#i really tried to capture the aesthetic of the book

[bookvvitch]

How To Make Two Lovers Of Friends

Words: 11,569

Synopsis:

Aizawa is taking a much-needed break after the war with Shigaraki and All For One. He isn't looking for anything in particular; that is, until he spots you in a goth themed coffee house. A whirlwind romance ensues in this one shot, filled to the brim with sexual tension, fluff, and smut.

Alternative/goth fem! Reader

Fair warning, this one is the first fic I'd ever written, so it isn't my best work. It does hold a special place in my heart though and I hope it's enjoyable for someone!

Morning light came dappled through the windows as you took your favorite seat at the coffee house, just like you did every morning to start your day. This coffee shop went by the name Bauhaus; probably a nonsequedor to most, but a familiar homage to a band for you. It had this witchy aesthetic, filled with books and old vinyls that made you feel at peace. You never really saw places like this when you still lived in America, at least not in your neck of the woods. How absolutely lucky that you lived just a few blocks away!

You ordered yourself the special for this month: The Headless Horseman, an iced pumpkin and caramel breve to celebrate the upcoming fall season, a welcome respite from the August heat. Smoothing away the creases on your black velvet dress, you thanked the barista, who you typically made small talk with but were not quite on a first name basis with just yet, and took your seat once again to finish reading your book. The leaves rattled in the wind outside and rapped against the building like old bones in a wooden sarcophagus.

"A storm is coming soon," you say quietly to yourself.

Gentle thunder thrums in the distance like the soft beating of a lambskin drum, and a small grin makes itself at home on your lips.

Perfect reading weather.

Adjusting yourself on the bench beneath your legs, your mouth curved at the edges, eliciting a slight hum from your lips. 

Ah. 

Spooky, scary peace.

Outside the confines of the coffee house, though, the weather was much less enjoyable. The heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic both trudged through heavy raindrops, soaked like wet dogs, caught off guard by the sudden change in weather. Aizawa scowled at his mess of dark hair getting drenched.

"Damn, this weather is nasty!" Said Mic, voice unintentionally booming.

He looked around and scouted for shelter as the thunder rolled, and settled on the closest bit of light he could see, pointing his finger at Bauhaus so as to motion for Aizawa to head that way.

They stopped at the overhang to dry off a bit before entering when Aizawa got a peek inside the shop. He took note of the band posters and bookshelves littering the walls, the violet-hued plants hanging from the ceiling and shelves, the generally alternative vibe that exuded from the place.

"I don't know, Hizashi," he stated hesitantly, shifting his weight to his good leg.

"What's the big deal? It's not like you'll look out of place," Hizashi was frank, opening the door with no apprehension. He gave a quick chuckle that sounded like taps on a hot microphone.

It was true, Aizawa typically dressed in all black. Now that he was taking a break, though, he didn't always have his capture weapon on him. He was instead accompanied by a patch over his eye and a prosthetic leg. He felt like he usually stood out like a sore thumb these days, which was problematic for someone who had always tried to keep such a low profile in the past.

Aizawa fiddled with his eyepatch and thought about how nice it would be to blend in once more. He had always tried to stay out of the spotlight, but after the intense battle with Shigaraki, it was harder to avoid the media. Maybe a place like this wasn't such a bad idea. He continued to zone out as Mic spoke much too loudly for the space they were in, as usual, and talked (mostly to himself) about if he should get a coffee or a smoothie.

Aizawa grew slightly embarrassed by his friend's actions as he looked around the room to see if his boisterous voice was bothering the other patrons. It was 6am, still early, so Bauhaus was lingering with the vestiges of sleep, waking with the rest of Musutafu. There was a green haired person on their laptop in the back corner, tucked away, uninvolved in the rest of the shop and seemingly unbothered. Empty seats. A full cup on a table that meant someone would be right back.

Then there was you.

Right beneath the window seat near the front of the shop, a purple vining plant hanging above you, crushed velvet bell sleeves rested upon the table as your fingers gripped the pages of a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Your face was aglow like the moon, scattered with a few freckles that danced across rosy cheeks, long lashes that arched over your half-lidded eyes. The bass of the music swelling over the speakers seemed to engulf Aizawa, thumping in his head, your silken locks being brushed to settle behind your ear as his mouth suddenly dried.

Then, as if on que, you looked up at him just in time for him to hear "oh Lucretia, my reflection", and everything seemed to stand still. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. You had these gorgeous doe eyes, these pouty little lips that gave a gamine smile to him while he held his gaze for much too long, he was sure of it. You were a vision. A blooming Queen Of The Night. A siren out in the storm.

"Quit staring at her and tell me what you want to drink!"

Aizawa was snapped out of his delusion. Flustered at the comment, he groaned, his eye twitching. Unwilling to break the eye contact with you just yet, your smile grew, and you exchanged glances with him again, causing pink heat to bloom over his face. You sat down your book and made your posture more swanlike as you maintained eye contact with him. His breath hitched at this.

You snuck looks at him for the rest of the time the two were in the shop. You weren't enough of a go-getter to approach him--nor were you brave enough to blatantly ask him out--but you really hoped that maybe he would come in again.

————

As mortified as he was by Mic's statement, he knew he had to try to see you again.

Not because he wanted to get to know you or anything.

No.

You just seemed... interesting. You seemed interesting and he felt very comfortable in Bauhaus. In fact, it probably had very little to do with you at all. He was more than likely just transferring these feelings of comfort onto you. After all, it's been a while since he's been able to go out and not feel like he was the one being stared at.

Yes.

This is rational.

This is why he needed to go back. You were just there by happenstance.

Every single weekday morning--and on weekends when he wasn't watching Eri--for an entire month, he was at the shop.

That's just how comfortable he was there. That's how good their plain black coffee was. That's what it meant to have a routine.

It was just a coincidence that he couldn't help but to notice you.

You were always there in that same cozy nook. Some days you were dressed in a band t-shirt and jeans. Some days you were in a plaid skirt and combat boots. Some days you were in a mossy green dress that went to the floor. Some days you wore causal yoga pants that were surely comfortable but made him sweat like a sinner in church. He never knew what exactly he would see you in next, but it was usually the same kind of style. And you always had a book to read, which Aizawa greatly admired. You were studious and attentive with your literature, but also a little bit goofy, judging by the laughter between you and the barista when you picked up your drinks.

