#his hair is so much easier to draw when its not in a pompadour

[shush-you-insolent-fool]

Hmmm me thoughts on the funny yellow guy

with @mjlor-chan 's design for toddler kiddo! (theres no colored version of babee so i did some improv)

Alt text below

Things that Wally remind me of because of his hooded eyes

Stone

Hooded smexy eyes (attempting)

tired and on his last strand

Sleeby toddler :)

[emiplayzmc]

...So here's that 2.5k+ word one-shot that I wrote in one afternoon + night

@turntableart it's the guys ever :3 And also @bigshot-furbiestm since you said you wouldn't be opposed to reading it in your RB last night :3

Also posted it on AO3 in case it's easier to read there :D

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"It's Not Too Late to Learn to be Alive Again"

Summary:

Two former and forgotten Addisons rummage around in an alley and end up staying for too long, hiding out in a dumpster from the cold rain.

AKA, I have brainrot about an Addison OC that me and Turn have been talking about and I am. Very much adding them to my list of blorbos.

Drip.  Drop.

Tink.  Splat.

The sound of tiny bits of acid rain hitting every surface of this block in Cyber City for the moment.  Hopefully, it wouldn't get any worse than a light drizzle.

The dull-coloured Addison stands at the end of the alley, blankly staring up at the gridlines at the top of the world, watching the droplets fall down around and onto him.  The acidity by itself couldn't clear the dust and grime on his dull, bluish-green casing, but he could feel and see the streaks trickling across it, making them slightly more metallic-looking again instead of the matte that he'd been reduced to.

Plink.  Tap-tap.  Clack.

He blinks as a drop of cold rain lands on the tip of his nose, scrunching his face briefly as he's brought out of the blank trance-like state he was in.  He swivels his head around to look over his shoulder, watching as items get tossed out of trash bags within a green dumpster at random intervals, hitting the opposite wall of the alleyway with clatters, cracks, and occasional wet slaps - the least appealing of those sounds, in his opinion.  He wonders when his companion will find something they deem suitable to sell or edible enough to use as a consumable.  He emits a low hum and draws his coat a little closer to himself, looking back over the back alley wall to the thin strip of buildings between the city and the Cyber Fields beyond, an occasional red light blinking on the unfinished railway.

Pitter-patter, thup-thup.

…and it sounds like the rain is falling a little harder.  That's wonderful.  He steps off of the crate that he'd used to look over the back wall and approaches the dumpster, lurching back to let a slimy-looking something hit the wall before moving forward again and standing on the tips of his toes to peer in.

He can see the greased back, oily hair of his companion rummaging around in a trash bag, their gears clicking inside them as they mutter to themselves while deliberating over a bottle with its label torn off, containing MAYBE some kind of juice.  Could also be motor oil, it's not easy to tell.  The lid of the dumpster must be blocking the rain from hitting them.  He reaches over the edge and taps the other on their shoulder, finding it the tiniest bit amusing when they startled and nearly dropped the bottle of whatever-it-was.

“WH 4T THE- AH, U!!!  SOMETHING [Turn Left]?”

The gratingly loud, glitched voice of Spamton G. Spamton had become a small comfort to the other in the past few months.  To others, it may have been hard to listen to for more than a few minutes, but to him it was familiar.  It was safe.  Friendly.

The corner of his mouth twists into a frown as he points upward before making a sweeping gesture to the alleyway now growing wet with puddles and slowly thickening curtains of acidic precipitation.  Spamton pokes his head out of the garbage receptacle and immediately hisses when he feels rain hitting the top of his pompadour and face, causing the other to smirk lightly at the reaction.

“[$%#/] RA1N…” Spamton grumbles as he peers out, wiping the already accumulating rain away from his nearly opaque multicoloured glasses, “WE’LL LEAF [And It's Going Going] [Going] [Going] [Going]- …SO0N.  JUST GOTTA F 1ND SOME GRUB!!!”

…He doesn't exactly know why they couldn't root through the garbage can of a bakery that's on the route back to Spamton's shop, but he hesitantly nods and pulls the back of his coat over his head to hide from the rain, leaning against the dumpster and listening to Spamton rifling through the garbage bags a little quicker.

…

The frigid acid rain drums and hisses against the roofs and the concrete in the alley, making muted green puddles around his feet and staining more of his cyan shoes.  He shivers underneath his now-soaked coat, and Spamton still hasn't finished, likely getting too fixated on finding something edible to have noticed he's taking too long or that the rain has started pouring.  He kicks the back of his foot against the dumpster hard, earning him a muted “1 SEC OND.”  He grumbles and shivers again.  He's cold and wet and he'd rather go back and miss eating instead of obsessing over finding something for too long.  His internal heaters got busted and clogged long ago, he shouldn't be outside in this mess.

…

Screw it.

He turns around and yanks open the other lid on the dumpster, scrambling inside despite Spamton's startled noise and shutting both lids above them, pulling his legs up to his chest and shoving a gutted trash bag off to the side, huddling onto the side and flicking on the flashlights in his eyes.

“H 3Y!!!” Spamton protests, the lights in his eyes flickering on as well, both their sets of eyes shining dimly in the dumpster with light turquoise and pink-and-yellow light, “I’M ALM0ST [Done and Done!], Y'D U-”

His questioning dies off as he sees his dull greyish green-blue companion shivering in the corner of the dumpster, his legs pulled up to and hugging his chest and the soaking wet coat pulled tightly around him, even though it's likely making the shivering worse.

“...0 H.  RITE…” Spamton wavered, remembering his friend's condition, “SHOULD H4VE [Leave while you still have the chance]...”

‘Idiot, he told you we should leave and you got hooked on something that could've been taken care of on the way back,’ he thinks to himself, berating.  He can't keep doing that when he has this guy following him around with broken systems… if he's going to insist on trailing Spamton like a lost Tasque just because the White Addison found him shut down in the middle of the street unable to move and fixed him up as best that he could, he might as well make sure they're at least safe.  Not that he's actually grown to care about the nameless Addison at all.

“...H3RE, I-” Spamton moves to kneel on his knees instead of squatting, looking through his corrupted inventory quickly to find the slot with his blanket, pulling it out of the 1s and 0s.  He then reaches forward and attempts to snatch the wet coat off of the other, holding up a surrendering hand when they flinch and pull themselves back farther, confused.”

“U CANT [ Wear all of our latest styles at -] TH4T, YO U’LL [Freeze, criminal scum!],” he grunts out, holding out his hand as if to say ‘ hand it over .’  The other Addison hesitates for a minute, not wanting to give up his coat, but his fans ultimately emit a whirring sigh as he peels it off of himself, balling it up and handing it to Spamton before trying in vain to wipe the wet spots off his stained blue dress shirt underneath.  Spamton tosses the coat into the corner, intending to dry it back at his shop (somehow) when the rain stops and they leave.

Spamton then takes their ratty - but still functional, with no holes or tears - grey blanket and drapes it over the dull Blue's legs, watching as their face morphs into one of surprise before gratefully (and somewhat covetously) pulling it farther over himself, gripping a small part of it to their chest.

‘It won't help much to heat him up, just block a little more cold,’ he muses…

His own internal heaters may not be the best, but they at least function better than the other's.

He shoves the trash bags next to the Addison farther to the side and crawls over to sit next to him, pushing himself close to the other’s body so they can share the heat.  Surprised, the other tilts his head to the side, wondering why all of a sudden Spamton actually… WANTS to be close to him.  Spamton notices the confused expression and scoffs - not in a mean way.

“U L0OK LIKE A- LIKE A- LIKE A- [[- looking like a kicked puppy and down on your luck? ]] SI TING TH3RE SHIV€RING, D0N’T [Expectations, expectations!] TH IS TO BE A REGULAR THING,” he grumbles lightly, gently pulling some of the blanket over himself before opening his inventory again and bringing out his tattered and yellowed pillow, plopping it behind his and the other's backs.  May as well get comfy, they'll likely be here all night.

…

Bonk.

Spamton feels a light thud on his skull, and feels the other pressing even closer to Spamton's body, realizing that he's resting his head on top of Spamton, looking somewhat content for one of the few times since they've been around each other.

“...TH4T DIDN'T T AK LONG,” Spamton snorts amusedly.  The other angles his eyes down at Spamton's face and gives a small smile, nuzzling into his head, which… most people probably wouldn't do, but at the moment, neither of them cared.  Spamton liked feeling like he was needed at the moment, and the nameless Addison loved the warmth, both the literal and metaphorical kind, coming from his companion right now, relishing it.

