a mistake and to remove wax chalk mistake, you hit it with an iron and the chalk marks are removed. So I did that, and surprisingly a residue was left behind on the velvet causing the velvet to have a darker tone where the chalk was. GENIUS! So I grabbed my chalk and rulers then went to town.

It was pretty easy, draw out the design you want, hit it with the iron. Don’t forget to place a press cloth in between just to be safe. Turned out great!

The next couple of images are showing where I placed the checkerboard velvet pieces.

Here are some close ups of the shoulder piece creation.

With almost all my costumes, custom embroidery is added. This time, the custom parts were added to the borders of the cloak. I was able to find a blurry image of the piece online and then I cleaned it up in Adobe Illustrator, transferred it to my Embroidery design software, made it into an embroidery file, then moved it to my embroidery machine. Off it goes!

Now! It’s time to add the lining and call it done!

Very proud of this build so far! The cloak was a task. Let’s take a break.

I wanted to take a tiny break from sewing and work on some of the prop pieces for Doctor Strange. I was very lucky to have a great buddy from Twitter 3D print me the Eye of Agamotto (that works!), a sling ring, and the 2 triangle clasps on the cloak. SO MANY THANKS TO @JediJeremy. Seriously dude, thank you. Once I got the pieces, I painted them with gold leaf paint and then weathered with acrylic paint.

After the gold prop pieces were done, I moved to make the vest and tunic. Originally I thought I was going to completely draft these pieces with my own measurements, but I was just getting tired and I knew I could chop up the McCalls 7676 pattern to fit me just fine I made some mockups and did a lot of alterations, but it worked and fit great. If you want to use this pattern for your own Doctor Strange, go for it! Just be aware of the alterations you will have to do especially if you are trying to fit it around curves. I ended up raising the waistline up like 4-6 inches, thus also raising the hems too. Plus taking it in a lot on the sides and shoulder line.

As I stated above, I used simple linens and cotton for the fabrics. Just having the tunic and vest color is a tad different than the other. I completed the tunic using the McCalls pattern and added my own details like the striped pattern around the neckline. Those are just top stitched ribbons layered on each other. I ultimately ended up removing the zipper and just having it open. Worked better for the neckline.

Now the vest. The details I added into my vest are some of my favorite parts of the entire outfit. The best part of that is that it was pretty simple just time-consuming. Following the pattern from McCalls and then altering to my size, I then chose an X shaped embroidery stitch on my Bernina sewing machine. With about 4 different blue colored thread, I stitched vertical line after vertical line alternating the different blue colors. Take a look.

Neat! The last thing I added to the vest was to the shoulders. I wanted a sharp shoulder with a bit of padding but not a lot. So I grabbed the super structure foam that I spoke about above, cut a should pad shape and ironed it on. Then ran some more vertical stitches through to give it a quilted look. Loved it! To finish out the vest, I added random ribbons and selvage edges of fabrics to the armhole edges. Turned out great!

OK! Almost done. The waist cincher corset was simple.

I just used McCall’s 7555 Yaya Han underbust corset. I altered it to what I needed but it worked just fine. Used some heavy black cotton fabric.

Now what’s left are the belts, cuffs, boots, and wig. I purchased two “belt” trims from Joann’s and did little to no major alts to them. The main belts were made from black yarn woven into a 5 strand braid, the other belt I purchased was some black vinyl trim woven into a 4 strand braid. BOOM! I added brown vinyl bias to the black vinyl belt on the edges then hand sewed on snaps. Next, the woven belt was a bit different. View the photos below to get a good grasp of the pattern of that particular belt. Once I figured out the shape, I created the silver ring from EVA foam coated with plasti-dip and silver paint with black weathering spots too.

The details I added next are near and dear to me. With every costume I create, I give the opportunity for anyone to become a part of my costumes via donations through the site, Ko-Fi. Any donation made to my cosplays fund, I will add your name into my outfit somewhere/somehow. For this outfit, my donators got their initials etched into the metal details on my belt. Take a look!

To finish up the belts, I took some black leather strands and wrapped the silver ring. Then I took more of the leather strands and wove it into the knitted black belt. See below

Ok, belts are done! Move to the cuffs, these were easy in my opinion. First thing is to pattern your forearms, yes both because most people have two different sized forearms, then cut out 4 pieces of fabric with your pattern. 4 pieces because you will need to layer to make the cuffs more durable. Joann’s gets another win here because the trim pieces I found where from here too. Thanks Joann. Also, don’t forget to grab two separating zippers for your cuffs. Take a look at how I created them below, don’t be afraid to get a little haphazard with your placement.

After the cuffs where done, I then hit it with an airbrush to weather it. Anytime I can airbrush things, I’m all about it.

ARE WE DONE YET?! Nope! Hang tight, boots and wig left. My boots were super easy, basically, I purchased some cute knee high lace up boots from Amazon, then stitched on blue linen scraps. Yup, done. lol. I also airbrushed them too. Can’t stop, won’t stop. AIRBRUSH!

LAST THING! HERE WE GO. Wig time. I had the wonderful opportunity to win a seasonal sponsorship from Arda Wigs for my Doctor Strange cosplay. The sponsorship would cover my wig costs. THANKS, ARDA! So the wig and wig parts I chose are the Virginia Classic Lace Front in Dark Brown and Silver weft to tie in the sides of the wig. I actually made a Youtube tutorial video on the creation of the wig so take a peek below!

The last thing I want to add is my super awesome spell prop made by my buddy, Bubblesgal0re. If you are interested in grabbing one for yourself, shoot her an email!

If you have any questions at all, please feel free to contact me through email or any of my social media. I’m always ready to answer questions you have about your or my builds. Thank you so much for reading another long How-To blog post. I do appreciate it. My next posts will be all about my Luke Skywalker and Qi’ra build. MTFBWY ❤ Amanda

Doctor Strange photos from Alexandra Lee Studios

Let’s get Strange. May I present, DOCTOR STRANGE! Yes, I'm Mr. Cumberbatch can't you tell?! Well I will tell you that I'm not Stephanie Strange.

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bakezart · 3 years ago

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For my second printing workshop I first took view finders again and with graphite sketched out portions of the work, trying to implement different ways of using the graphite in order to get various textures. I accomplished this by using different grips, angles and harshnesses.

We then took perspex sheets and printing paint and made and found various materials to print with. My favourites to use ended up being a ball of yarn to make swirls, crumpled up paper of different sizes and the paint roller. The original graphite sketches I made served as inspiration.

I took a selection of black and beige paper to make my prints with to make a good variation of prints with different effects.

Once we were done making our prints, we started drawing into them. I took an illustrative approach, deciding to make the shapes I saw within my prints into objects, scenes and people.

After having drawn into my sketches, it was then that I cut up my prints, taking objects I'd drawn and also any prints left over from my negatives and undrawn on parts. I decided not to draw on my negative prints, as that left room for adjusts and more creative flow. I used a craft knife in order to cut things out so that I wouldn't ruin the image to get out small portions of images, leaving me with lots to work with.