But he had also come to find that you were very kind. Although you didn't appear to be a hero, you helped in other ways. You would pay for people's orders if they didn't have enough to cover their purchase. Twice, he watched you pay for the food of a homeless man, and then you sat with this man as an equal, outside on the curb, as the two of you ate breakfast sandwiches and talked. You were softspoken and gentle in your manner of speech, making him feel as though you were reading him to sleep as you talked between bites of food.

He noticed you had the biggest soft spot for animals, though.

You would watch out the window at around 6:15 to see if your little cat friend would show up that day. You would give them a drink of water from your own bottle and cap, offer them bits of bread and meat, and coo at them in a lovely sing-song voice as they ate. The cat didn't want to be touched, they were scarred and matted all to hell; but you were patient every single time. What a beautiful soul you seemed to have.

Aizawa was normally pessimistic, but you made him feel hopeful in humanity. He was certain that you had flaws, as people do, but your acts of kindness always made sure he had a good start to his day. He was always ready to protect you if you ever needed it. The world could use more good people, after all.

One morning in particular, as Aizawa picked up his drink, he noticed a man lazily stroll up to you at your regular nook. This happened to you every so often now that you were in Japan. You were approached by men, and very occasionally other women, maybe a handful of times in your entire life back in the United States. Your best guess is that here you were considered "exotic" since you looked different from most. You almost never saw someone with features like yours, and you were certainly taller than most of the women here, with noticeably longer limbs; all things that weren't exactly beauty standards in America but seemed to garner attention in Japan.

Unfortunately, the attention wasn't usually the kind that you enjoyed, and this guy was no different. He was dressed in an athletic shirt and basketball shorts. Not that you were one to judge, because hell, sometimes you showed up in pastels if the mood so struck you. People weren't bound to the confines of fashion. However, in your experience, men dressed in this clothing who came into Bauhaus tended to be... unsavory. Usually someone looking to fulfill their fetishes.

"Ooo, Cara Mia," he taunted as he approached you.

An Addams Family reference would have otherwise been right up your alley, but when he said the quote, it felt icky somehow. You knew he had to have kept this line in his back pocket regardless of who he came across, anyway. You were in a long sleeved sheer top with a lavender camisole and pair of black bell bottoms. More Stevie Nicks than Morticia Addams. So you did the rational thing and ignored him. You weren't there to be someone's Big Tiddy Goth Girlfriend.

He didn't like that much.

"Hey. I'm talking to you," he spat his words at you with barely concealed contempt.

"I heard you," you flicked your eyes up at him sharply.

Aizawa's body tensed in preparation to spring into action, taking a step forward in your direction. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

"I was just being nice. Not like anyone else is going to talk to your ugly old ass," his words were meant to bite at you, but you didn't budge.

"Old? Why, because I dared to live past 16? God, you are disgusting," you sat down your book and shook your head disapprovingly, "creeps like you are always projecting your own insecurities. How sad for you. Fuck off,"

He looked shocked, furious, like he was about to scream something in your face--but stopped abruptly when you started to hum. It was a haunting melody, something akin to a nocturne.

"I think you should go now," you stated plainly.

With this, the man walked out the door in what appeared to be a fugue-like state. And you calmly went back to your book.

Huh. Maybe you didn't need Aizawa's protection.

You just kept getting more and more intriguing.

On his fourth straight week of coming in, a Friday in early September, you decided to finally talk to him since it seemed like you were both regular patrons of the shop now. You made sure to finger-comb your hair before you turned to look at him. He was in his usual black on black sweatpants and sweatshirt, this time with his hair pulled back to reveal his jawline. He was very handsome, you thought.

"Hey there, you," you said after he placed his order of a single black coffee.

He turned around, a bit shocked at the sudden start of such a casual conversation.

"I see you in here a lot lately. I'm not sure if you have the time, but would you like to come sit with me?"

You smiled delicately in an attempt to seem welcoming.

"It would be nice to have some company for a change," you say.

His dark eye bore into you like a bullet coming straight for your gaze. After a moment of collecting his words, he finally settled on replying back:

"Yeah, sure. That would be fine,"

Aizawa tried his best to remain calm and cool, stoic even, refusing to let something so nonchalant shake him.

However, truth be told, you felt a bit shaken yourself. You weren't sure if he would accept your offer or reject it and then stop coming in. You could be so straightforward sometimes, and you felt like you could accidentally make things awkward. But you had a feeling he might at least be interested in getting to know you after your initial interaction with him.

You introduce yourself as you stirred your latte with a tiny silver spoon.

"Shota Aizawa," he gave in return.

"Nice to finally meet you," you say with a slight tease in your inflection and a mischievous look.

A blush crept across his face. God, of course you remembered when you two first saw one another. It felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles thinking about it.

"Do you like sitting under the stars?" You ask to cut the silence.

Aizawa looked perplexed. It seemed like an odd thing to ask him. Maybe you liked the outdoors?

"I've never actually been camping. Never really seemed that fun to me," he was eager to continue talking to you, though he wasn't sure exactly why.

You had this glint in your eye, like you knew the punchline to a joke you hadn't even told yet, along with a playful smile. Setting down your cup, you pointed up. That's when he noticed that the ceiling was matte black and painted with silver glittering stars.

"It's one of my favorite things about coming here," you disclosed this information to him, almost as if it were a secret.

It was then that he knew for sure that you weren't like most people.

You two met like this, discussing books and hobbies and music, for another month and a half. Every morning at 6am you could expect to see him waiting at Bauhaus for you, rain or shine. You would get some kind of breve or latte and he would get a strongly brewed black coffee. Sometimes you spoke for an hour before one of you had to go, sometimes you two were there until you were both hungry for lunch. Although the days all started at Bauhaus, occasionally, the day would take the two of you to a nearby ramen shop, a corner store, or a short walk down the block. Anywhere you wanted to go, he was there.

————

He now knew that you liked horror movies and would read just about anything you could get your hands on, that you loved animals, you moved here two years ago to help with the mental health crisis in Japan as a grief counselor, and you thoroughly enjoyed humor.

You came to know that he liked cats, was a teacher, liked the smell of rain, he was generally pretty introverted, read comic books as a kid, and had a liking for dark jokes. He had mentioned that he was a hero, a pro hero actually, when the shop was empty one morning. You said that was "so cool" and beamed with pride that you knew him, but you seemed unfamiliar with the Erasure Hero.