Spamton sees the unlabelled bottle of liquid from earlier still resting unopened on a pile of trash, and he grabs it, swishing it around in the glass.

“EXP3RI MENTASHUN!!!” Spamton says gleefully, cracking open the bottle just to finally figure out what it is, “[Rock Bottom]’S UPP!!!”  He tips his head back and pours some of the yellow liquid down his throat, clamping his jaw up and down as he tries to discern the… interesting… taste.

“H3RE,” he says, offering the bottle to the Blue, “DUNNO WH4T IT I S, BUTT ITS CONSUMABLE!!!” The other gingerly takes the bottle, eyeing the familiar curved glass of the bottle before taking a small sip… which he immediately regrets, since it burns the whole way down his throat and tastes like someone mixed toothpaste and rotten glass with alcohol that went wrong.  He splutters whatever he can out of his mouth, his face twisted into a grimace.

…it does warm his insides, though.  Probably because it's started eating away at vital fluids that have started leaking everywhere, based on the taste - though that may be a little overdramatic.

…and his reaction to it made Spamton cackle out a glitched and garbled, yet teasing laugh at his reaction.

“HAEHAEHA EHAEH- WH4T, DON'T LIKE THE N3W [Vile! Awful! Downright hideous!] TASTES OF TH E AUTUMN???” Spamton laughs, nudging the other in their torso lightly.  The dull one flicks the arm of Spamton's glasses, sending them askew with a smile, now feeling a lot less miserable and a bit warmer than he was when he climbed into the dumpster, cuddled next to Spamton and his heaters.  He even made him laugh.  He hums softly and lightly bonks the marionette's long nose with the tip of their own nose, attempting to make him laugh again.

“H- H3Y, URE ACTing [Sugar and Spice and Everything Nice], U BUY A SH1NY NEW [ the spark that created life!! ] 0 R SOMTHIN???” Spamton asks, snickering as he reaches up and touches the other's cheek, watching them lean into it like they haven't had such a simple act of touch in decades.

Boop.

He touches their noses together again and nods up and down quickly, pointing a finger at Spamton, and then himself, before pointing at his face and grinning widely.

…Spamton gets the message loud and clear.  Externally, his eyes roll [[HEAVEN ]]wards as if that was a cheesy thing to imply, but internally he's… Actually getting a little emotional.  He hasn't made someone who he may or may not care about smile since…  Well…  not for a long time.

“[Gourmet Wheel of Brie] LINE 2 BUTT ER ME UP,” he says unconvincingly sarcastically, “BUT URE SM1LING FOR 1NCE, SO ILL [ What can I say except ‘you're welcome’? ]!!!”  Spamton reaches his arm up from its position behind his head and claps the other on their shoulder a couple of times fondly.

“S0 GOOD L UCK GETTING Rid of me NOW, BCAUSE URE [Stuck in a ditch? Call-] WITH ME NOW, [Friend Request Accepted], SO I C4N KEEP THAT  GR1N ON YO UR [Beutiful Head]!!!”

…what does it say about the other, when such garbled yet simple words of kindness were enough to nearly well his eyes with tears?  For just the simple act of being with him to make him emotional?

“... th ank you,” he croaks out, the voicebox quality scratchy and sounding alien from disuse, resting his head on Spamton's again.

“D0NT MENTION IT, [Buddy Chum Pal Fr]- [[Stop the presses!!]]” Spamton halts mid-sentence as he snaps his head to fully look at the one sitting beside him, eyes wide behind his glasses as he stares into their blue-green eyes - does he daresay he saw some sort of sparkle in there?  “D ID- DID U JUST [Everybody's raving about our new-]???”

He nods, his small smile stretching a little as he moves his head down to bump his forehead to Spamton's again.

Spamton's face, in return, breaks out into an ear-to-ear, genuine grin as he bumps foreheads back, ecstatic to hear him speak for what may well be the first time since they met.

“I'LL [ -chugalug, chugalug ] 2 TH AT!!!!” Spamton cheers, holding up the still-open bottle of vile fluid and taking a large swig… oh what the Hell?  Just this once he'll try to like it…  The other grabs the bottle and takes a drink from it as well, nearly gagging but managing to keep it down for a few moments before breaking into silent, body-shaking laughter at the fact they just willingly drank that again.

He wonders what he would do - if Trademark License Addison saw his abhorrent alcohol - unfit for a ViroViroKun, the very same that he detested for taking the place of nearly every cheap but decent gas station brand in the store, the very same drink that he expelled from his body into the bathroom sink - in stores a few years ago now being consumed by his future self in a dumpster while giggling over the smallest of things and sharing heat with the former Big Shot himself.

When the entire bottle is drained, Trademark and Spamton lean back against the pillows, the former listening to the drumming of rain on the dumpster lid above them, and to the White Addison yammering on and on about some convoluted make-it-big-again scheme with a tired and tranquil look on his face, until he eventually falls asleep, his head now drooped onto Spamton's shoulder and his arm draped across his torso, gripping him tightly to keep the warmth close to him.  When he finally does notice that the dull, yet so, so bright Blue Addison whom he doesn't even know the name of, has fallen asleep nuzzling him, he feels… content.  Happy, even.  His own arm gently holds Trademark close to himself, as well.

Spamton likes feeling wanted.  Feeling needed.  By someone, for once in years.

…

They could both get used to expecting this to be a regular thing.

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[thiswasinevitableid]

63. sometimes I steal flowers from your garden on my way to the cemetery, but today you’ve caught me and have demanded to come with me to make sure the “[person] is [attractive] enough to warrant flower theft” and I’m trying to figure out how to break it to you that we’re on our way to a graveyard

Danbrey, sfw, please!

Here you go!

It’s the rabbit that draws her eye; it’s not everyday a bunny the size of a Beagle stops outside the window of Amnesty House. She follows the leash from the harness to the hand holding it, and spots a much bigger issue.

“Miss?” She steps onto the porch, “could you not take my flowers.”

“Yeeeeep!” The other woman drops the pocket knife she’s using to saw off the stems of tulips and irises, scrambling to her feet and tearing her fishnets in the process, “shit, um, I’m sorry, didn’t think you’d notice, I’ve done it before and you never, um, nevermind.” She pulls the rabbit back from the fence, “anyway, I really needed this, they’re really pretty and I think she’d like them-”

“Ohhhhh, I get it” Dani crosses her arms, “in that case, I’ll come with you. I want to see the person who’s cute enough to warrant multiple flower thefts.”

“Um, or! You could not do that and I could promise to never do this again?”

“Nope, my mind’s made up.” She slips on her Birkenstocks and heads down the front stairs. Jake and Moira are both home, so she’s not too worried about locking up.

“Fine. Let me just-” The woman scoops the rabbit up and sprints away. Dani could just let her go, but those were her heirloom irises, damn it, and she wants to make sure the person who gets them knows just how valuable they are. So off she goes, soles slapping the pavement as they head towards the lakeside.

She won’t be surprised if the recipient is hot; god knows the thief is. The freckles and red-streaked hair is just the icing on the combat-boot, denim-vested femme cake.

Growing up in this neighborhood means she never loses sight of her target, even when she’s cutting through alleys and taking sharp turns. Then the woman goes straight through a wall of junipers and Dani is not interested in getting that scratched up by plants today. This is one of the borders of the park, so all she needs to do is find the front entrance to relocate her very distinct thief.

Ten minutes of hunting later, she spots a red and black pompadour on the other side of a low, stone wall. She’s cross-legged on the grass, which the rabbit is happily munching by her side.

“Okay, seriously, does the person you’re seeing know those...are...aw fuck.”

The other woman turns from the gravestone she’s sitting by to look at her, “Yeah. This is kinda why I didn’t want you to come with me. I mean, it was a hella weird thing to do anyway, but” she sweeps her arm at the cemetery, “this is super not a date.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dani sits on the opposite side of the rabbit, “That never even occurred to me. I…” she sneaks a glance at the dates; the death was only three years ago, “I’m sorry for your loss, too.”

Silence settles between them; she feels like she should say something else, that it’d be rude to just shrug and walk away, but she has no clue what words are even appropriate here. The rabbit stretches its neck, bonking it’s nose into her hand. She pets it, smiling when it nestles closer.

“Mom really liked bulbs.” The thief says softly, “when I was little we’d always go for walks in the spring just so we could see the first ones popping out of the ground. She liked ones that were unique, so when I saw the orange and black ones in your garden all I could think was how happy they’d make her. How she woulda stopped to look at them whenever she walked past. I know it’s silly but I, um, this felt like the closest I could get to giving her that.”