These are three of my pieces at the end of the session. I very much liked the colour theme running through this, the black, beige, magenta and white pull a very continuous piece. I don't feel that at this point, these are all finished pieces bar my top most one. The top one presents a clear scene, with good contrasts and interesting elements like the eyes among the night sky. This was then something I wanted to add in to my other pieces for continuity.

I feel these pieces are now more successful. I added in more contrast where I felt it was needed, adding more white highlights and black lines, some sketchy and in oil pastels for some textural differents and some of my black lines in pen for a very succinct line, some white marks in chalk so it would be easily blended. I think for a first attempt at this style this is effective at both being continuous whilst also having an element of creepiness throughout. I would like to play more into such a surrealist style, the horror elements make me feel that my work evokes some emotion in my audience, and I would like that to be more evident.

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phantomrose96 · 7 years ago

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A Breach of Trust: Chapter 24

(Act 1: Chapter 1-9 )

(Act 2: Chapter 10-18 )

(Act 3: Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23)

Content warning for somewhat graphic horror. Very lengthy chapter under the cut!

When Ritsu bore his wrist, he swore he’d grown used to it.

When the first spirit lunged, Ritsu was proven wrong.

The tearing out of power was still something alien, like gauze yanked from a stuffed wound. It was something unphysical scraping against tissue and muscle and bone, and it came with a pang, a shock of light-headedness. Ritsu showed none of it on his face, because he swore he’d be used to it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Teru. Teru stood bored, scrutinizing, leaning against the brick wall of the alley. His expression suggested thinning patience, and Ritsu couldn’t pin point why. Maybe it was the amount of time Ritsu took with the feeding. Maybe it was the clumsy way he handled it. Maybe it was anger left over from the last mission, when Ritsu had panicked and nearly fired the shot at the office worker who’d—

Ritsu’s breath stuttered. A harsh pull and snap from the feeding spirit seemed to rock Ritsu’s whole body. His balance faltered, legs squaring, breath deepening as he fought the sudden pricks of starlight in his vision.

A quick stumble. That was it. Sweat trickled down Ritsu’s neck but, he was handling it. The sun rimmed high over the soccer field above, casting the spirits into pale amalgams of dust, writhing between beams. They seemed less real like this in the warm light. So Ritsu could stand his ground against each prick and pull and shock of unreal teeth against his skin. Normal. Routine. He wouldn’t falter in front of Teru.

When the last spirit pulled away, Ritsu’s heart rate had quickened. A quiet ringing had entered his ears, and a shivering numbness pulsed through his body. But he remained aware, and upright, and alert. He was getting better at this.

Ritsu grabbed his bag from the concrete, and stepped with forced steadiness to Teru’s side. Ritsu holstered the bag over his shoulder, willing the numbness to fade.

“Ready?” Ritsu asked, offering a scowl a bit too performative.

Teru grimaced. He raised his index finger beneath his nose and mimed a wiping gesture.

Ritsu stared, perplexed. There was nothing on Teru’s face. After a moment, an icy thought hit him. Ritsu opened his mouth and touched his tongue to his upper lip. Coppery wetness spread through his mouth. Ritsu moved a hand to his nose and rubbed. Something wet trailed from the left nostril, and he pulled his hand away to examine the crimson stain webbing along the creases of his palm.

Behind Ritsu’s outstretched hand, Teru’s wrist flicked. Ritsu blinked back to attention and found Teru holding a pack of travel tissues, one tissue snagged between two fingers and extended. Ritsu took it silently.

“Don’t get any on me,” Teru said, turning on his heel, moving ahead of Ritsu to the front of the school.

Ritsu wiped the blood from his nose, and tested with a tap of his finger to see if he was still bleeding. Nothing. He stashed the tissue into his pocket, and spun to catch up with Teru.

It was a dry day. Ritsu refused to consider anything past that.

…

Gimcrack acted as guide, unnoticed and unseen as he led Ritsu and Teru far from the Salt Mid alleyway. They wound down residential streets, buildings and concrete thinning as trees appeared in greater number. The streets were peppered with small wooden shops nearly mistakable for townhouses and small abodes with lawns larger than Ritsu was used to seeing. They cut through yards where Gimcrack seemed inclined to phase through buildings, crunching leaves beneath their heels and vaulting a fence to a house old and decrepit and dark. They kept walking, leaving behind the heart of Seasoning City and settling on a small street of shops lined wall to wall. Gimcrack halted in front of a thin and tall building, paneled with wood, warmly lit from the inside.

“Is this it?” Teru tilted his head up to Gimcrack, who floated intentionally too high, outside grabbing range. Teru had become openly hostile with Gimcrack since his abandonment of them in the office building, and he made the tension know. The hair on Ritsu’s neck bristled.

“Yup.” Gimcrack gestured to the storefront. “Energy’s spilling outta this place. Give it a feel.”

Teru placed a palm against the entrance. “Why don’t you scope it out first, Gimcrack?”

“Nuh-uh.” Gimcrack crossed his bony arms over his body in an X shape. “I don’t want to get eaten up by whatever’s in there.”

“Would you rather I exorcise you?”

“Hey, Kageyama!” Gimcrack swooped down to Ritsu’s level, tugging loosely on his collar and hiding a fraction behind Ritsu’s frame. “Think you can control your friend a little? You’re the one leading this mission, aint ya?”

Teru let out a bark of a laugh. Ritsu shoved the door in without comment.

Chimes clanked above them. Warm light washed over Ritsu’s face, the dense smell of cinnamon and cloves. Ritsu blinked. Color in the form of tightly wound bundles tucked into endless bins assaulted him.

Teru shoved ahead of Ritsu, beaming.

“Oh it’s a yarn shop!” Teru dropped his bag at the entrance and sauntered in, stooping at each display to feel out the texture of the different wools. He picked up something gaudy, fluffy, and pink and held it to the light. “I’ve been meaning to make another sweater.”

Ritsu held the side display, lips pursed in irritation. His eyes scanned the store. Wooden paneling dominated the walls and floor, almost cabin-like in its beveling. Dozens of wooden bins lined the walls, organized by thickness and texture, colors splashed in almost haphazardly. A grouped display of 6 bins sat at the center of the room, thick bundles of saturated blues, oranges, pinks, and yellows. Construction paper signs lined the display, advertising discounts.

Teru practically floated between displays, amassing a bundle in his arms of yarn offensively bright and frilly.

Reluctantly, Ritsu’s eyes trailed to Teru, taking note of the bins that Teru dug through and the bundles he grabbed. The first was a yarn deeply orange and scratchy-looking to the touch, the color of an old and bitter cat. From the neighboring bin, Teru snagged a bundle thin and turquoise, yarn winding in defined streaks along the surface. The next was a bin of pinks with feather nubs along the length of string. Then another ball, red velvety and thick.