You continued to treat him exactly the same.

This was mesmerizing to Aizawa.

Today was one of the days that stretched on like a sleeping cat in a sunny patch. You'd already met once in the morning, breaked for work, and then met again in the late evening. The golden-hour sun was pouring in its warm light, backing you like some kind of seraphem, and painting him in a spreading halo of honeyed peach. The way the flecks of rainbow from the slanted glass flitted over his skin bewitched you.

And you, there at your place, drenched in marigold light that kissed down upon your flawless skin, made him shudder. Your eyes nearly glowed in the light. You appeared fragile, breakable, like spun glass; though he knew you were sturdier than your languid demeanor would let on.

He stuffed down the feelings he was starting to have for you like a snake eating a too large mouse. This was more than just lust, infatuation, or attraction. As scary as it was, he liked you. The butterflies stirred in his belly when you called his name from your window nook and the moths fluttered in yours when he said "I thought I might find you here, y/n," with the slightest upturn of his mouth. You were both nervous about this tension that was building between the two of you, but he was more reserved, whereas you tended to wear your heart on your sleeve. You knew that you would have to be the one to address it.

"Aizawa," you say to him, circling the rim of your cup with your fingertip as you place your other hand in front of his on the table, "I have some errands to run tomorrow... would you maybe want to come with me? It can be hard for me to carry heavy things all the way into my place on my own, and I really want to get some pumpkins to carve,"

This seemed utilitarian enough that he might feel more at ease accepting the invitation, but still deliciously domestic.

Aizawa felt the breath leave his lungs. Going to a pumpkin patch? Carving pumpkins? Like a cute little date?

"You don't have to, if you don't have the time," you stated reassuringly.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," His voice broke as he uttered out an answer, "I can go. I'll make the time if I don't have it,"

"Great! Can we meet up around 10?"

"I'll be there,"

"You always are,"

The air hung around the two of you with a lightness for a few seconds. Aizawa could see his reflection in your big glass-like eyes, causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest. You gave a small laugh, crinkling your nose, very aware of the closeness of your faces. He felt like maybe he should kiss you. But did you even like him that way? You could just be friendly and kissing you would be a huge mistake. Everything would come crashing down if he did that. Your trust would be gone. You would be gone. He couldn't take that risk.

But oh, how you wanted him to lean in and touch his lips to your own. You wondered how his stubble would feel against your skin, and if he would taste like that black coffee he was always sipping on. A knot formed in your stomach, this familiar aching, a longing, a fear of the unknown feelings he had for you, and excitement that he might feel the same way. How long had it been since you felt this way? Was it ever this intense?

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, your heart racing. You could feel that something was bubbling up. Something was about to happen. You were going to lean in closer when the door to the coffee house flew open, and in walked Hizashi.

"I thought I'd find you here, Eraser! You sure love this place lately!" His voice nearly shook the entryway.

Tension gone.

Goodbye, mood.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fully aware that Mic was about to say something daft.

"Watcha got here?" Mic asked enthusiastically, gesturing toward you with a gloved hand, "Shota, do you have a girlfriend you never told me about?"

Fucking Mic.

Aizawa looked pale, sick even.

Of course he wanted you to be his girlfriend. Especially when he was about to go to sleep, or saw some stuffed animal he knew you would like, or when he was in the shower and thinking of how he'd like to see those sultry eyes looking up at him as you put your mouth on his...

"Hizashi, for someone who's entire Quirk is based on sound, you are so damn tonedeaf," Aizawa cut his thoughts loose with this retort.

"Woah, easy there," Mic continued, "I didn't mean to ruffle any feathers. If you guys aren't hooking up, how about I shoot my shot then?" He waggled his brows at you.

Aizawa gritted his teeth and his eye twitched. Like a deer in the headlights, stunned at this brazen show of complete and total assclownery, he sat still in his seat as Hizashi made fools of them both. The lanky devil just didn't know when to stop tap dancing on his last nerve.

Present Mic leaned over the table as you furrowed your brow in response.

"Wanna see why they call me Magic Mic?" He gave a wide grin with this question.

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"Why, did I pique your interest when you saw me bathing on the roof? Did my beauty and the moonlight overthrow you?"

"Bathing on the roof, you say!" Another waggle.

"Careful there, Sisyphus. That boulder's heavier than it looks," you chime back, scribbling something on a napkin.

Aizawa was amused at your quip. It was impressive how quick on your feet you were in conversation, and how well you handled yourself. He knew that Mic was blabbering on in the background, something about alternative chicks and their spicy attitudes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Aizawa," you stated while getting up from your seat, "here's my number. Text me and I'll send you my address so you can meet me at my place, okay?"

Aizawa swallowed the lump in his throat and then nodded in agreement. He took the napkin in his hand and noticed you put a little heart next to your number.

Fuck.

Please let this be a date.

————

The next morning, at 10am sharp, Aizawa reached the front door to your apartment. He didn't even need to look at the number when he saw the fall wreath, covered in leaves and mini pumpkins, suspended from its metal hook. He slicked back his raven hair with his palms, attempting to keep his locks captured in a ponytail, all the while his stomach churned in anticipation. He gave a knock at the door, and you were there almost immediately. Had you been waiting for him?

In reality, yes, you had been. You were ready by 9:30 and then paced around your room before you sat by the door and waited for him to show up. You gave him a big grin as you greeted him, admiring his forearms with his sleeves rolled up. You looked him over, half covered in the shade of your awning, hair pulled back, his trim figure cut well in his dark jeans and gray sweater. Oh my god, he even shaved! That was so cute to you. He shaved for your pumpkin patch adventure. You swooned and felt that tension in your belly build back up. It made you feel like a teenager again, having a crush like that. You kicked at some rocks on your porch in a bashful display.

God how he wanted to put his hands on you when he saw you stepping out of your doorway. You were wearing a burnt orange sundress, a black cardigan with pumpkins lining the bodice, thigh high black pantihose, with black Mary Janes and a wide-brimmed felt hat. You always knew what flattered your figure, what colors brought out your eyes and complimented your skintone. He felt so typical, like such a stereotype, because that sundress was doing something for him.

"You okay with me driving?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

He tensed at the prospect of being touched by you, and nodded in agreement. Grabbing your keyfob, you pressed twice to start your vehicle, a completely black car with darkly tinted windows. It was very bold, very dark, and very you.