The breeze carries dried iris petals from the headstone into the park beyond the wall.

“You could have just asked. There’s no way I would have said no if you told me what they were for.”

“It felt too weird. Everything feels weird these days.” She sighs, reaching out to rub dust from the stone, “I thought I was ready to come back, but it’s like the whole town is haunted.”

The fresh flowers wobble, then land on the grass. Dani grabs them and puts them back, the rabbit honking indignantly when she does.

“At least Dr. Harris Bonkers is having a nice time.” The other woman rubs the rabbit’s ears, “isn’t that right, buddy?”

“What’s he a doctor of?”

A small, beautiful smile, “Psychology. He worked hard for his PhD.”

“I bet.” She gives the doctor a final rub on the nose, “I’ll, uh, I should give you two some time alone.” Dani stands, brown eyes watching her the whole time.

“Thanks for the flowers.”

She smiles, “You’re welcome.”

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Moira’s expecting a package, so Dani doesn’t even look up when the older woman answers the front door.

“Um, hi. I, um, I was hoping to get some flowers? The blonde who lives here said I should ask this time. I’m Aubrey? Wait, I don’t think I told her that.”

“Which blonde?”

“The cute one?”

“....I meant the boy or the girl.” Moira replies, amused, just as Dani reaches the door.

Aubrey waves, “Hi again. Could I take a few Irises?”

“Sure. Oh, wait, let me get you the pruning shears; the knife isn’t great for cuttings.”

“Dani! Could I get a hand really quick?” From the accompanying clanks, Barclay needs said hand urgently.

“Coming! Here, you can just leave them on the steps when you’re done.”

One hour and a narrowly avoided soup disaster later, she’s herding the others to the table when there’s another knock on the door.

“I, um, I stuck these in my bag without thinking.” Aubrey holds out the shears. In the porchlight, her eyes are red-rimmed and there’s a slight smear in the black lipstick on her upper lip.

“It happens. Jake, my roommate, once went a whole day with six boxes of poptarts in his bag because he got distracted while unloading groceries. Uh, if you’re not busy we’re just about to have dinner. Seems only polite to invite my biggest admirer.”

Aubrey raises her eyebrows.

“My, uh, the biggest admirer of my gardening?” Her cheeks are hot, but her flustered tone seems to relax Aubrey.

“Sure. I just have to make sure I get home in time to feed Dr. Harris Bonkers.” She grins and steps into the house.

It’s common for Amnesty residents to bring home friends (or strangers), so when Barclay spots Aubrey he simply ducks back into the kitchen for an extra set of cutlery and a bonus bowl. As always happens when Barclay cooks, everyone is too busy stuffing their faces for the first ten minutes of dinner to say much.

“So, Aubrey” Mama sips her tea, “what brings you to town?”

“I grew up here but, um, I left a few years ago to try and kickstart my career.”

“What do you do?”

Literal sparks fly from her guest’s fingertips as she wiggles them, “magic.”

“Whoah, sweet!” Jake leans forward, “do you do stunts?”

“Nah” Aubrey’s smile is brightening under the excitement, “I do sleight of hand, card tricks, that kind of thing. I like the classics. Lots of other people do too, but I hit a spell where no one was interested in booking me, so I came back here to regroup.”

“Smart thinkin’. Pretty much everyone here knows that tryin to make ends meet on the road can lead to serious trouble.”

“Or grand theft auto.” Dani smirks at Barclay.

“That was an accident!”

“Wait, what?” Aubrey laughs, the room feeling ten times brighter when she does, “how does that even happen?”

Barclay recounts the story, blushing all the while, then points out that at least he never got stuck halfway up an off-limits slope because he was daydreaming, and to which Jake responds that that’s not even in his top ten wipeouts, dude.

Aubrey hangs around, helping Dani with the dishes while they chat about childhood pets (Dani had a frog that required her to drop food on his head in order for him to notice it). When she finally re-laces her boots, her new friend is smiling constantly and Dani never wants to look at anything else.

“Hey, uh, tonight was really fun. Do you want to come by on Friday? I’m, uh, I’m cooking, so it won’t be as good as what Barclay made, but I’d love for you to try my breakfast salad. Oh, and my muffin. Muffins.”

“I’d love to. And don’t sell yourself short, flowergirl” Aubrey winks, shooting finger guns her way, “I bet your dinner is gonna rule.”

----------------------------------------------------

“What do you think? Too much?” Aubrey turns from the mirror. Dr. Harris Bonkers wiggles his nose.

“You’re right, the heels are too much. Gotta leave some plausible deniability. And be able to run away if this goes bad.” She tosses the black heels back into the closet and squeezes into the tiny bathroom to start on her make-up. It has to be perfect, or as perfect as she can get it in the mirror that’s inexplicably high up on the wall.

Yeesh, is getting ready to impress a cute girl really the thing making her consider moving back in with dad? It would be easier to find the right clothes if she had a space to hang them up in, instead of stacked boxes to dig through. But walking the streets where mom used to hold her hand, eating at the places they’d go for breakfast, all those vortexes of memories are hard enough to free herself from on their own. Sitting in the chair she used to, expecting to see her at the table or in the yard, those things would be too much.

It’s been easier since she found Amnesty. Since she found Dani. It’s hard to be stuck in the shadows of the past when there’s a beautiful ray of sunshine sitting next to you. She has dinner there most days now, practices her new routine while Dani updates the inventory for her online plant store.

Relatedly, Aubrey now has several rabbit-safe houseplants that Dani always offers to come check on. Aubrey’s actually pretty good with plants, but she’s not about to miss out on an evening sandwiched next to Dani on her futon and the ghost of jasmine perfume winding around her when she sleeps.

Amnesty is lit only by the string lights on the porch and the glow from the kitchen when Aubrey bounds up the stairs.

“Dani?”

“Oh, hey, you’re early.” Dani leans in the doorway of the kitchen and Aubrey’s brain sounds like a cartoon, nothing but “boiiings” and “wowzas” for a good ten seconds.

Dani’s hair is out of it’s usual messy bun, and instead of her overalls or patched jeans, she’s in a short, heather green tank-top dress. Getting on her knees to kiss the vine tattoos weaving up her legs would be too forward, but boy does she want to.

“Took an earlier bus just to be safe. Man, it’s so weird to be here when it’s this quiet.”

“No kidding; I can’t remember the last time I was the only one here.” Dani shoos her through the kitchen and out into the back garden. The little white table usually piled with tools is cleared of everything but a green tablecloth and two wine glasses. That’s another point in the “yes, this is a date” category. The first was that Dani was careful to emphasize that everyone would be gone for the night for camping, work, or ill-advised urban skate stunts.

“Sit your cute butt down, I’ll be right back with dinner.”

That’s the first butt-based compliment she’s gotten, so score one for this red skirt. When Dani comes back, Aubrey can’t help but bounce in her seat; her crush is carrying a board covered in fruit and bread, and she absolutely sees a fondue pot on the counter inside.

“Since Cheesy Heat closed, I thought I could recreate it for us. Kinda. Barclay said he thinks they used a super fancy cheese that’s hard to get here.”

“That’s probably why they went out of business. Dang, why so many fondue pots?”

“Barclay keeps getting them for Christmas.” She sets the chocolate one down next to the cheese, and when she tugs on her dress before sitting down Aubrey’s mouth waters from more than just the meal.

The stars come out as they take turns making a mess of the table cloth, but the longer she sits here, happier than she’s been in years, the more Aubrey knows she can’t put the question off.

“Why the fancy dinner tonight?”

Dani dabs her mouth with her napkin, “I, uh, I, Cheesy Heat was my go-to, uh” her voice drops to a whisper, “date place.”

“Ohthankgod.” Aubrey flops back in her chair, “this is a date.”

“Did you think it wasn’t?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t wanna, like, assume.”

“Fireblossom” Dani stands, making a little half circle to reach her, “the first time we met you were stealing from me assuming I wouldn’t notice.”

“To be fair, getting caught in petty theft is less terrifying than making an ass out of yourself in front of a hot girl.” She grins as Dani straddles her lap.

“...okay you’re right, I’d hate to embarrass myself in front of you. Again.”

“A girl who can run me down in sandals is pretty hot.”

“Pfft” Dani giggles, hides her face in Aubrey’s shoulder, “not as hot as a girl who can sprint while carrying a twelve pound rabbit.”