Ritsu’s attention shifted to the rack of guide books, the starter kits, the sewing needles tucked to the side with spindles of thread stacked up in plastic displays like candy. Grated shelves lined the top of each wall, bearing specialty bundles of yarn, metallic needles arranged by ascending size, as well as an odd display of small hooked needles.

Soft light trickled through the ceiling window, floating dust catching in the shine, baking the interior with a noxious cocktail of Christmas spices. Ritsu was uncomfortably warm.

“My last sweater was pink, like this kind here.” Teru lifted the pink yarn, unreasonably fluffy, like a small Pomeranian. “One of my favorites. But I’ve been dying for something turquoise. That’ll bring out the color of my eyes hmm? Or do you think something a bit dimmer, more of an aqua? I’ve heard lavender suits me wonderfully.”

Ritsu’s eyes flickered to Teru’s uniform. Then away. Thinking about it was bad for his blood pressure.

“Focus,” Ritsu muttered. He glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, Gimcrack hadn’t followed them inside. So Ritsu gave the display area another glance. Nothing stood out. He looked deeper; the store stretched further back, a single doorway propped open in the back-right corner. Stairs led up to the left. Ritsu chewed his tongue, and then set his sights on the stairs.

“I’m going to check upstairs. You get the back,” Ritsu said.

“Good plan. I don’t want you down here destroying any yarn.”

Ritsu considered replying and thought better of it. He set one experimental foot to the first step.

“Can I help you boys?”

Ritsu froze. He dropped his hand from the railing and glanced sideways. A woman with graying hair and spectacles stood at the threshold between the front of the store and the backroom. She watched him with a smile as warm as the store, eyes small, cheeks plump. Her cardigan bore the design of deer and trees, clearly hand-knit.

She stepped closer, navigating around yarn bins and tilting her head around to better see Ritsu.

“Oh, Dearie no, the door up there is locked. There’s nothing for sale up there. Are you looking for something a little extra?”

Slowly, Ritsu removed his foot from the stair. “Um…”

“Ah!” Teru answered, and even Ritsu startled a bit at the grandiose in his voice. Teru shoved his gathered-up yarn into the crook of his right arm. He moved with wide, swaying steps to the woman, smile open and friendly, and took her by the shoulder with his free hand. “My dear my dear I am having the hardest time my dear.” Teru spun her around, guiding her back where she came. “See my sister just adores my handknit crafts, and her 16th birthday is coming up soon. I have this new ribbed pattern I want to try out—a simple knit-3 purl-3, ribbing about yay-big—and I am just beside myself finding a color and texture to my liking—“

Ritsu watched with an expression of contempt for every word he couldn’t understand.

“—I was thinking something cocoa colored. She has these gorgeous chocolate brown eyes—oh, quite like yours—that I think would sparkle marvelously with—oh now don’t be bashful! Your eyes are glimmering love. Anyway, a chalky cocoa, but not too dense hmm? I want the rib pattern to show through, and if the yarn is too frilly it hides the pattern. And I considered larger needle size but who needs a loosely-knit sweater my dear am I right?”

Ritsu filtered out Teru’s rambling. His leg bounced, jaw biting down tight to keep him from snapping at Teru. It wouldn’t be worth drawing suspicion. He could only wait, seething quietly at Teru’s utter lack of concern.

For a split second, Ritsu and Teru locked eyes. A quick twitch of Teru’s head, a split second of piercing eye-contact, explosive in its silence. Teru’s eyes jerked to the stairway leading up, and Ritsu understood with a rush of shame what was happening.

Ritsu mounted the stairs again, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to creak the wood beneath his feet while Teru kept the shop owner distracted. Teru’s rambling continued unimpeded, words like “gauge” and “crochet” and “casting” assaulting Ritsu’s ears, along with overly saccharine compliments to the shopkeeper who only giggled in response. She responded, voice drawing away into the backroom with her and Teru’s footsteps. Ritsu kept climbing.

The air grew mustier and warmer as he ascended, the staircase leading up to an attic tucked into the wooden paneling. At the top was a single door, its white-painted face chipped, top corner shaven and jammed in the doorframe. Ritsu tested the knob, and it held firm under his grip.

He tightened his hand, a small shock of purple energy mangling the metal with a pop. When he twisted again, the lock gave, loose metal pieces tinkering down as he eased the door open. It swung in, giving way to a small bedroom tucked into the attic, triangular in shape. The bed took up most space, covered with a quilt sewn of patches long-faded. A wooden night stand sat beside it, red-blinking clock and a lamp adorning its top. Natural light flooded in from the panel of windows across from the bed, paling the carpeting. A small dusty tv sat perched in front of it, its front consumed in shadow. Sweat trickled down Ritsu’s neck, and the warm and dense smell of lavender flowed over him.

Ritsu noticed the laundry basket to his left, and for a moment was swamped with guilt for wearing his shoes in this woman’s house.

The thought vanished instantly, consumed by a new twanging of his heart as he gave a second look to the laundry basket. The air above it shifted, schismed, as though above a hot tar road in summer. Ritsu approached it steadily, palm buzzing with a hint of energy. He screwed his eyes to focus, a small headache building behind his skull.

He saw it. Small and curled and wispy green, a cat dozed on the folded linen sheets. It let out a small fluttering purr, and the tension left Ritsu’s body. He backed away from it, chewing his tongue, letting his shoulders sag. It wasn’t anything. Not his brother. Not a dangerous spirit. Just a ghost cat, asleep on some laundry.

He wiped his sleeve along his brow and stood still, heart rate calming. He watched the cat for longer, the muffled sing-song sound of Teru’s conversation bubbling through the carpeting. It was curled in the sun, its body scarcely visible in the beam that floated dust through the room. Ritsu’s hand twitched. He considered his options, but he only came up empty. There was no use in doing anything to the cat. No use in him and Teru being here.

Nothing that would lead him any closer to Mob.

“Sorry, cat,” Ritsu offered quietly. He turned on his heel.

And he screamed when something ghastly stared back.

Ritsu stumbled back, just as the creature shoved a bony arm out and jammed something sharp into the socket of Ritsu’s left shoulder. Ritsu let out a muffled cry and clamped his arm to his shoulder. He forced his eyes to focus. A man of sorts, dressed in a faded apron, his eyes pits of black that seemed to have melted. The holes where his eyes should have been had wept down his face dripping over hollow cheek bones. His skin was waxy, greasy, peeled and glistening as thought severely burned, right to the stub of ashen hair left at the top of his head.

Ritsu’s eyes shot to the spirit’s hand, bearing the wispy, immaterial form of a knife. He unclamped his hand from his shoulder, seeing the faintest trickle of blood ooze from the wound.

“You can see Mitzy…” the spirit rasped. It inched closer. “Are you a ghost? Are you a ghost too? Here to steal her from me?”

Ritsu stumbled back, hands up. “No! No I don’t want your stupid cat!”