"You can mess with the volume however you'd like. I don't mind," you told him as you started flipping through your music on the car's touchscreen radio.

Aizawa took note of how eclectic your music was. You seemed to like songs with lots of bass and rumble, and you listened to plenty of Sisters of Mercy, but you also had music that took him off guard: hyper-pop, musical numbers, heavy metal--a smorgasbord of songs on a hodgepodge of a playlist. He could never quite pin you down. As soon as he thought he knew your next move, you pulled an Uno Reverse card, and it was enthralling. He liked a challenge.

He was captured by you as you settled on Love Me by The 1975 and enthusiastically sang along to every word, miming exaggerated faces when the beat picked up. You rolled the windows down and threw your hat in the back seat to feel the wind through your hair.

You glanced over at him briefly as you sang, smiling, glowing, just letting loose with him in a way that felt more intimate than he would've imagined a car ride could feel. Your hair flipped, twisting around your face in the breeze.

He noticed how careful you were with your car, how gingerly you braked at stoplights, and joked "I think my grandpa might actually drive faster than you do,"

"Hey," you replied "I pay a lot of money for this car," you felt a bit embarrassed tagging on the next part of "besides.. it's important to follow traffic laws."

He couldn't help but admire how pragmatic you were about this. You were so soft. Willing to stand up for yourself, but always making sure everyone else was safe. You had a hero heart.

You went back to singing to music, this time Can't Hold Me by Emily King. You always seemed so in your element when music was involved.

"You have a really nice voice," Aizawa stated without thinking. It rolled off of his tongue in an easy sort of way that didn't normally come naturally to him.

"Oh, thanks. It's part of my quirk I guess,"

"You have a quirk?" It was more of a statement than a question. He was pretty positive he'd already seen your quirk in action.

"Well, yeah; but I don't use it much. It's one of those quirks that when you tell people about it they think you're a villain," your voice trailed off a bit and he looked at you with one raised brow.

A sigh escaped your lips.

"If I sing a certain melody, I can make people do whatever I want. They become really pliable and easy to manipulate. But I can only use it on one person at a time, and it's only the one song, and you would know if I was using it," you tried your best to make sure he knew you weren't using it to make him talk to you, or to make him come with you today.

"Quirks are what you make of them. And I don't think that you would ever purposefully hurt someone, y/n. You're better than that,"

On impulse, upon parking the car at the pumpkin patch, you grabbed his hand with Eat Sleep Wake by Bombay Bicycle Club playing softly in the background. The first real physical contact you two had that wasn't accidental. It was warm, and sweet, and electric. Breathing felt like there was a weight on your chest when you realized what happened, and it caught in your throat when he squeezed your hand back.

Eat.

Sleep.

Wake.

Nothing but you.

God, please just kiss me, you thought. Kiss me. Better yet, take me into this pumpkin patch and peel these pantihose off with your teeth. You were getting to the point where all of this constant winding you up had you wanting him to fuck you absolutely stupid.

Aizawa felt warm, feverish. Like he was going to melt through the seat of the car and burn to cinders on the ground. He was smoldering like a pile of ash in your hand. Goddamn it was hard to concentrate now. Where was he at? Was there a world around the two of you? Did he even care? He wasn't sure if it was right to think of you like this, though, and it happened nearly every day since meeting you. That part of him had been lying dormant for what felt like years and now suddenly these feelings were coming for him with a vengeance. He wasn't sure what to do.

"We should.. we should grab some pumpkins. Do you... like the lumpy ones?"

Shit. Did he really just ask you that? God, you must have thought he was stupid.

But you didn't. You were eating this up.

"Dude. I love me a lumpy pumpkin," was your reply.

The two of you took in the crisp autumn air and October's bright blue sky as you sipped on a warm apple cider from the drink stand. Much to his initial disapproval, you finally got him to take a sip from your cup. His heart skipped a beat drinking from the same spout where your mouth had been just a few seconds prior. You took two small pumpkins from the display they had on top of some hay bales, slipped them into a big burlap tote bag, and then headed to the field to pick out bigger pumpkins for carving.

"Do you think frogs have friends?"

"I... what?"

He wasn't sure if you were being genuine with this question.

"Well, cows make friends, and.. I don't know, I was just thinking about how maybe when frogs start to get ready for the cold weather, they find another frog that they like, and then they hibernate next to them in the mud," your statement was matter-of-fact, "or I guess technically the frogs we have here go into a state of topor, not full hibernation. But still,"

Aizawa was taken aback at this topic. You were actually wondering about the loneliness of amphibians.

"Y/n, I don't think frogs get lonely. I doubt they have high enough brain functioning to care,"

"Or maybe they do, and we'll never know, because nobody stopped to find out,"

He enjoyed that you always spoke your mind. Even if someone didn't like what you had to say, you just started a conversation based on whatever thoughts you had in your head. You were smart, but whimsical. It was so easy to talk to you and have a logical dialogue without feeling like it was getting stale.

You kicked at rocks, marveled at the fall leaves, and had this general sense of wonder. Aizawa found it fascinating how dichotomous you were. You were kind of mysterious, but you still had this youthful charm about you. He found himself to be more apathetic than anything. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't see the beauty in the things around him, he just didn't tend to pay attention at all. He was always burning the candle at both ends and pushing himself to his absolute limits, so what was the point? Who cared of frogs had friends?

"I wish I shared your passion for life," he commented.

"My grandparents were like this, and they raised me, so I guess it rubbed off. Actually, they're kind of why I came here. My grandpa always spoke about how beautiful Okinawa was. After they passed, I jumped at the opportunity to come see Japan for myself,"

You hadn't talked about anything that wasn't skin deep in what seemed like an eternity, and you felt like he was really listening, processing your words.

"Oh!" You stopped in your tracks, "I can't believe I forgot to give you this,"

From the bottom of your burlap sack, you pulled out a bag of salty black licorice.

"This is for you,"

His favorite snack.

Aizawa reached out his hand and took it delicately, as if it were precious to him.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you eyeing some once at a corner store. When I saw they had some here, I had to get it for you. They make it in house, so I bet it's delicious!" You sounded so excited over a bag of licorice.

Feeling a bit silly over frogs and candy, you blushed, cheeks already slightly ruddy from all of the walking.