“Seventeen.” Aubrey kisses her cheek, whispers teasingly, “you shoulda told me this was a date, I could’ve brought flowers.”

“You can bring me some next time.” Dani sits up, smiling at her.

“Sweet, I know somewhere I can get them for free.” She bounces her eyebrows, making the vision of perfection in her lap laugh.

“Nope, this time it’ll cost you.”

“How much?”

Dani cups her cheeks and dives down for a kiss, Aubrey clinging to her dress and sighing as she slips her tongue between her lips.

“Few of those” Dani murmurs, brushing their noses together.

“I’m happy to pay them.”

[birdwonder]

just thought of the idea of Rohan using his stand on reader and seeing on their page they have a big crush on josuke so Rohan either teases them or helps them get together. i think the idea is cute

|| i am SO sorry this took a while longer than i usually take to write. my holiday has left me without a computer so writing long stories takes forever on a phone but i hope these 3,000 words make up for it :,) its 3am so i doubt i editted properly so ill go through it again tomorrow

Josuke Higashikata | Rohan’s Help / Confession

You and Rohan have been friends for a short time. Less than a year to be honest, and yet you two felt like you were as thick as thieves — an unstoppable duo when it came to your friendship. Both of you complimented each other so well, you being able to improve Rohan’s social skills and how he treated others, and Rohan had been making progress with you to be more confident. A kind yet self-loathing highschool student who is best friends with a prideful and stuck up manga artist, who would have thought?

In the small amount of time you two have known each other, you both have been able to pick on small quirks you had and tell-tale signs of your moods. For example, you were currently leaning on the side of Rohan’s desk as he scribbled away on a piece of paper, desperately trying to figure out a new and inventive pose for his next manga page. Your blank, dull eyes staring into the distance and lack of encouraging comments was all Rohan needed to know that something was up with you. Of course, he wasn’t the best at comfort, not when it’s so early into his progress of becoming a better person, so jumping straight to sympathy and questions was not his go-to plan.

“So, what do you think so far?” Rohan questioned with hope, holding up his sketch book with one hand and gesturing towards it with another, hoping that your thoughts on his work would be at least distracting enough from whatever was plaguing your mind. Unfortunately, you only glanced towards the sheet of stunning, detailed figures and hummed halfheartedly before returning to look at absolutely nothing with your chin pressed into the centre of your palm.

Groaning, the artist tore out the page dramatically to then scrunch it up into a tight paper ball, throwing it into the trash-can beside him in a small fit of annoyance. “Right then,” he burst out abruptly, two hands slamming on his desk and his chair scraping backwards as he got up to emphasis his change in mood, “you’re going to tell me what’s wrong right now because right now I can NOT figure out how to draw this next panel, and I can’t do it when you’re sitting here like a... a...”

“Like a what?” You piped up, one brow quirked up which gave you an atypically fed up expression, one so cold it almost sent shivers down Rohan’s spine.

“Like a killjoy!” He finally said, huffing and puffing his cheeks out. “You’re just sitting there, staring like a corpse and I’m actually trying to talk to you!”

Then, you faltered. Your tightly pressed lips tilted downwards and your brows lowered, returning your expression to it’s well known gentle and kind look, something Rohan had greatly missed the last hour or so. “Oh, I’m sorry Rohan, it’s just, oh never mind.” You mumble your last words, a strange pink tint along your cheeks that didn’t go unnoticed by the man who valued every single detail he saw.

Rohan then grabbed your shoulders firmly, forcing you to turn and look at him, his eyes narrowed with an intense stare boring into your own pupils. “[F/N], I refuse to take that as an answer, so let’s try again shall we? What. Is. The matter?”

You gulped a little, sucking in your breath while debating whether or not to tell your trusted companion about the problem that ridiculed you or not. You opted no. With a shake of your head, you gave an apologetic look and your frown only went deeper, “sorry Rohan, it’s really stupid and I just don’t want to say it. I mean, it can’t be solved anyways, so I’m sure I’ll get over it soon!” You placed a hand on his shoulder and forced yourself to smile a little, your heart swelling with some joy over the fact Rohan had clearly grown as a person - showing that he cared for the problems that bedevilled you was one large step from where he was when you first met. “Thank you though, really.”

Your gratitude and certainty may have been enough to rest anyone else’s soul, but not Rohan’s. He simply would not take ‘no’ for an answer. Sighing, he released his grip on you, giving you the message that he wasn’t going to pry anymore until he spoke, “I didn’t want to resort to this but you leave me no choice.”

Before you could question his words a familiar cry of “Heaven’s Door,” was yelled and you felt your body slowly feel lighter, almost weightless as you watched the skin on your face and arms unfold to reveal small prints of words, words you knew revealed everything there was to know about [F/N] [L/N].

Resistance was futile as you struggled to shift away from Rohan’s approaching form, the back of the chair and the wall behind you trapping you inbetween, prayers being your only tactic of getting out of the hectic situation. “Now let’s see,” Rohan hummed, taking a gentle hold of the pages attached to your face between his thumb and index finger, his eyes scanning each word carefully as though missing a single one would be detrimental.

“Rohan, please don’t,” you begged, fear arising in you from the idea that he would find out the cause of your sullen mood. Fear that was quickly picked up on.

“[F/N] [L/N], sixteen years old... Birthday is... Ah, here we are, something more modern. Cereal for breakfast, and currently stressing over the idea that Josuke Higashikata won’t like her...” Rohan’s out loud reading soon quietened and the look he gave you could only be summarised to ‘really?’

Once he pulled away from you, Heaven’s Door effects subsided and your skin was no longer detached from you. You sighed with relief that you were no longer in such a vulnerable state, calm until you began to lightly pound your fists against Rohan’s chest, unable to actually hurt him since you didn’t have to heart to. “Rohan, that was private information, how could you?!”

Rohan clicked his tongue, using only a finger to press against your forehead to push you away. The perks of you being so docile was getting you to stop any hint of aggression was easier than reciting the alphabet.

“I did it for you so I could help you with your problem!” He argued in attempt to defend himself and cringed slightly, speaking with venom in his voice. “How was I supposed to know that you were so worked up over that idiot and not something sensible?”

“He is not an idiot!” You retorted since you hated whenever either Rohan or Josuke insulted each other. Those two really had the potential to be friends with each other, they just never let it work. Regardless, your main concern was the fact your true feelings were revealed and in the worst possible way. You hadn’t meant for anyone to find out about how you feel, not when you were for sure that it wouldn’t matter in the end.

Josuke ... he was amazing. Friendly, strong, funny and whenever he looked with you with those kind eyes and a smile on his plush lips, your heart stopped only to restart beating 1000 beats per minute. You were certain that he was the most perfect person you had ever met, and every memory with him was greatly treasured.

Though you were almost certain he didn’t feel the same. You felt so small compared to him, figuratively that is, and everything he was good at, you seemed to fail at. Confidence, strength, styling the perfect pompadour; you couldn’t even compare to him, even if these all seemed like the most insignificant aspects ever. So, why would he want to be with someone who couldn’t reach his standards ? He wouldn’t.

Your internal self deprecation was silently evident to Rohan as you began to nibble on the bottom of your lip, dejectedly looking down like a lost puppy. No way was he going to let you keep that up, not when he had announced you as a friend to himself and actually cared about how you felt.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rohan groaned at what he was about to do although he knew it was going to be worth it if it meant you weren’t ruining your hang out times anymore. “Alright, we’re going to make you confess to Josuke.” He declared, catching you off guard, and you weren’t able to even question him as a single finger was suddenly pressed upon your lips, sealing your mouth shut with one simple movement.

“Listen and remember this well, [F/N], you are perfect the way you are and as much as I would hate to see Josuke gain anything he doesn’t deserve,” he paused to retract his hand from your face and instead ruffled your hair, treating you like a younger sibling for a second, “I know being with him would make you happy, so I’m going to help you confess your entirely questionable and possibly delusional love for that delinquent.”

You blinked up at Rohan a few times, mouth agape. There was no way that this was happening, just who was this guy and where was the real manga artist you knew?

“Rohan, I appreciate you wanting to help me, I really do, but there’s no need! It’s a lost cause, let’s just get back to what we were doing before - poses right?” Your attempt to change the subject was quickly brushed off like dust on Rohan’s shoulder when he pinched your nose, an audible ‘ow’ squeaking from you.

Your resistance to the situation was irking Rohan to no end, his drive only stepping on the gas each time you tried to refuse his assistance. There was no way he was going to let you suffer in silence. Besides, if he helped two young, dumb and lovesick teens get together then maybe he could have some insight on how to work around the more romantic scenes of his manga, if he was to ever implement them.