“Not the cat… My food. Her…”

Confusion twisted Ritsu’s face. His breathing hitched in his throat.

“…That lady downstairs!?”

“She’s mine…”

The spirit lunged again, and Ritsu dodged, knocking into the nightstand. He fell, back slamming against the drawer. The lamp wobbled and crashed beside him. Ritsu startled, and then shoved himself to his feet and scrambled before another lunge of the knife could slice him.

He backed away from the spirit, trying to keep the distance between them, though he only managed to back himself into a corner. Ritsu glanced behind him, bug-eyed, finger tips feeling out the corner of the paneled walling. The spirit closed the gap in slow hobbling steps. Energy coiled around the knife, and Ritsu squeezed his eyes shut, breath shaking.

Not again. Not this again.

He needed to do better. He needed to be better if he ever wanted to measure up to Teru. If he ever wanted to take down the thing that took his brother.

He needed to stop shaking. He needed to stop panicking. He needed to stop shutting down every time the danger inched too close.

He needed to be steady. Deliberate. Focused.

He needed to be like Teru.

His eyes snapped open as the spirit lunged, and Ritsu released a tendril of energy from his palm. It wrapped around the offending ghost, snagging tight at his midsection and pinning his arms to his side. The spirit came crashing forward, smashing to the floor and oozing against the rope that grated him. It screeched, teeth gnashing, and all the while its restrained arm swung the knife in arcs wherever he could slash it.

Mitzy woke up, blinked, let out a displeased yowl and hopped off the laundry pile. Her tail flicked as she sauntered out the open attic door.

Ritsu didn’t pay the ghost cat any mind. He only tested his grip on the rope. He had meant for chains, something like Teru had used to restrain the spirits of his horde. What Ritsu managed to create was formless, but still strong enough to hold the writhing spirit.

He took a step closer, breath steadying, momentarily eyeing the smashed lamp and the open door. Nothing appeared there, no sound except for the muffled conversation that carried on below, and the noises of the spirit at his mercy. Ritsu refocused, attentive to the spirit that snapped its teeth at him and hissed. Its wilting weepy eyes melted further down its face as it howled, seeming to lose vigor the more its greasy burnt body decayed. Ritsu extended his hand once more, letting off a twist of glowing purple energy to wrapped around the spirits mouth, muzzling it.

Ritsu closed the gap between them, and the expression on the spirit’s face shifted. Lashing anger melted to something meeker, something more sober, its wide dripping eyes seeming to come to an understanding. Ritsu’s hand paused. He didn’t exorcise the spirit just yet. Something about the expression halted him. Something familiar in it.

Ritsu, bearing down on the spirit, recognized the fear of something hunted. Trapped and cornered and at the mercy of something more powerful. He recognized it as the mangled, twisted emotion in his own chest at every feeding of the spirit.

He stretched his hand out and set it against the spirit’s throat. The spirit whimpered through its gag, and Ritsu gave an experimental tug. It wasn’t a physical motion. It was something in his core, like inhaling, like swallowing, but something purely routed through the channels where his psychic power flowed.

Ritsu watched the energy leech out of the spirit’s face, and soak into his own hand.

If the spirits could feed off of him, that meant he could feed off of them…

Ritsu strained his hand harder. The muffled cries of the spirit lessened as it withered, curdling inward, losing shape and form as its ether drained away. Ritsu looked away, just a bit unsettled by the destruction unfolding before his eyes.

The throbbing behind his eyes lessened. The ache in his chest eased. The scattered numbness vanished from his limbs almost instantly, as though he’d never even fed the spirits that afternoon. When Ritsu finally looked, nothing of the spirit remained, and the lack of pain coursing through his body was almost euphoric.

Slowly, Ritsu set his left thumb to his wrist. He rubbed, searching for the aching torn wound the spirits fed themselves from. Nothing of the sort appeared. The wound had healed, stained only with a shimmering bit of purple residue.

A shivering brushed through his leg, and Ritsu startled. He stepped back, eyes swinging down. Mitzy trailed between his feet, nudging her head against Ritsu’s pant leg. Ritsu eased. He crouched down, and put out a hand for Mitzy to investigate. She sniffed it, then rubbed her hand against it, then stretched further to examine Ritsu’s wrist. Ritsu let this happen. He held his wrist exposed. Mitzy licked at the violet residue smeared along his healed skin, and licked until not a single stain remained.

Her tongue tickled, cold.

…

Iciness clung to the interior of the bus, soaking through the windows with a chill almost wet to the touch. Ritsu leaned against the black glass, jostling slightly, arms folded in, coat unbuttoned. He watched passing streetlights, blips of light along a stretch of road massive and vacant and dark. The scenery had thinned to almost nothing, buildings and trees growing sparse until the outskirts of the city loomed, liminal and far-removed. The bus’s light washed fluorescent and sterile against the glass, so that Ritsu’s own stiff expression stared back at him. He felt far away from it all, Seasoning City drawing away behind him, consumed into dark nothing.

Teru sat beside Ritsu, immersed in his phone, fingers twitching and silent except for the occasional jangle of phone charms. He hunched forward, uninterested in the thinning scenery outside. Ritsu caught the flipped image of hearts and kissy emojis in the window’s reflection. Everything reflected at a slant, brighter and clearer than the sparse and empty inky blackness beyond. Ritsu exhaled, and his breath fogged the window.

Empty seats surrounded them, the last two people on the bus.

“It’s this next one,” Ritsu said. He tapped the button to signal the driver.

Teru only nodded, and chuckled secretively at his phone before slipping it back in his pocket. He hopped from his seat into the walkway and moved toward the front of the bus before it even began to slow. Ritsu followed in silence.

The huff of brakes, swing of doors, clawing cold of air curling into the bus. Teru whipped out a bus pass to wave in front of the sensor, and he gave the driver a cordial smile before descending the steps to the concrete below. Ritsu dug around in his coat pockets for the change he’d scrounged from his room, and dropped the coins into the till with fingers a bit numb from the cold. He didn’t acknowledge the driver as he descended the steps to the pale concrete below. He wanted no one seeing his face.

The bus door shivered shut, and its engine kicked back in with a heavy sigh. It left behind the faint acid smell of gasoline as it tugged along, consumed in the street that carried on straight and narrow and nondescript. Then it vanished entirely, leaving Ritsu in the pallid lighting of the lone glass bus stop. Wind tore between Ritsu’s ankles. He shivered, hunched into the jacket, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets.

Ritsu stared at the bus stop. Teru had seated himself on the provided bench, legs crossed, fingers flying over the screen of his phone. The blue light lit his smirk, warm feathery jacket hunched up by his shoulders. Moonlight struck the left side of him, silvery and ghostly. Ritsu assumed he must have looked the same. He didn’t check, merely staring until Teru looked up and they locked eyes.

“Which way?” Ritsu asked.