"But we should probably go back to picking out some pumpkins, I guess," your words came out much smaller than you intended them to.

His heart swelled. You were paying attention to him, too.

The gourds were all shapes and sizes, all the colors from striking persimmon to pale yellow, from perfectly round to as lumpy as the night was long.

Clearly, you picked the lumpiest.

Loading your goods into the car, a flash of color at another stand caught Aizawa's eye.

"You stay here. I'll be right back," he commanded.

"Okay. Just let me know if you want any help,"

The stand was full of handmade trinkets: wooden hair combs, decorative mirrors with widdled handles, and silk kimonos. One garment stood out to him--emerald green with goldenrod flowers patterned over it--that, for some reason, made him think of frogs. This would do nicely.

Upon his return, he found that he really wasn't sure how to give you a gift. This was certainly not his forte. He couldn't even remember the last time he gave someone a present. Then again, he couldn't recall that last time he had received one before this day, either. Besides, you were worth the uncomfortability.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't form. You looked slightly amused, which made him even more nervous.

"I have something for you. To repay you for the gift you gave me earlier," his voice uttered out much smaller than he remembered.

The joy that spread from cheek to cheek was practically tangible for him as he handed you the paper bag. Your eyes were alight like fireworks.

"You got me a present?"

You felt a fluttering in your chest. You didn't even care what it was, he explicitly thought of you, and that made you happy in earnest.

The container was compact enough that you figured there was some kind of candy to be retrieved from it, but you opened it to see green and yellow fabric. You were stunned when you recognized it from the stand you two had passed on your way out. It had to have been expensive.

"Aizawa.. this is too much. I-I can't accept this," you stammered.

"Yes you can. Like I said, it's for the licorice,"

"This isn't exactly in the same category as candy, though, I--"

"Just try it on," he interrupted you, his hand raised as if to stop any further protesting.

And you thought about protesting--you really did--but caved, knowing he wouldn't give up until you accepted it. Your attempts to dispute his gift would be futile. So you marveled at the silk garment, feeling its slick material between your fingers. You'd never owned something like this before. You took off your cardigan and draped the kimono over your body, savoring how soft and airy it was on your skin, feeling like a princess.

"I'm not sure if this is a color you like, so if you don't like it, we can go exchange it," his voice had a hushed tone.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"No. No, it's perfect. I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, this was so sweet of you," your words rang out like a bell.

The breeze picked up and blew the soft locks of your hair as you stood there in your gown, picturesque, cottony clouds lining the skies.

You looked like a painting.

"Alright then," you said with vigor, "takoyaki is on me!"

————

When you returned home, you carved Aizawa's pumpkin together (a very classic orange pumpkin, perfect for Jack O Lanterns), swatting your cats off of the counter as they came to sniff at the seedy innards laid out on a sheet of parchment paper. You felt at home like this. You felt safe, content, like this is how life was meant to be.

You watched him as he placed the carved Jack O Lantern out on your porch, and took notice of the strands of raven hair that were falling out of his messy bun, delicately sweeping over his strong jaw and neck. The knot in your stomach returned, and with it came a sensation like you were on the downhill slope of a rollercoaster. It was a feeling of passion welling up inside of you, ready to tear open at your seams.

And you wanted more.

You wanted him to want you.

Worried that he might go home now that the sun had set, you asked if he would want to watch a movie with you. He was elated at the idea of cuddling up with you on the couch. How could he say no to that?

"Okay. What did you have in mind?"

"Have you ever watched Hocus Pocus?"

"No, never heard of it,"

"What?! It's a Halloween classic! I'll change into some house clothes and then we'll get started. Be right back, Shota,"

A chill ran down his spine, prickling the back of his neck at the sound of you saying his name. You called him Shota. And now you were comfortable enough with him to change into pajamas. He felt almost floaty.

Aizawa was expecting you to come out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, something comfy, something plain. He enjoyed the prospect of you coming out in soft pants and fuzzy socks. There was something so heartwarming and cozy about it that he--holy fucking shit.

You came out, as casual as humanly possible, in a pair of tiny little sleeping shorts and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt with no bra. The shirt was soft, but snug, and showed off every curve of your body through the semi-sheer fabric. He had already gotten a good look (or ten) at your ass in a nice pair of pants, but this.. were you trying to kill him? You were already all legs, and now the shorts... Aizawa scanned your body to see that you were wearing stockings that hugged your legs and made divots in the plush flesh of your upper thighs. They were Ninja Turtle green and woven like a tubesock.

Of course you were wearing these fuck me socks. That way, you could definitely say that you were completely covered from head to toe, that these were normal house clothes. Nothing here but regular old pajamas. And look, see, you totally did like green!

Your couch was small, but Aizawa sat on one end, hoping that you would sit alllll the way on the other end so that he could curl up as much as possible and you wouldn't see... things. But you weren't having it. You wanted to be able to cut the tension with a knife. You wanted to make sure this sexual frustration was palpable until it drove him to action. So you snuggled up next to him and rested your head on his chest.

He took notice that the shorts nearly disappeared when you sat down, and thought about what they might look like if you were bending over. Your tits looked great through your clothes, but your ass drove him wild. He wished for the TV to mess up somehow so you would have to get down on all fours to fix it, maybe even spread your legs just enough that your sex would peek over the side of the material, sopping and messy and begging for him.

Oh lord Jesus, Vishnu, Thor, whoever the fuck was up there just give him strength. Give his waistband extra elasticity and give his poor heart a rest so that maybe you wouldn't hear it pounding through his chest. But you did hear it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you placed your hand on his thigh and traced your fingertips down to his knee while you stared ahead at the TV screen.

Under the guise of laughing at a witch riding a vacuum cleaner, you squeezed his leg, and he jumped in his seat.

Oh.

This was torture for him.

And you liked that.

A lot.

He made a pathetic attempt to stealthily lean into you, just enough so that he could get a better whiff of your hair. You smelled like vanilla and something a little floral and spicy, like a jasmine rice desert. The thought crossed his mind that you might taste just as sweet.

"Doing okay, Shota?" Your voice this time was chesty, sensual, almost like an invitation rather than a question, and you could feel him shudder in response.

There it was again. Shota. He fucking loved the way his name dripped from your lips like honey. He nodded in agreement and you patted his leg to let him know you felt the nod.