“I’m not taking no for an answer. This is going to happen and you’re going to thank me for it,” the green hair male stated, eyes heavily trained onto you. You gulped.

You really didn’t know where this was going to go.

——

A band of raging drums had surely replaced your heart.

The hammering sound of sticks against percussion instruments was practically akin to the violent, frantic rhythm that pounded against your chest with the diagnosis resulting to be nervousness.

You sucked in your breath and released the built up carbon dioxide by muttering words of encouragement that Rohan had taught you to rehearse to yourself in case of situations like this. Ironically, he was the one who had put you in this nervous wreck state. His vow to have you confess to Josuke had stuck through pretty solidly leaving you in a cute outfit you definitely could not have afford on your lonesome, [Thank you Rohan.] and standing in front of your crush’s door.

Gulping, you began to hype yourself up.

‘I can do this! I can totally do this. No problems here, none at all!’ The repeated phrases were practically a religious mantra at this point; if you were to even dare forget a single one you’re certain life would be a living Hell. Well your stresses shouldn’t matter anymore, you were here now. Just knock. Knock and say what’s on your mind!

The unremitting worries failed to cease however , eating at your brain like parasites that were only starting to leave once you gathered enough courage and balled your hand into a fist, rapped against the wooden door.

It took less than a minute for the door to be unlocked and opened, revealing the tall, well built figure of the one and only - Josuke. For some reason you felt as though none of this actually happening right there and then, like it was some dream or even a nightmare you were going to wake up from any second. You quickly rubbed your eyes to see if that was true. When you opened them, he was still there, his usual stylised school uniform replaced with a regular white t-shirt and dark blue jeans. It wasn’t an unwelcome look but certainly threw you off for a second seeing as it was rare to see him wear anything other than his uniform.

“[F/N], hey!” He greeted,his eyes seeming to light up at the sight of you while a hand gripped the door frame, “didn’t think it’d be you at the door. What’s up?”

The moment he smiled at you, you knew that you had to this. How he instantly had made you feel relaxed would have seemed impossible to you five minutes ago, now you felt as though things would go perfectly. If not for the persistent nagging voice in the back of your head.

“Hi Josuke! I was hoping that I could maybe uhm, talk to you! About something that is. Something really important.” Your wavering voice had caused some concern to flash in Josuke’s eyes; the way he looked down at you with such a caring expression made you want to hide your face into a pillow and squeal.

He responded easily with, “oh sure, is everything alright?” Really, you weren’t even sure if things were alright or if they were going to be at all.

You doubts rose up again and a jumbled ball of words was suddenly caught in your throat, countless words and ways to say your thoughts conjuring up but not a single thing is said. If only you had more confidence — Rohan had spent so long trying to get you to perfect your confession and despite all that effort, you were still struggling.

Glancing down, you noticed that your fingers were a plain sign of your awkwardness. They constantly switched from fiddling with the fabric of your outfit to thumbs twiddling with each other, neither things helping you in the end.

“[F/N]...? You don’t look like your usual self, where’s that cute smile of your’s, huh?”

Oh god, did he just call your smile ‘cute’? Did that just make talking even harder or ten times easier? This boy was going to be the death of you!

Teeth lightly nibbled on your low lip as you argued in your head what to do. You really don’t know if you could ever have the courage to even approach him like this, let alone think about asking him out. Besides, all of Rohan’s efforts would go to waste.

“Josuke!” The sudden change of your volume had clearly surprised the teenager, his brows raising. “I— I have something serious to tell you and I’m sorry for making it so weird so far, it’s just really hard to get through what I want to say.”

Facing him was just too much. You couldn’t handle the idea of looking up to see an uncomfortable, angered, disgusted or any expression that would send you hurdling down a pit of regret. Instead, you stared down at the ground although you paid no real attention to it, your hand clutching at the clothing over your heart, almost as though you were trying to steady the rapid beating drums within your ribcage.

Taking in a deep breath, you continue, “I’m not the best at being outgoing or confident, and as my friend I know you know that, and you’re the exact opposite! You’re bold and kind to everyone and everything about you is incredible. Saying this I think I fully realised why I lo—.”

Again, the words are caught in your throat and you’re visibly struggling, almost choking on what you want to say. None of it goes unnoticed by Josuke, who had been initially taken back by the praise and tone you were using. His smile quickly returned when things became obvious to him, much softer and sweeter than before, his plush lips turning upward all thanks to your adorable stuttering.

He reached out with a large and surprisingly softer than you would have guessed hand, his palm resting against your cheek as he guided you to look up at him with both your eyes staring into each other’s.

“Do you want to come inside?”

The question was short and simple though it still took some time to process. You made a small, questioning ‘eh’ sound to which Josuke laughed at.

“You don’t have to stress so much, whatever you’re going to say I’m sure I’m going to like hearing,” he told you, stepping to the side so that you now had room to enter his house, a hand gesturing for you to come inside. “Maybe things would be easier if we had something to drink? My mum’s not home so we can watch a movie too!”

You had no idea how things got to this but you didn’t want to ask. If what Josuke said was true and that he was really going to like whatever you said then, why rush? It was probably better to wait for when the atmosphere was much more relaxed anyways. Things just seemed more right that way. The relationship between you and Josuke were always so casual so it was best to confess just like that. He was a serious God send to be so nice and understanding.

You mouthed a ‘thank you’ before walking through the door with small pep in your step and butterflies swarming in a welcomed fashion in your stomach. Josuke followed you, closing the door behind him as the two of you started to strike up a conversation about your week and what movie the two of you wanted to watch, every worry and care flying free and becoming lost in the sky.

From across the street stood a smiling manga artist, ready to walk home with nothing but pride in his heart for his shy and growing friend. All he really had left to worry about was whether or not Josuke would treat you right.

[double--cross-d]

My LOS headcannons

Colored Pencils, Jean-Pierre

In a QPR with Rubber Band

He was the one who decided to have the Earth Vellumental raise the Overlook Tower. The plan? "Ok, I am your average bigender taking my giant folded turtle dog on a walk. Yep. Totally not sus."

Has ADHD and needs to be reminded at times to take a break from drawing and eat something/sleep

The reticle eye? He can't see shit out of it.

Fluent in French and will be insulted if you make fun of it being too hard.

French is his second language.

Eats lots of weird shit that could possibly kill him if he were a human.

Has photocopied his art just to eat it before.

Ate a ton of crayons when he was little and now talks in them. Oh no.

Also has rainbow teeth, but that wasn't from the crayon incident

Likes teasing Tape about their height because what're they gonna do? Punch him in the face? Yes actually. On several occasions, but it's still funny because they had to get a chair for a few of those times.

Scissors is his older sister

Trans-femme, but it rarely comes up because, again, bigender.

Very eager to show off art. If you so much as mention wanting to see it he lights up.

Has a tooth gap and is pretty self conscious about it.

Mainly goes by Jean

Rubber band, Ruby

QPR with Jean

Has a giant hole in its torso. Jean's the only one who's seen it.

Its body is actually made of the electric paint from Sunshine. It has to be careful dolling out hugs.

Has been able to do that twirl clothes change thing on several occasions. Its secret has yet to be revealed...

Big cuddle bug. Body is perfect for hugs when covered.

May or may not have a hand in its brother, Hole Punch, looking halfway decent on occasion.

Can't walk in heels for shit. Concerned that Punch can wear 2 inch platformer heeled boots and wide bottomed jeans.

Your average nonbinary drama student. Lord help us.

Actually doesn't like performing alone. It always has a bit of stage fright, but have at least one other person on stage and it's fine.

Probably doesn't know that gender exists TBH

Can freeze if it gets too cold. It also hates the cold.

Hole Punch, P-Punch

I wasn't creative when choosing xeir name, I know.

The dude at the party that just sits in the least populated room and pets the dog.

Dating Tape, surprisingly.

Honestly hella shy. Xey got that social anxiety. Only really comfortable around the rest of the LoS. Anyone else and xey become really defensive and standoffish.

Punched xeir own face out when xey were twelve. Because xey did it to xemself, nothing changed other than xem becoming very self conscious and getting an LED mask.

Tape is the only one whose not related to xem who has seen xeir missing face. Advice: Keep the mask on.

X3y l1t3r4lly t4lk l1k3 th15.

You don't hear it that way, it sounds like they talk normally, albeit autotuned, but you just know. It can cause migraines if left unchecked whuch sucks because Autism and infodumping.