Teru shrugged, and he pocketed his phone again. “How should I know? Aren’t you the mission leader?”

“The address. Your phone has a GPS. I sent you the address.”

“My hands’ll get cold. Use Gimcrack.”

“He’s meeting us there. Ghosts can’t ride the bus.”

“Oh. Hmm. Yeah. Of course.” Teru stood and stretched, his breath puffing silver beneath the moon. “I trust him. He’s a trustworthy guy.”

“Just use your phone!”

“I’m conserving the battery.”

“Hanazawa!” Ritsu barked. His breath curled crisp. A lone car streaked past, passing and leaving them in ringing silence. Ritsu let his shoulders relax, tension bleeding out of him. He was tired. “Please? We’re just wasting time. This bus only runs once an hour, and the route shuts down at midnight.” Ritsu snagged his flip phone from his pocket and opened it. “And it’s 9:15 now.”

Teru shrugged. “Well.” He pulled out his own smart phone, flicking through apps and settling on the map icon. He gave it a moment to adjust, then motioned his head down the far sloping end of the road. He spun on his heels and walked forward. “Then let’s not dawdle. It’s ten minutes this way.”

Ritsu followed in silence, hunched in against the wind that whipped his ears.

Only two turns lay on their route. Ritsu made sure to memorize each of them as they passed in case Teru’s phone died during the raid. He struggled each time for a landmark. Every turn looked the same, sparse of trees and houses, only deep-stretching roads linking one town to the next. After ten minutes, the trees grew denser, taller and more woods-like. The road became gravel, and the GPS brought them down a beaten-in dirt road, burrowing down and away and leading to a warehouse massive and metal. An equally impressive parking lot sat beside it, lined with trucks resting beneath flood-lights. Trees rung the lot, tall and mangled in the moonlight. Ritsu followed down the road. Gravel crunching beneath his feet. He felt around inside the coat pocket, hand settling on the flashlight tucked inside.

“Gimcrack!”

Ritsu called to the blob of dark violet energy he spotted hovering pallid beneath one of the lights stretching over the warehouse roof. Gimcrack waved in response, and Ritsu picked up his pace.

“Is anyone around?” Ritsu asked, eyes shooting periodically to the monolith trucks, skeleton like, beneath the lights. Gimcrack shook his head.

“Nah.” Gimcrack’s attention shifted behind Ritsu, and Ritsu heard Teru’s steps approaching slow and even. Gimcrack hovered a few inches further away. “Last guy left about an hour ago.”

Ritsu turned, investigating the warehouse. Massive steel garage doors lined one side, a loading dock. Beside them, a short set of concrete stairs led to a door. Ritsu stepped to them, climbing. He wrapped his hand around the handle, long thin and metallic, cold to the touch. He tested it. It didn’t budge. He twisted harder. Locked.

Ritsu let go and turned to Gimcrack. “How do we get in?”

“I get you in,” Gimcrack answered. He drifted closer, gauging Ritsu’s reaction. “You gotta let me help though.”

Ritsu felt a hand, clammy and spider-like, settle on his shoulder. He jerked, but Gimcrack’s grip remained firm.

“What—“

“Just relax a second okay? Drop your guard.”

Ritsu only stared. His eyes shifted to Teru, who made no attempt to hide the suspicion on his face.

“What are you doing?” Ritsu asked, tense.

“If you relax for just like, two seconds here kid, I can show you. Unscrew your face would you?”

Reluctantly, Ritsu eased his shoulders. He breathed deep, and he felt Gimcrack’s hand phase deeper. An iciness washed through his whole core, a sensation like being dunked in ice water.

“Touch the door again,” Gimcrack said.

Ritsu did, tentatively. His eyes widened as his hand slipped right through the metal.

“I get you in, I get you out, maybe with an extra brother huh?”

Ritsu retracted his hand from the door. “Is this safe?”

“Is any of this safe?” Gimcrack asked.

“Yeah, no,” Teru answered, cold and firm. He stepped up beside Ritsu, eyes sharp and aura leaking with aggression. Gimcrack hopped away from the two of them. “We’ll just blast a door in. You can leave.”

“And trigger all their alarms? You sure you want that kiddo?” Gimcrack asked. He paused, reading Teru’s icy expression, and a smile crawled over his lips. “I’m just offering a generous service here.”

“It’s fine, probably,” Ritsu answered. He eyed his hand, flexing the numb joints. Feeling had begun to trickle back into his tingling fingers. His heart thrummed. “Do it again, Gimcrack.”

“Atta boy.”

Gimcrack wrapped his fingers around Ritsu’s shoulder once more, washing Ritsu with a chill so thorough that feeling vanished from his body. Ritsu gasped, unbalanced and unfeeling.

“Go on. Walk kid.”

Ritsu held his breath, trying to orient himself, or at the very least stay upright. Vertigo washed cold through his stomach, but he forced his feet forward. The wall passed through him as though it weren’t there. Or, Ritsu supposed, as though he weren’t there.

On the other side, Ritsu dropped to his knees for a moment to catch his breath. Tingling feeling returned in waves, but it was as though his core had been wrapped in ice. His body shivered, mind recovering.

Silently, a second figure walked in beside him. Teru remained standing, squaring his hips, feet pointed decidedly forward. “Hmmm. Maybe I should have brought a thicker coat.”

Ritsu stared down at his hands, pressed to the ground. Sensation seeped back into his body, but his palms and fingers had grown colder, pressed to a floor colder than ice. The shivering wasn’t just from Gimcrack’s powers, it was from the room itself. His wits returned to him, and slowly, Ritsu remembered where they were.

He looked up. Blackness met his vision, massive and endless. He pushed himself from the floor, fished a hand around in his coat pocket, and grabbed the flashlight from within. He shot it out, and ran his thumb along the surface until the switch beveled under his touch. Ritsu flicked the beam on.

The light sliced through a cone of black, throwing clawing, climbing, stark shadows and empty hollows along every surface. Ritsu took in the scene around him.

Row upon row of carved pig carcasses hung from the ceiling, slit at the stomach and strung from hooks digging through their back hooves. They were sliced in half and gutted, ridges of milky white rib cages reflecting the light and beveling the flesh that clung to them. The chains hung in tight rows, bodies slung from the ceiling like coats at the dry cleaner. All heads had been removed.

Ritsu swung the beam. By the walls, palettes were stacked high with unprocessed carcasses. They were tied down, stiff limbs jutting out, faces wrapped in cellophane. Ritsu blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark, so that his peripheral vision filled with the hung and tethered form of pig corpses.

A second beam of light joined him from Teru’s phone, swinging around the display with flippancy. Teru walked forward in investigation, speaking casually, his words lost on Ritsu. Ritsu stayed rooted. The wind howled loud and percussive against the warehouse, warbling the walls, clanking the ceiling chains. Ritsu swallowed and exhaled, his breath frozen in front of him. His stomach squirmed.

“He’s not here, Hanazawa,” Ritsu said.