You could feel your shorts heating up and your breathing changing pace when you heard him let out little sputters of air at your touch. It was intoxicating, hearing him get excited, smelling the sweat building between the two of you in this blissful hell of your own making.

Small beads of liquid made a wet spot up near his waistband while he took in your body heat, trying his best to focus on the screen and not the friction of you against him, or the fact that he could see your nipples plainly through your shirt. Readjusting yourself, you stretched and let out a whine in the process, and your elbow brushed up against something in his lap.

With a quick grunt, he stood up suddenly, and said "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back,"

You gave him an "okay", and paused the movie for him. Maybe it was just in your imagination, but you could swear you saw a tent in his pants when he got up.

What you wouldn't give to toy with him for just a little while longer.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, calmly, before he's pawing at the buttons of his pants. A curse leaves his lips as he wrestles his leaking member from the confines of his boxers. 

"Little fucking cocktease," he grits, burying the words into his lower lip. 

God, he just couldn't take it anymore. He thought about you moaning, whining, mewling into his ear, your bodies entangling. How would he take you? If he had the option, he thinks he'd really like to watch you ride his cock, see the look on your face when you take all of him inside of you.

"Gonna have you begging for it. Fuck, do you even know what you do to me?" His voice trails into a groan, and he folds forward, bucking into his hand and holding onto the sink to steady himself.

A few whispers of your name fall from his lips, and he swipes at the slit of his aching length, smearing his precum along his shaft for lubrication. He's close. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he's already feeling that knot within him frayed, about to snap. Just a few more strokes and he's jerking back his head, ropes of his release now dripping across his palm.

He finished in record time, expecting to have a sense of relief, but only finding that he craved more. Guilt took ahold of him when the thought crossed his mind that he shouldn't be thinking of you this way. This was so shameful, what he just did, making his hand all sticky from thinking of you. He rinsed his face with cool water to get rid of some of the sweat, and exited, stating that he needed to head home due to not feeling well.

Your heart sank, and the realization hit you that you may have made him uneasy with your forwardness. Maybe he didn't like you that way after all. You hoped that you hadn't just ruined things between the two of you.

Aizawa didn't want to hurt your feelings, and he could tell that he probably did; but he needed to get out of your apartment before he bent you over the couch.

So he left your place after an entire 12 hours together, beating himself up for not making a move, harboring resentment for his own lack of initiative. He was used to coming after villains, but this whole "love" thing really scared him. Love? He mulled the word over in his head. Worried it between his teeth. You two hadn't spent a single day without seeing each other in like two months. And he sure as hell didn't see himself picking out pumpkins with Hizashi any time soon.

He laid there in bed, trying his best to fall asleep, but the day just replayed in his head on a loop. His mattress was normally soft and welcoming, something that could easily lull him to sleep, but tonight it felt empty. Tonight, he felt alone. Until his phone buzzed from his nightstand.

You: is it too soon to text you?

Him: it's never too soon for you to talk to me.

You: good :) I was worried when you left in such a hurry.

You: and I miss you already.

Aizawa sat up in bed after reading your most recent message. You... missed him. He wasn't sure if he was reading that right. The blue light from his phone illuminated his face, now standing apart from the inky blackness of his room. He could feel you radiating from it.

Him: maybe you should stop by my place tomorrow afternoon then.

You: I'd really like that.

You: good night, Shota. <3

Him: see you soon.

————

He made sure to take care of himself in the shower before the next afternoon, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. Best case scenario, now he would last longer if you two ended up fooling around. He even double checked that Eri was in the dorms at UA again today. That was just wishful thinking, though. Sex these days would probably only come from pity for him. Poor washed-up hero, missing an eye, missing a leg. That's the last thing he needed right now.

He cleaned up around his apartment, wiping down the counters and making the area look welcoming for you. Why did he want to impress you so badly? Ugh, this was so embarrassing. He never worried about what people thought of him in any other scenario, but now, here he was, fluffing his brand new throw pillows and applying cologne to his neck and chest.

You knocked on the door, straightening the skirt of your dress, the same one you were wearing the morning you two first met. Aizawa answered the door in a gray t-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair loose and his eyes heavy-lidded when he looked down at you. That dress again. Clingy, short, nipped at the waist to show off your curves. Christ, you were beautiful. He welcomed you in, the smell of bergamot wafting from him.

His apartment was bigger than yours by quite a bit. It had a floating island in the kitchen, slate colored walls, a black sectional positioned in the living room atop a white shag rug, and circular lights that were recessed within the ceiling.

"Wow, your place is so nice. Shit. I'm sorry I made you come to my hovel last night," you partially joked, impressed with how well his home was put together.

"That's stupid. I liked being at your place,"

You saw something moving out of the corner of your eye through the doorway of the other room.

"Is that a punching bag?" You asked with a wry smile.

"Gotta keep myself in shape. Want to give it a go?" His voice was low, almost challenging you to take him up on the offer.

"Oh, I don't know. I lift weights but I don't really do a lot of cardio. I'd just end up humiliating myself, honestly," you said sheepishly.

"Come on, y/n, spar with me. I'll go easy on you,"

"Okay, okay," you gave in and walked toward the next room, which you could see upon closer inspection was full of gym equipment. You felt out of your element, but you were willing to make yourself look like a fool if it meant he was enjoying himself.

You gave the bag a light punch as Aizawa held onto it, half afraid that you would mess it up somehow, or maybe even break your damn hand. It felt like it was full of some kind of particulate. Maybe sand? Oh god, you probably looked like some kind of lazy sack, not even knowing how to punch a fucking bag.

"I know you can do better than that. You've got more power in you. Come on,"

You punched again.

"Harder. Don't hold back!" He growled.

That was really fucking sexy, actually, and now you were a little distracted. You balled your hand into a fist, made sure your thumb was facing outside, and used all of this pent up frustration to wallop the daylights out of the bag. Your knuckles made contact with a padded thud, and you let out a small grunt.

"Atta girl," he praised you, his voice like whisky.

God, hearing him say that was like a dopamine hit. You were disoriented. You were already clumsy, and now your brain felt like a can of cranberry sauce splattered out onto a plate.

Aizawa stepped away from the bag, a terse expression plastered onto his face.