Mainly uses xeir tail to punch out objects thicker than xeir claws can handle, and faces.

If you have your face punched out by xem, you might as well be dead. Xey have full control over your body like a puppeteer and if xey aren't in the same room as you, you basically become a disco zombie.

The best way to avoid this fate? Keep xem in a good mood, don't make direct eye contact, and if you see what's under the mask without xem noticing don't say anything about it.

Has an exoskeleton about the consistency of rubber mixed with plastic bottles. Xeir back had a fuck ton of scars on it, but when it got ripped off Scissors gave xem a 'transplant'. It still hurts to touch.

Tape, Frankie

Gangster with a big soft spot.

Dating Punch.

The shortest LOS member that is not a dog and constantly gets teased about it.

When they do cut their hair they do it with a knife. Not to be tough or anything, it just turns into adhesive the second it's not attached to their body and it's easier to clean off a knife than a pair of scissors

Their arms are tape prosthetic at the elbow down to their hand and can be torn off. It hurts like hell, but at least their hands are disembodied.

The prosthetics naturally grow back.

Their tougue is also tape. Their mouth is just a weird tape dispenser that's constantly full

Has probably said, "Ey! I'm transin' my gender 'ere!" At some point.

Can extend the fucking pompadour like an extra stretchy limb and grab things with it. They don't do this often but it has happened.

Only wears a shirt under the jacket if it's really cold out. Otherwise, there's no shirt because it make them dysphoric and the transitioning scars are on full display

Yes I am implying they had sniddies at one point. Shut up.

Likes the look of smoking, but can't stand cigarette smoke or the taste of candy sticks. They constantly have a bag of suckers on them at all times.

Their teeth have always been made of metal. Literal. Fucking. Metal. And they're fucking sharp too.

Mechanic

Scissors, Eddie

Romance Repulsed Aro/Ace

Is a surgeon, and sometimes makes highly unethical experiments because she can. She sewed a eye into a hand and sewed that onto an anaconda and called it her pet.

Her blades are her arms. Her sheathes are also working arms with hands attached.

Eats bugs.

*looks at a literal cryptid* "I'm adopting that."

The tallest of the LOS. She can launch Frankie across the room.

Got the scar on her eye from messing with her blades when she was younger and putting way it too close to her face.

How this happened is up for interpretation as both she and Jean-Pierre are robots

Would probably put a kid in a blender if her moral code wasn't stopping her.

Major Overbite.

Favorite song is ironically The Dismemberment Song. Everyone is concerned about this.

Calls herself Eddie Von Scissorfingers because even her sheathed hands are sharp. She has murder on the mind 24/7 and she wants you to know that.

Really susceptible to frostbite.

Most definitely has those sarcastic coffee mugs and constantly drinks out of them.

Stapler

Sevice dog! Because whoever said that a literal child can run a kingdom without stress is a damn liar.

Very aloof.

Probably a German Shepard/Great Dane Mix.

That's it.

[cyb-by-lang]

OSF AU - “On the World Stage” (Blondes and Bomb Shells)

Yugito and Naruto is a weird team, but they make it work.

This is the last of the “On the World Stage” previews.

Yugito dashed along Marineford’s outer wall, ducking past individual soldiers as well as ocean-side cannon ports. With Naruto riding on her back, she couldn’t afford to make mistakes so careless as crashing into someone. Quite aside from the risk to her young charge, she had no intention of giving the Marines any warning before it was time. To that end, she dialed her chakra down below any ordinary detection threshold, not even lengthening her nails on reflex as enemies loomed all around her.

It wasn’t until she reached the bay that she let her guard drop in the slightest, past the immediate reach of the Marines on land and whatever combat expertise they could bring to bear.

Then she made the silent, chakra-boosted leap from the rim of the Marineford docks to the figurehead of the Moby Dick. Once there, Yugito let Naruto down off her back, though her nails sharpened and snagged in the collar of his jacket before he could move away. Though Yugito had spoken to the Whitebeard Pirates on several occasions, and perhaps established a bit of rapport, she had never met one in person aside from Ace. Except possibly the thoroughly-in-denial Kei.

No one was in sight. It set Yugito’s teeth on edge.

“Stay close,” Yugito heard herself say, while her hand kept a gentle grip on Naruto’s shoulder.

“Okay, Yugi,” Naruto replied quietly. Still, he fidgeted as the wait stretched out.

Lucky for both patience’s sake and the operation’s timetable, the next sound Yugito heard cut through the cacophony of Marine bellowing was a series of heavy footfalls. While the giants that made up the Marine vanguard were undoubtedly louder when they moved, Yugito had far less inclination to treat this person lightly. Very rarely were appellations like “the World’s Strongest Man” given freely.

So, as Whitebeard himself strode into plain view, Yugito scooped Naruto back up as a precaution.

“Yugi, I’m not a baby,” Naruto protested on reflex.

“Irrelevant,” Yugito said, and carried him down to the main deck of the ship in the hopes of finding a familiar face—or rather, voice. “We’re still being careful.”

Because Naruto hadn’t given any hint of being capable of the extreme violence they’d need, no matter the chakra cloak level involved, Yugito was effectively responsible for his safety. Given their allies’ group composition, it was a responsibility she took seriously.

She allowed Whitebeard and the Marines to have a short shouting match, only taking a moment to cover Naruto’s ears as a preventative measure, but otherwise Yugito focused on her mission. Then, as the pirates began to deploy in earnest, Yugito dropped the Heat Mirage genjutsu while standing directly in front of a pirate’s face, between Naruto and any possible attack.

Unsurprisingly, doing so resulted in a gun barrel pointed directly between her eyes.

“Where did you get those clothes?” asked the pirate. He wore a pink kimono, lipstick, and the sort of traditional hairstyle that had gone out of fashion some thirty years before Yugito was born, but Yugito was almost sure she’d heard him speak before.

“Kei let me borrow them,” Yugito replied, taking a second to place the voice. Then, “Izo, right?”

“Yugito!” said a different pirate, in a white chef’s coat and a copper-colored pompadour. Rather than bowing, he took one of Yugito’s hands in his own and said, “So good to see you for the first time. Izo, put that away.”

Izo had already spun the first pistol and hidden it in his kimono before Thatch finished his second sentence. A fan appeared, perhaps to mask his embarrassment, but thankfully everyone else let the moment pass without comment.

“Thatch, I assume?” Yugito’s lips curled into a pleased smile. Well, well, well. Someone who wasn’t intimidated by her? “It’s a pleasure.”

“Can you two stop being gross for five seconds?” Naruto piped up, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“Naruto, right?” Thatch said, and Yugito let him go with faint reluctance. After some consideration and Naruto’s nod, he added, “Why’re you here instead of… Literally anywhere else? The shooting’s gonna start in—”

Crack! Izo was gone, but that had sounded like a small firearm of some description.

“—now. It starts now,” Thatch added, while hundreds of other barrels belched acrid smoke and small projectiles. He crouched down to Naruto’s height and a bullet whizzed over his head. “Seriously, this is not a good idea.”

Naruto focused on the end of Thatch’s pompadour before flicking at it curiously. While Thatch ducked away, he said, “I’m not here to fight. Kei-sensei wants me here because someone needs to keep you guys up to date with what we’re gonna do, and everyone else is supposed to be fighting. Yugi too.”

“She never did tell us what your plan was,” Thatch commented. He looked up at Yugito and waggled his eyebrows. “Do I get any hints?”

“Hm.” Yugito considered it, then smiled deviously, “Let’s just say that the Marines should not be so sure of their home ground.”

“Ugh,” groaned Naruto. “You’re not going to stop being gross, are you? Even though I fixed your hair for you?” He threw his hands in the air and said, “I’m just gonna set Akamushi up someplace. Bye!”

“Thatch, what the hell is taking you so long?!” a different pirate’s voice bellowed, and a brief grimace flashed across Thatch’s face.

“We’ll continue this later,” Yugito offered, even as she layered another protective genjutsu over her body, masking everything but her voice. “Assuming you survive.”

“What about you?” Thatch asked, drawing his sword and already heading over to the launch deck of the ship.

“Me? Oh, that’s not in question,” Yugito purred, and threw herself over a different railing entirely.

She landed on the surface of the water with barely a ripple, directly above Saiken’s submerged hiding place. While a V1 cloak could have gotten her past the pirate ships, the bay, and the frozen walls Aokiji had made out of a pair of tsunamis, she had no need of that much chakra expenditure just yet. Instead, she just ran across the waves until she reached the first of the allied pirate ships and scrambled up the mast unseen.