Teru stopped and turned, his light momentarily blinding Ritsu. “Hmm?”

“My brother’s not here. He can’t be. It’s a freezer. He’s not.”

Teru spun again, lighting up another ghastly display of pigs whose hollowed-out innards drank up the shadows. “He could be.”

“He’s not,” Ritsu insisted. “It’s freezing.”

“Well that’s not a problem. Any psychic worth his salt can regulate his own temperature.” Teru paused, eyes drilling into Ritsu, mouth quirked into a smile. Teru seemed perfectly comfortable. Ritsu’s body wouldn’t stop shivering.

Ritsu glowered. He turned and banged on the wall behind him. “Gimcrack! My brother’s not in here. Get us out.”

Silence met him,

“Gimcrack!”

“You know, Kageyama, I remember an old horror story I’ve heard about a place like this.”

“Hey.” Ritsu banged his palm against the icy wall once more. The sound reverberated. “Gimcrack.”

“A meat-packer had spent 30 years of his life working in a warehouse like this one. Carving up carcasses all day. Miserable work for miserable pay. And finally one day, he had enough. He pushed a few of those palettes together, and climbed to the tallest meat hook, and hung himself from it.”

Teru’s phone flashlight meandered behind Ritsu, throwing gruesome shadows against the wall Ritsu faced, the forms of bodies hung, stretched and beveled, taut on chains. Ritsu shut his eyes, bowed his head, and banged on the wall. “Gimcrack! Get us out!”

“He cursed the warehouse when he died so that no one could ever get his corpse down. It stayed there, hanging, never rotting in the cold, watching the workers until they were driven insane.”

“I’m not listening.” Ritsu opened his eyes to darkness, stars dancing in his vision. His breath fogged, though sweat dripped from his hairline. “Help me call Gimcrack.”

“His skin became desiccated. His clothes tattered. His eyes froze over, so that the liquid inside formed crystals and tore through his corneas, making them a bright, blind, milky blue. Some workers claimed he moved in the night. Others said he watched you. When he was in the very best of moods, the corpse smiled.”

“Dammit. God dammit Gimcrack. I won’t pay you! Hanazawa, help.”

“And then the warehouse closed down, and he was left there in the darkness and emptiness, finally allowed to rot. But he was lonely. So he was happy, very happy, one day when a group of curious kids broke into the warehouse and visited him. They couldn’t see him in the dark, so he had to wait for their flashlights. He prepared his best grin, his flesh all rotted. And finally, they—“

“Hanazawa.”

“—swung their light just a bit higher—“

Ritsu turned, eyes to Teru. “Shut up okay? I’m trying t—“

“Until they could… greet… his… happy… face…”

Teru snapped his phone to the top corner of the warehouse, light yanked with it, and Ritsu’s eyes followed too.

Someone stared down from the ceiling.

Piercing eyes, a wide grin stretching desiccated skin, cheeks carved out in deep shadows, body slung beneath it. The body jerked. Its head snapped to Ritsu. Its grin widened.

Ritsu gave a hollow gasp. He stumbled back, stomach bottoming out, back slamming into the wall which he crumpled down. His eyes locked to the grin that—

Teru was laughing.

Teru was howling, in fact.

Ritsu shined his own flashlight to the corner, illuminating a pig body coated in yellow aura. The aura vanished, and the pig flopped down, falling back with a sickening smack against the other pigs stacked high. Teru’s laughter echoed, mirthful to tears, from the far walls.

“Seriously?!” Ritsu swung his light to Teru.

“You should see your face,” Teru said, doubled over and wheezing with his hands to his knees. His phone light jittered with his wheezing chuckles, eating at the shadows on the floor. “Hang on hang on hang on.” He rose tall, held the phone up, grin wide and sickeningly satisfied. The light flashed. “Okay okay I took a picture. Hang on I’m sending it to you it’s great!”

“Hanazawa!”

“I got you. You shoulda seen—you—Aah!—and then back—smashed right into the wall! Oh I should have been recording!”

Ritsu’s anger iced over. His eyes shot behind Teru.

“Hanazawa.”

“I thought you—oh this picture! Oh I love this picture! Wallpaper, definitely. You just—Ahh!! Your face is like—“

“Idiot, duck!”

“—Oh, spooky! You--! Huh?”

“Duck,” Ritsu shouted.

A moment of pained confusion passed, until a low grumble shook Ritsu’s bones. Understanding snapped, and Teru threw himself to the floor, just before a creature, squealing and massive and bulbously tumored raked through the air Teru’s head had occupied. It careened forward, a globby filthy dripping monster five times as massive as the carcasses in the warehouse, and yet distinctly swine-like in its form. It dove next for Ritsu, who jumped from its path with far more grace.

“You idiot!” Ritsu shouted, head snapping to Teru, finger pointing to the rampaging beast. “You pissed it off!”

Teru watched from the floor, stunned. He patted at the ground, then his pocket, then the ground again. “Where’d my phone go?”

“I don’t know!” Ritsu yelled. He flattened himself against the wall as the swine dove again, and then Ritsu chased after it, feet pumping, flashlight bouncing out the path ahead of him. He leapt onto a palette, hurdling corpses as he raced to catch up with the creature.

Ritsu readied a lash of energy in his free hand and shot it out. It arced like a sickle, violet and razor sharp. It nicked the monster’s hind leg and then kept spinning, slashing through hung carcasses, slicing flesh and bone that rained to the ground.

Ritsu did not let up. He unleashed another shot, and another, near deaf to the squelch of flesh shredded and shorn. Only about a third of his shots hit the massive bulbous oozing green monster, the rest flung wild into chains and wall, palettes and flesh. It was enough to earn the pig’s ire. It reared back. Its eyes were replaced by tumorous growths, but its massive snout twitched, gnashing molars bared, and it shot dead center for Ritsu.

Ritsu steadied his ground. Heart pounding, he readied a burst of energy in his palm, dense and spring-coiled tight. He waited out the seconds, heart-pounding, until the creature lunged. And Ritsu released the shot from his palm.

The recoil knocked Ritsu off balance, snapping awake the old injury of his dislocated shoulder. He hissed, but kept his eyes focused, trained to the shot that exploded, and connected, and carved out a hole through the center of the beast. It let out a ghastly squeal, loud enough to shake the walls, rattle the chains into a symphony of disquiet as it crashed into the ground. Ritsu readied a coil of rope, eyes alight. His body moved naturally. The energy soaking through him was like nothing he knew before.

He knelt over the creature, which writhed and snapped but did not get up, and Ritsu coiled the rope around its snout, rendering it defenseless. He set his palm to the thing’s throat, and he felt it again, that sickly honey-sweet fear that pulsed off the creature as a form of energy. It was dense as it filled Ritsu, cold as the locker. He breathed in deeper as the thing beneath his palm withered dry. Its tumorous skin pruned like leather, until its form decayed down to bones, and then nothing but wispy tendrils that passed through Ritsu’s fingers. Ritsu exhaled, mind clearer, body thrumming with absorbed energy. He relaxed, and stood, and swung his light to Teru.