"Now act like I'm coming after you and try to pin me. Remember, it doesn't matter that I'm bigger than you. Use strategy to overpower me,"

You mustered up all of your strength, all of your courage, and leapt toward his torso. He didn't try to block you, so you knew he was going easy on you... but you also knew you didn't do it right when you went off to the side and started to veer straight for the wall. He grabbed you by both wrists and wedged himself between your legs in order to cushion your fall, and you landed upright, straddling him as he lay on his back.

You were both panting, eyes dilated, a wildness boiling within you like animals. He let go of your wrists and your hands softly found their rest on his chest as it heaved.

"Y/n," he laughed, "that was awful,"

You rolled your eyes and shifted your weight into less of a stiff position.

"I told you I was bad at this. I am a lover, not a fighter," you pressed your hand to your chest as you spoke. 

Moving ever so slightly on top of him, you saw his eye widen, his lips parted to let a small gasp escape from them. Panic has set in. 

"Get up. Please," his tone is highly-strung and fearful.

He looks genuinely terrified, scrambling beneath you, the only reason you're still in his lap like this due to his apprehension to hurt you by accident.

"Shota, wha--" your question is cut off by the feeling of something poking against your clothed sex.

Oh. 

Oh.

A red hue painted his entire face at the realization of the situation he was in, his blood pulsing through his body rapidly, the sound of it rushing in his ears.

"Why," you said breathily "don't you want me?"

Overstimulated, his brain didn't process what you'd just said to him.

Your lungs feel like they're about to lunge straight out of your chest, your core aching to be filled. You'll have to make sure that he really gets the point. Now was the time to be honest with him, maybe even be a little dirty. It's now or never.

"I want to know.. I mean.." talking felt hard. Your blood supply seemed starved from your brain.

"Do you touch yourself when you think of me?"

He was trembling like a leaf beneath you, caged in by the plush of your thighs. Was this a trick question? Yes, he just fucked himself to you this morning, AND last night in YOUR bathroom. Is that what he was supposed to say? He swallowed thickly, clamoring to gather up some kind of sentient thought to say to you.

"I do," you filled the gap of silence, "I think of you that way. A lot, actually,"

You ground your pelvis up and down his length, the fabric of his pants rough against him, eliciting a grunt through his gritted teeth.

"I.. f-fuck, I-I dunno how to.. answer that," he's been reduced to this mumbling mess on the floor, that silver tongue suppressed by the sweet press of your warmth to his cock.

You took his shaking hand and placed it between your thighs, right on the dampness that was spreading at your center, sopping through what little material covered them. 

"I want you, Shota. I want you bad," your words were like poetry spouting from your lips.

He rubbed you through your wet panties, soaked and clinging to you like a second skin. Were you this wet for him? He delights in the way your breath hitches, how you squirm atop him, your eyes heavy and lustful. Shota gives one last languid stroke up the lace and then pulls them to the side for easier access to your clit. He rubs light circles around it and watches you writhe, taking in the noises you were making, so painfully hard he felt as though he would cum in his pants just from watching you. He stopped his teasing and placed both hands on your hips, the pair of you frenzied for more.

You crashed your lips to his, both of you giving in to a hungry kiss, passionate and blistering with heat, tongues swirling and teeth clashing. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him into you, starved for his taste. He keened into your touch as if it would soon disappear. Leaving the rough stubble of his cheeks only to grab a handful of his mussed hair, you tugged at it, causing him to moan into your mouth, and you swallowd down each noise greedily. He explored your body with haste, grabbing your ass, sinking the pads of his fingers into your skin. You could feel him throbbing underneath you, so you palmed him through his pants, and with a swift jerk, he threw his head back onto the floor, not even caring to register the pain of it.

"Fuck. Y/n. If you keep going..."

You tugged at the waist of his pants, then dragged featherlight touches across his exposed cock teasingly. He felt you smile against his skin as you nuzzled the crook of his neck, and he lets out a muffled groan that tapered off into a high-pitched whine, desperate and needy.

He let out an involuntary whimper, almost pitiful with how much yearning was within it.

"You gonna cum for me already? Hmm?"

That was it.

He couldn't fucking take it anymore.

Something within him snapped and a growl poured from him, rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

With hurried hands, he pulls your dress over top your head, revealing that you were wearing nothing but lacy black panties underneath. You were stunning. Like a Greek statue of Aphrodite herself. He was never able to fully imagine your naked form before, and this was a perfect frame of reference for later. He wanted nothing more than to get absolutely drunk off of you. And he gets you all to himself. He can't hardly believe his luck.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," his voice was raw and saturated with desire, a gravel to it, burning like whisky.

"I want you to touch me," you murmur, suddenly feeling shy in the sweltering heat of his gaze.

"Touch you?" Aizawa said with a chuckle, "I'm going to devour you,"

Before you were given the chance to react, he bucked into you, then slid you from his lap and onto the floor, gripping your underwear and throwing them off on your way down. He took off his shirt expeditiously to reveal his muscular form, and you admire the lines that bisect his abdomen, eyes nearly rolling into your skull when they land at the tent in his pants. He looks big. Like, concerningly big. You ran your fingers across the scars on his chest, which gave an almost tickling sensation, all the way down to the hair that trailed from his naval to his pants. He was beautiful. So fit that he looked like he could play himself in a movie.

Casting the clothing aside, he lays you flat onto the floor, kissing from your lips, to your neck, to your nipple where he sucked and flicked his tongue, using his free hand to caress the other, groping hungrily at your plush flesh. You moaned, breathy and meek, at his touch. Separating from you, his pupil was blown out as your pheromones hit him in the face, and he pulled your legs apart to fully expose you.

"Look at your pretty little pussy,"

He slipped a digit inside of you and did a curling motion until he found the spot that made you whimper underneath him, watched as your face went from shocked to a look of pleading for more, lashes fluttering.

He clicked his tongue.

"And look at you. So fucking needy. So ready for me to take you,"

He removed his finger and used it to play with your clit, making waves of pleasure shoot through your body, a white-hot coil tightening in your core just above where he was touching.

"Sh-Shota... please, fuck me," you begged, nearly mewling.

He hissed through his teeth, peering down at you as if you were prey. The look on his face is wolfish, starving, nearly pained to be holding himself back. There's a wilderness within him that begs to be let loose. You want nothing more than to be destroyed by it, left a carnal mess upon the floor. 