From the crow’s nest of the only steel ship of the Whitebeards’ allied fleet, Yugito surveyed the soon-to-be ship graveyard of Marineford. There were indeed just under fifty pirate ships, like Saiken and Utakata had said. If Yugito could see all of them from her viewpoint—which she doubted, having been previously positioned at the top of the main building of Marine HQ—she was fairly certain that at least in terms of battleships, the Marines had a slight edge. There were smaller vessels darting here and there, likely as support, and almost every Marine ship was well outside the mouth of the crescent that made up Marineford.

Mark the ships, dear, Matatabi said quietly in Yugito’s mind, sending a brief flash of her flexing her curved white claws. Give me my toys, and your fight will be easier.

Yugito slipped off the strange steel ship and immediately made her way toward the first sitting duck in the Marine fleet. Any requests?

Find something distinctive, Matatabi suggested, and Yugito felt her chakra coiling like a serpent ready to strike. Or, perhaps, a cat preparing to spring.

Yugito approached the mast of the first ship, unnoticed by its crew. Even if she had not been operating under a genjutsu to complete the stealthy approach, the world always had its eyes on the largest threat it could easily identify. It left people like her a free hand.

As a Marine dashed by, oblivious, Yugito held out a hand in preparation to swing. Cat Claws.

The meter-long blades that sprang from her fingertips cut easily through the mast, the slice so perfectly balanced that only a very close observer would be able to tell any damage had been done at all. She stepped back, dodging another Marine as he goggled at the dramatic scenes taking place on the main island. Or perhaps at the sight of the pirate fleet. Yugito didn’t really care. She had a job to do.

She was on the next ship and cutting silently through its masts by the time a stray wind upset the delicate balance keeping her first victim intact. As its masts collapsed, though, Yugito eyed her second target and its frantic crew. Disabling the ship’s masts wouldn’t keep its cannons from firing.

So she cut the second ship’s mast more raggedly than the first, carved the crossbars from it, and sent it hurtling at the first ship like a flaming lance. And to silence any witnesses, Yugito let her chakra flare under her genjutsu and sent a meteorite-like blast of flame directly through the deck into the place Isobu had specified were “powder magazines.”

Like Teach’s ship, the warship exploded.

And then it was on to the next one.

Dear, I thought I asked you to mark the ships, not take my fun for yourself, Matatabi said in a mildly reproving tone.

I’ll mark the next ten, Yugito told her, though her placating was half-hearted. Or you can join in.

Tempting, Matatabi replied, but I believe something interesting is happening first. Keep your ears on the island, even if your claws are strong. This is going to be quite a complex mess.

More so than before?

Oh, yes. You see, Isobu has just gotten into position.

For the sake of not spoiling Matatabi’s experience, Yugito marked the next ship with an X below the waterline, where Matatabi would be able to see the burning lines Yugito’s chakra left. Then I will stop trying to spoil the big surprise.

“Yugito, are you done playing with your food?” Kei’s voice asked, over the connection.

“Effectively,” Yugito said dryly. It wasn’t as though she needed yet another reminder.

“Good,” Kei said, “because the Marineford Gate of Justice just got blown off its hinges. We’ll need you up here in a few minutes at most.”

“On my way.”

[bruno-news]

It’s Joy Time for Bruno Mars

WE’RE JUST CAVEMEN, hitting on rocks,” says Bruno Mars. “It’s no different—you’re a caveman and you got a rock in front of you, you hit it with a stick to get everybody dancing. This is our time to forget about everything, it’s joy time. So who’s the best at hitting that rock? Who’s going to make the village dance the hardest?” 

At a casual glance, you might not know that Mars is one of our superstar cavemen. Pulling up to an upscale Italian restaurant on an anonymous street in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley, alone in a relatively modest Cadillac, he parks in back by the dumpsters to slip in quietly. In contrast to the flashy outfits he wears onstage, he’s dressed in a simple collarless bomber jacket, a white Gucci logo T-shirt and camouflage pants. A small crucifix on a thin chain hangs around his neck. 

But at age 31, the singer/songwriter/producer dynamo born Peter Gene Hernandez is unquestionably one of the most highly decorated figures in pop music, with 21 Grammy nominations and 21 Hot 100 hit singles. He has sold over 170 million singles and 26 million albums worldwide and notched his first five No. 1 hits faster than any male artist since Elvis Presley. His third album, 24K Magic, debuted at No. 2 in November; more than two months later, it was still parked in the top five. 

On this drizzly January day, Mars is trying to take care of business before heading to Japan for promotional duties. He’s finalizing plans for the album’s second single, the breezy, drop-top banger “That’s What I Like,” and plotting out his performance for the Grammy Awards. Today, he’s mostly bouncing between meetings and calls to assemble the staging for his massive world tour—already more than 100 dates this year, starting in late March in Antwerp, Belgium, and hitting the U.S. in July. 

“I want the show to be powerful, because people spent some money on a ticket,” he says. “I’ve seen some awesome shows. I’ve seen Prince and Michael Jackson ; those are nights I will remember forever. I’m not doing my job unless I leave a piece of me everywhere I go—if you do the right show, it will stay with people and they’ll tell their kids about it. I hope people can see what I was feeling when I made the records. Then I want to go beyond their expectations and fly.” 

With his old-school dedication to entertaining and his grounding in classic pop and R&B songwriting, Mars stands alongside Adele as one of today’s most universally beloved musicians. “My mum loves Bruno Mars and my son loves Bruno Mars and he’s 5,” says James Corden, host of The Late Late Show—and, recently, the Grammys—in a phone call. “I love how joyful, positive, uplifting his music is. It excludes no one. Everybody is welcome.” 

Mars makes no secret that being onstage comes much easier to him than being in the studio. Almost four full years passed between his quadruple-platinum Unorthodox Jukebox album and the release of 24K Magic. He works so obsessively on each song, he says, that he drew up parameters for himself in order to get the concise, nine-song project finished. “I wanted to make a movie, where each song has its own moment,” he says. “So ‘Versace on the Floor’ is the tender moment, ‘That’s What I Like’ is the fun moment, and the ballad at the end [“Too Good to Say Goodbye”] seals the deal. That’s how I kind of tricked myself into making the album. 

“We were trying really hard to tap into the ’90s R&B music that we grew up with, and it’s a very fine line—it can get tribute-y, it can sound forced,” Mars adds. “But that New Jack Swing sound brought me so much joy as a kid, so we took that on and did our best to try to get that feeling, that effortless fun.” 

His interest in exploring the sounds of the past has sometimes led to accusations that Mars is just a talented copycat. When 24K Magic was released, one publication offered a track-by-track analysis of which artist each song was imitating. Not surprisingly, Mars gets heated about such criticisms. 

“Man, that pisses me off so much!” he says. “It’s so easy to say that, but anyone that does that kind of shit has never written a song in their life. That’s why I’m here, because of musicians before me. 

“Don’t get me wrong—there is plagiarism when you just say ‘Hey, man, what are you doing? I’ve heard that already.’ And I’m not stupid, of course it sounds like [the ’90s]. We’re using these vintage instruments and there is a certain sound, but it’s not just regurgitated. You can tell that we were listening to ’90s R&B. It has that spirit. That’s what we capture, and that’s what I want.” 

Every time I think about it, my whole story is just weird,” says Mars. “Even I don’t get it!” He was born and raised in Honolulu, one of six children—his Filipino-Spanish mother was a singer and dancer; his Jewish–Puerto Rican father was a percussionist. By age 4, young Bruno (the nickname came from his father, who thought the infant Peter resembled wrestler Bruno Sammartino) was performing five days a week in the family band, the Love Notes, singing Michael Jackson and Temptations covers. 

According to his older brother, Eric “E-Panda” Hernandez, when Bruno was just a few years old, his parents dressed him up as Elvis for Halloween. “He was already so in tune with Elvis that he was imitating the moves, the lips, drawing a crowd,” says Hernandez. “I thought, ‘Holy cow, he’s a showstopper already!’ ” “Little Elvis” went on to perform at halftime in the 1990 Aloha Bowl and had a cameo in the 1992 film Honeymoon in Vegas. 

“If you took your kid to school with you every day, and you were studying rocket science, he’d probably be a rocket scientist,” says Mars. “So that’s just it—my dad and mom took me to work every single day, and I got to see what it’s like to entertain an audience. I got to entertain everybody who came to Hawaii—a roomful of people that didn’t speak English, from around the world—and to see what music can do, and how it can bring the world together.” 