Teru stood a few feet back, watching with sharp eyes. When the beam struck his face, he gave a quick expression of disgust, tongue out and lip curled.

“You’re welcome,” Ritsu said as he walked past. He set his eyes again to the wall.

“Hey, this is your freak show. I’m here for the entertainment.” Teru came up beside Ritsu, leaning casually against the wall Ritsu banged against. “And apparently you’re here for the snacks.”

“Gimcrack! It was a spirit. We killed it.” Ritsu banged again, listening for a response. “Should I just blast us out of here?”

“I’ve never been a huge fan of pork. How’d it taste? Chewy?”

“Do you ever absorb the spirits?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Does a healthy person need blood transfusions?” Teru ran a hand through his hair, snagging on a few iced-over locks.

“…It’s a good source of energy. Try it.”

“Uh-huh, yeah, sure. And Gimcrack’s a good ally.”

Ritsu slammed his fist once more and then lowered his hand. “Where’d he go…?”

“We could always call up your mommy and daddy to come pick us up.”

“You’re hilarious,” Ritsu answered. He stepped away from the wall and swung his flashlight in search of another exit. “And of course we can’t, because they don’t know I’m gone, because that’s the point.”

“Great parents.”

“What about yours huh? They just—what—let you get away with all this shit? Or do they just so sincerely not give a shit about you that there’s no point in you hiding anything?”

“Ha.” Teru crossed his arms and leaned his back entirely against the freezer wall. “I don’t live with them, so I’m in no rush to get out of here. You seem stressed though.”

“Where do they live?”

“Around.”

Ritsu moved to the adjacent wall, side-stepping palettes to run his beam along the metal in search of a different door. “Why don’t you live with them? Did they get sick of you?”

“How long do you think you have until your parents notice you missing, Kageyama? Hopefully they’d be a bit quicker to the draw than they were with your brother.”

“No.” Ritsu made it to the far wall. His skimmed his fingers along the surface. “They’d never notice, in fact. I didn’t want to risk them realizing I snuck out, so I left Makeshift and Slipshod behind with orders to possess them if they came to check on me.”

“…You what?”

“Gimcrack did it once before, possessing my mom. It works.”

The wall in front of Ritsu beveled, shifting to an ashy violet. Gimcrack’s face oozed out of it. “Did I hear my name?”

“God fuck—there you are!” Ritsu threw his arms out, flashlight arcing wide across the ceiling.

“Ooh, spooky place.”

“I’ve been calling you!”

“Hey hey hey chill huh? I’m here. Just wanted to make sure you dealt with that porker beast before I showed my face, you dig?” Gimcrack gestured to himself. “Can’t risk hurting the merchandise.”

Ritsu fumbled in his pocket for his phone. He flicked it open, time glowing bright along its blue screen. The next bus was in 15 minutes. “Just get us out of here.”

“Roger,” Gimcrack replied, grabbing Ritsu’s shoulder and drenching him with that same icy nothing. Ritsu felt as though the floor had dropped from under him, but he steeled himself, breath held, and moved forward. He stepped through the wall, appearing on the other side of the warehouse which was hidden deeper in shadow than the parking lot side.

“Hey, Hanazawa, you coming?” Gimcrack’s voice came muffled through the wall. Ritsu coughed out a breath, and once again dropped to his knees, too numb to stand. His fingers curled in the dewy grass, and he willed sensation to return. “Heyo, you, Blondie. What? Giving me the cold shoulder now? That’s my job, heh. Get it?”

Ritsu got one foot beneath him. He tested his weight against it. His knee shook, but he was able to rise slowly, shivering the sting of ice out of his body. He hobbled forward a step, then another into the grass, ankles brushing cold through the dew.

“Hanazawa!” Ritsu called over his shoulder, eyes set to the warehouse. His fingers trailed over the phone in his pocket, feeling the seconds tick away, the bus coming nearer. “Come on. What are you doing?”

“Well then ease up your shoulders or something then, okay? I can’t phase you if you don’t let me. Just relax your face. Come on, give me a smile.”

The wall blew.

An explosion of light and power clapped against Ritsu’s ears. He let out a yell, stumbling back, hands over his ears as he squinted, staring at the fading rush of yellow aura that had blasted through the metal siding. Alarms shrieked overhead, and Teru appeared like a ghost, pale once more under the moonlight as he stepped through the settling rubble. Ritsu stared, dumbfounded, at the hole. Gimcrack floated out, visibly shaken.

Teru walked past Ritsu, brushing himself off. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped it on before burying his face in the blue light.

“What the hell was that?” Ritsu asked, stumbling slightly to catch up.

“We’re finished here. The alarms don’t matter anymore. I could have blasted us out at any time.” Teru refused to face Ritsu. He quickened his pace, and Ritsu fell into quiet step behind him. Ritsu looked behind him, watching the warehouse fade away, the sirens drop off, until only a ringing in his ear remained. He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers, feeling the buzz of newly collected energy beneath them.

“Piece of work, that kid…” Gimcrack muttered from Ritsu’s side. His eyes shifted to Ritsu, and he nudged his shoulder. “Anyway, payment for tonight.”

Ritsu conjured a crystal above his palm, now tainted green, murky in the darkness. He flicked it unceremoniously in Gimcrack’s direction, and then quickened his pace to keep up with Teru.

Five minutes of their walk passed in silence. Only then, when Ritsu looked around and saw himself, Teru, and no one else—only then did it occur to Ritsu that this mission had been a failure.

…

Mob woke up alone.

And it was an absence he could feel trickling to his core. He lay in bed, eyes open, suffocating in the nothingness around him, deafened in its silence. He stared blind at the ceiling. His body was tucked beneath the covers of his bed. A small hint of moonlight filtered in. He waited frozen, afraid to leave the bed, because he was afraid of being alone.

Slowly, with dread weighing heavy on his chest, Mob sat up. The covers pooled in his lap, and he buried his hands in the warmth. He listened, a quiet ringing nothingness settling on his ears. No snoring from the next room, no hushed babbling on the phone, no tinny television noise filtering through the door. It was an empty house. A dead house.

“Reigen…?”

Mob rose, shuffling out of the blankets. He set a ginger toe to the floor, soft carpeting molding beneath his feet. He worried the end of his braid, finger twisting through the lock of hair bound together at the end with Reigen’s rubber band. He waited. He breathed. Nothing answered.

He walked to the bedroom door. It creaked open under his touch, giving out to a hallway just as dim as his room. He waited. He listened.

“Reigen…?”

Nothing. Mob tugged harder on his braid, heartrate quickening. He’d known something had been wrong the moment he said Shishou’s name. No worse, he’d already known Reigen would be angry, and he said it anyway. He admitted to killing Shishou, and now Reigen was gone. Reigen had claimed nothing was wrong. He’d collected himself, and patted Mob’s head, and told Mob it had been a long day. Go get washed up for bed. Go sleep. He’d handle the mess in the kitchen.

Mob walked toward the kitchen. He tugged harder on his hair, feet tripping over the hem of the sweatpants Reigen had bought for him. He paused and flicked on the light. Brightness flooded down, too bright, that Mob had to squint and shield his eyes. When he looked through his fingers, he found the floor clean. The milk and cake put away. The dishes washed and drying.

“Reigen?”

Alone.

Mob turned and walked toward the couch. He eyed the television, and then the large bay window behind it. The light from the kitchen reflected loud and fuzzy against it, casting Mob’s dark silhouette against it. He looked, seeking out what he didn’t want to see. Mob put a hand out, stretching far, skimming through the air.

He couldn’t touch it. He never could. It always spread away, far from the tips of his fingers, so that he could never feel its cut. But it was there, dim and buzzing and swirling blue. He saw it in front of him. He saw it in the reflection, a gossamer bubble ringing his body.

Mob whimpered slightly. He pulled his hands in and hugged his arm. Reigen was gone. The barrier was back.

He didn’t want to check Reigen’s bedroom.

His feet moved anyway, even when Mob knew he didn’t want to see what lay beyond. Shishou’s withered face flashed through his mind, hanging body, hollow black eyes. Mob had done something to make Shishou hang himself, and now he. Again. Waking to the quiet. Feeling nothing. No presence. Alone. Alone again. Again he—

Mob turned the knob to Reigen’s room. Tears budded behind his eyes, his breathing harsh and fast. He opened the door. He didn’t want to see.

Mob looked anyway.

Nothing.

A rush of breath escaped from his lips, a relief so immediate his legs nearly buckled. Mob took a moment to collect himself. He dropped down onto the carpet and sat there, staring forward, looking above the bed. There was no hanging body. Just an empty room. Reigen had not killed himself.

Mob dug his fingers into the carpet, letting a few relieved breaths slip from his mouth. He collected himself, and pushed himself standing, and held on to the frame of the doorway. Mob turned where he stood, eyes set to the front door. He moved from carpet to tile, bare feet beating cold against the linoleum.

He grabbed the front door, and after a moment of hesitation he opened it. Cold air rushed over his face, the sound of passing cars in the distance, the buzz of the streetlamps surrounding the complex. Mob took a tentative step out onto the wooden stairway.

“Reigen? Please? Are you out here?”

Mob glanced down. Reigen’s car was gone. He worried his fingers together.

Still, Mob descended the steps. Still, he had to try. He made every motion conscious of his barrier. Averse to the touch of anything, paranoid eyes peeled for the slightest movement. He was dangerous again. He was deadly again. But he had to do something to help. This was his fault.

He moved down the driveway, gravel sticking between his toes, and the world felt open and hostile again. His nerve edged away quickly. The world was so huge—he’d forgotten. It wasn’t just Shishou’s house anymore. It was the whole of everything. Reigen could have gone anywhere. Mob’s paces slowed to a trickle. There was maybe nothing he could do.

He waited. He hesitated.

And something burst from the bushes.

It flashed into Mob’s field of vision, a blur of color fast and smooth. His eyes shot wide. Mob stumbled back. Couldn’t hurt—Couldn’t touch—He let out a strangled cry and folded in. He pulled, pulled away. Couldn’t touch. Couldn’t hurt. Couldn’t kill. Not anymore. Not again. No more.

Reigen had trained him.

He could at least.

The sound of shearing fur raked against his ears. Mob’s eyes shot wider, glassy, stomach dropping at the familiar noise of destruction. He dropped low onto his haunches and buried his face in his hands, too terrified for words, or even sounds. Small breathless gasps slipped through his fingers.

And with the gasps, Mob felt the texture of fur slip through his fingers as well.

He raised his head, and stared at his palms through tear-swimming eyes. He saw no blood, no mangled body, only the feathery form of hair strands streaked through his fingers. Mob moved his hands out of the way, and found snippets of hair littered across the ground, blowing in the wind.

He looked higher, and a single white cat stood across from him, tail flicking, paw swiping at its ear. It considered Mob for a moment before rising up and sauntering off down the road.

He hadn’t hit it. For the second time, he hadn’t hit something.

In wonder, Mob focused on the barrier. It was denser, swirled faster and harsher, an angry red, and it hovered only an inch or so from his nose. He’d pulled it in. Concentrated, angry and aggressive, he’d at least managed to pull it in.

Mob eased a fraction, and the barrier spread back out. But it listened. For the first time since it appeared, it listened.

His right hand rose, seeking to grab the end of the braid and finding nothing. The absence startled him, and so Mob searched further, feeling out his hair. Some locks still hung to his shoulder, others had shorn short. Uneven, scraggly, his bangs had been taken at an angle.

Mob retreated, beating back up the steps and shutting the door behind him. He moved as though possessed, feet taking him to the bathroom where he flicked the light on. Brightness caught, and Mob stared at the boy in the mirror.

Messy, mangled, awkwardly cut and uneven. His hair must have whipped around when he heard the cat, spinning wide when he yanked the barrier in. The rubber band had been taken. The braid had unraveled, leaving a shorter mess of poorly chopped hair.

He grabbed the edge of the sink and breathed. His mind hadn’t caught up yet. Too much had happened. Too close of a call. And Reigen was gone. And Shishou was dead. And his barrier was back and—

Mob looked up again at the mirror, and he was haunted there by the look of a boy he almost remembered. He reached out and touched his fingertips to the mirror. The cheeks were shallower, the eyes more hollow, but it was a face he almost remembered. He remembered this face. This one. As though he were still the same person underneath it all. And maybe he could be. Maybe he was.

Mob tightened his grip on the sink. His breathing calmed. He watched his eyes, and willed them to belong to the boy who never knew about barriers or basements or cockroaches skittering in the night.

He couldn’t do that. Those things were a part of him. But he realized, staring into his own eyes, they were becoming less a part of him…. He wasn’t there anymore. Not in the basement. Not with Shishou. Not with rats and not with soup and not with the barrier cutting every chance of touch. He was at Reigen’s house, and Reigen was different, and Reigen was making him different.

Mob’s shoulders slumped, and he eased down onto the plush shower mat beneath his feet. He held his legs in and watched the barrier dance through the air. He pulled once, experimentally, and it yielded to his touch, beveling closer.

Mob released it, and eased, and breathed. There was nothing he could do now except hope that Reigen was different. Hope that Reigen wasn’t like Shishou.

Hope that Reigen was coming back.

(Chapter 25 [AO3])

#A Breach of Trust #ABoT #ABoT update #OKAY I HAVE BEEN WORKING ON THIS #FOR A LOT OF HOURS #ITS LENGTHY AND ITS HERE #suicide //#dead body //#ask to tag

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