Above all, he learned the power of a great song, the fundamentals of writing music that far outlives its creator. Hernandez, who is now the drummer in Mars’s band, recalls Bruno constantly studying music videos—doo-wop, Michael Jackson, Elvis, anything he could get his hands on—in the bedroom they shared. 

“I’ve been singing amazing songs since I was a kid,” Mars says. “They weren’t my songs, but they were classics. So I’ve trained my brain to know what it feels like to sing an amazing song—when you do a lot of covers, you see it; you’ll play a song and you see everybody freak out when you get to that chorus, everyone is singing. It taps into something, whether it’s nostalgia or it just makes people feel a certain way.” 

His father gave him a guitar and started teaching him to play—surf music at first, classics like “Walk Don’t Run” and “Apache.” The influence ran deeper than just the music, as evidenced by the silk-shirt-and-shorts set, white shoes and gold jewelry he sports on the cover of 24K Magic. “The style stuff all comes from watching my dad—the pinkie rings, the pompadour, everything,” Mars says with a big grin. “My dad would take me to school in some big, busted-up Cadillac, and he’d be wearing a rhinestone jacket and have his hair all whipped and greased up, flashy glasses, and I was like, My dad’s not like the other dads at school! I’d try to get out of the car, zoom out. And now I’m the one driving the busted Cadillac, wearing some gaudy shit, and it’s what makes me happy.”

“Bruno is a fashion leader, with a sense of style that is truly his own,” says Tommy Hilfiger, whose clothes Mars sometimes wears onstage. “He is almost chameleonlike—for one concert, he’ll wear an animal-print shirt, then the next, he’ll be in a tuxedo, and it’s all him, he is totally in control of his presence.” 

After graduating from high school, Mars moved to Los Angeles to pursue a musical career. (He now lives in the Hollywood Hills with model/actress Jessica Caban, whom he has dated since 2011.) He was signed by Motown Records in 2004 but then dropped. He kicked around town, signing a publishing deal, playing in cover bands and soaking up all he could from sympathetic, successful songwriters. He wrote songs for K’naan, Brandy and Flo Rida and, in 2009, co-founded a production team, the Smeezingtons. 

His breakthrough came with the hits “Nothin’ on You” by B.o.B. and “Billionaire” by Travie McCoy, both of which featured his voice on the hooks, and then with Cee Lo’s 2010 smash politely known as “Forget You.” Just weeks before that song dropped, Mars released “Just the Way You Are,” the first single from his debut album on Atlantic Records, Doo-Wops and Hooligans. The irresistibly sweet ballad went to No. 1 and topped the adult contemporary chart for a record-breaking 20 weeks. (The next single, “Grenade,” also went to No. 1, and the ukulele-driven trifle “The Lazy Song” cracked the top five.) After a brief tour opening for Maroon 5, he played headlining dates for more than a year, as the album saw sales of more than six million units worldwide and an unbelievable 300-plus weeks on the Billboard Top 200. 

On the road, though, Mars became aware of the limitations of his repertoire. “The first album was so ballad-heavy,” he says, “and when I toured I was like, ‘Man, I need to dance!’ We gotta pick this up, because we can offer more and we’re kinda stuck. And that’s where ‘Locked Out of Heaven’ and ‘Treasure’ and a lot of tunes on the second album came from, because we wanted to push the tempo.” 

With an Anglo-reggae groove reminiscent of the Police (Mars and Sting sang together at the 2013 Grammy Awards), “Locked Out of Heaven” shot Unorthodox Jukebox out of the gate in 2012. The album explored disco and classic soul styles and topped charts around the world. And then, at the end of 2014, Mars was featured on producer Mark Ronson’s earth-quaking, booty-shaking, record-breaking throwback “Uptown Funk.” Certified diamond, for sales over 10 million, the song is only the eighth single in history to spend at least 14 weeks at No. 1. “Uptown Funk” won three Grammys, including record of the year, and for months it was unavoidable—on your TV, in your car or at sporting events. 

Mars says the song emerged only after a long struggle and that they had almost tossed it away. “We went through some trials and tribulations,” he says. “I’m not lying when I tell you that we were fighting—I was on tour and Mark would send me something and I’d be like, ‘Are you out of your mind?’ And I’d send him something back and he’d be like, ‘No, my version is better.’ We were both fighting for the greater good of the song. 

“You press play and it went, ‘This here’s that ice-cold…’ and it was like, ‘Oh, what’s about to happen?!’ But then ‘Oh, man, that’s what you got? Nah, never mind, turn it off.’ And that kept happening for months. 

“Finally the solution was that we just needed to dance—to say, ‘Don’t believe me, just watch,’ and that’s it. Don’t try to write a hook. You don’t need more; that already said everything. But it took us a while to feel that, because the way we were doing it was so unorthodox, piece by piece. When we finally got together and picked up the instruments, we got to feel it. That’s when the superpower comes in.” 

Even after cranking out so many hits—plus collaborations with and writing efforts for everyone from Lil Wayne to Alicia Keys, Adele to Jay Z and Kanye West—Mars has no formula or shortcuts; songwriting remains an instinctive craft. 

“When you’re in the studio, you can feel the energy shift,” he says. “It’s no different from telling a good joke—you can tell when it lights up the room. Or from telling a shitty joke that makes everyone want to leave and you hear the crickets. So you’re always trying to find that magic and then capitalize on it. 

“You find something—‘put your pinkie rings up to the moon’—and everyone’s excited, but now what? What does the bass sound like, or the drums? If ‘24K Magic’ is supposed to sound like I’m having the time of my life, you gotta hear me smiling on the record.”

There’s no bigger stage than the Super Bowl halftime show; Bruno Mars is one of a few performers who have played it twice. In 2014, he played during a rare northern excursion, as the 48th annual game took place in New Jersey. “Rehearsing in the cold sucked,” he says. “We got lucky on the day, it was 50 degrees, but two days before it was -9 or something.” His action-packed performance was the highest-rated halftime show ever (since surpassed by Katy Perry and Lady Gaga) and earned widespread raves, especially considering that his career hadn’t quite reached the spot’s usual mega-A-list status. 

Then last year, on the heels of “Uptown Funk,” Chris Martin of Coldplay invited Mars and Beyoncé to join the group’s halftime set. “I told Chris, ‘This is your Super Bowl performance, you deserve it, go kill ’em,’ ” Mars says. “But he’s such a sweetheart and he kept saying, ‘Bruno, this is a gift I want to give to everybody.’ He talked me into it. He’s a sweet talker, that guy. And she signed up, and all of a sudden I’m in rehearsal dance-battling Beyoncé—what the hell happened?” 

Mars is proud of his work ethic and dedication to every appearance, something Corden can attest to after they filmed a Carpool Karaoke segment last year (the clip has had nearly 40 million views on YouTube since airing in December). “My biggest memory of that day was that the second it ended, I got a little depressed,” says Corden. “Like the last day of vacation, where you’re on the plane home and feel sad that it’s over. It was so euphoric, I just wanted to do it again. There’s a moment at the end of ‘Uptown Funk’ where we’re just sitting there and breathing heavily, and that was real. His commitment was everything—we left it all in the car. 

“I think he’s 100 percent on his way to being one of the greats,” Corden continues. “There are great showmen who get by without always having great songs and great songwriters who aren’t great showmen, but he’s both those things. He has this unquantifiable energy, where you want to watch it and be a part of it somehow.” 

Hernandez notes that his brother works tirelessly, showing up for every sound check, sometimes arriving before the rest of the band. “He sees something lacking in the business, maybe something we were influenced by as kids that’s missing today, and he sticks to his vision,” says Hernandez. “He’s put that work mentality on the rest of the band, where he makes us want to be great.” 

The rain has stopped and as the sun goes down over the Santa Monica Mountains, Mars heads to the restaurant’s back patio for a cigarette. He seems in no great rush to get back into the scramble of preparing for a tour and keeping the business humming. With the long process of an album finally complete, he says that although he’s open to the idea of more new music or another collaboration, he wants to be careful. 

“I just don’t want to feel gross,” he says. “It’s as simple as that. I don’t want to feel gross, I don’t want to regret any decisions. Even if I turn down a sweet check because I don’t want to be on that billboard, hawking some shit to the world—I just don’t need to do that. Because you get one shot at this. 

“I’m not a model. I’m not an ice skater. I’m not a chef. I’m here to do music. And I want to be able to look back and say, ‘Yeah, I did it the way I wanted to do it.’ Whether it triumphs or fails, I can live with that.”