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't even sit without thinking of me," he taps your clit with his fingertips, "But first, I'm going to make you cum on my tongue," he was serious with his words, meticulous, making sure you knew exactly what he had planned for you. Sweet, slow burning anticipation sent tingles up and down your spine.

He put your legs on his shoulders and went back to the spot inside of you that made you cry, this time sucking on your clit in tandem, fully encapturing it within his lips. Your mouth was now agape in a breathy scream as you clamp down on his fingers, moving your hips in time with him, riding waves of pleasure as he brings you closer to the edge. He lets out an appreciative groan as you say his name, the noises coming out of you so lewd and sinful that you hope the neighbors don't call someone for a wellness check.

Aizawa absentmindedly pressed himself against the floor, nearly frantic for some kind of touch while he watched you squirming beneath him, but it does little to quell the ache he has in his center. You tasted like sweet tarts and made these lustful gasps, and it drove him absolutely mad to know he was doing that to you, that these reactions were from his own touch.

"Say my name," he speaks this phrase into the throbbing bud at your apex, and you shiver, close to careening off of the edge he'd just brought you to. 

"Shota.. fuck, keep going, please," you mewl, rolling your hips. 

He nips at your inner thigh, velvet flesh pillowing between his teeth, and then drags the length of his tongue up your clit in one torturously long stroke. 

"Louder. I want everyone to know who's about to make you cum," the steel in his gaze is sharp enough to slice you. 

So you oblige him, moaning his name, chanting it like a mantra as he continues to lap at you once more. You can feel the pressure building, building, building until it finally spills over like a dam. He moans at the realization, feeling your pussy spasm under his tongue.

"Oh my god.. Oh fuck, Shota!" You cry out for him as you melt into his mouth.

He's breathless as he pulls himself away from you, mouth slick, still slipping his fingers in and out of you in an allowance to ride out the rest of your orgasm. He looks feral. Like he could tear into you. Destroy you.

He drags his cheek across your thigh.

"Good girl," he grunts, "good fucking girl,"

You look up at him with your mouth partially open, your eyes heavy with want, and with one fell swoop you sit up and pull down his sweatpants to reveal his throbbing cock, wet and dripping from the tip. You take the whole thing into your mouth, sucking, swirling your tongue, cranking your hand around his shaft like you're ready to milk the soul straight out of him. He gasps, moving his hips to pump into your mouth as you open wider, holding out your tongue so you can take in as much of his length as possible. He brought you closer until you were practically flush against him, all the while you were committing the look on his face to memory.

You can tell this is about to break him, so you tighten your grip in a pulsating pattern, moaning on his length to send vibrations through him. His movements are becoming erratic, fervent, and you cannot fucking wait to see him come apart at your doing. You run the flat of your tongue across a particularly sensitive spot along his shaft, your arousal building once more when you see the way he pinches his brows together, how he ruts into your mouth like some inexperienced virgin. You just feel too fucking good.

Suddenly, he pulls himself from your mouth with a vulgar pop, and you're gasping for sweet breaths of air after some of the sloppiest head you've given in your life.

"I knew you'd be good at that," Aizawa chokes out, his dick bobbing in front of you, "but we're not done yet,"

He lightly pushed you back onto the ground and placed your ankles up onto his shoulders, putting his tip right up against your entrance. His muscles twitched in anticipation and you reveled in his godlike form.

"Is this okay?" He asked you, gently.

You laughed a bit at the question.

With all the heat and want you can channel, you look up at him from your place on the floor and rasp "ruin me, Shota,"

He gives you a wicked smile, one you've never seen him wear before, and pushes himself inside of your aching pussy, holding onto your leg for leverage. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, a bit unprepared for his full girth inside of you. It doesn't take long for you to start moving along with him though, and he begins to thrust harder, pounding into you like his life depended on it.

Biting your lower lip, you throw your head back, attempting to keep from screaming as he delves into you. He removes his hand from your leg to grab your jaw, and locking eyes says, "Eyes on me. I want to see the fucking look on your face when I make you cum,"

This coaxes a moan from you, and he gives a gutteral response to his cock being squeezed.

"Good girl. You're taking me so well. God, you're so tight, fuck," his voice is husky and deep.

Your cunt hugs him tighter with every word.

He needed more.

Aizawa takes his free hand and starts to rub your clit in circles, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can feel that knot in your stomach forming again. You're about to come undone already, and he can feel you clamping around him like a vice.

"Fuck that feels so good," your voice is heady and needful.

His pacing became erratic once more and his ministrations on your clit became almost desperate. He was barely holding on, whimpering, sweat dotting his brow.

"I knew you were fucking teasing me. Coming out in those tiny shorts. Know what I shoulda done? Should've fucked you right there on the couch. Should've bred your tight little cunt," he leans down to fill some of the gap between you, a few tendrils of his raven hair falling to cling to his face.

He pistons into you harder, "Swear to god, I'm gonna fuck every single thought out of that pretty little head. Wanna tease me like that? Take your fucking punishment. I.. f-fuck!" He feels you come unraveled all over his cock as you ride him from there on the floor, making sounds that hitch in your throat like ragged bleats. He made note of your blissed-out expression and then let out a sharp gasp, your walls almost too snug for him to handle.

You whined in a small voice, still finishing, your gaze not breaking when you tell him, "make a mess in me,"

That's all it took for him to lose it, giving into his pleasure and allowing himself to fill you up with what felt like gallons of cum, letting out strangled moans as his entire body throbs.

Panting, he pulls out of you, watching as his release leaks from between your legs. He wasn't usually interested in sex at all after getting off, but seeing you like this, glowing with sweat and hormones, covered in him. It made him weak. He pulls apart your cunt with his thumbs, watches your glistening sex twitch, cum dripping. He's going to remember this if he ever needs to get off in two seconds flat.

The two of you lay in the floor together, floating, riding the high in a breathless haze.

"Be my girlfriend, y/n," Aizawa was the first to speak.

You were taken aback.

"What?"

You never thought him to be the type to be alright with labels.

"I like you. Not just in the way that I want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Will you be with me?"

You ran your fingers across his jawline as a warm smile spread across your face.

"I'll be your girlfriend. But there are stipulations,"

"Anything. Whatever you want, it's yours," Aizawa hopes that his longing isn't too obvious, that he isn't too eager, but another part of him doesn't even care anymore.

"You have to be my boyfriend," your words are like a breeze through a windchime.

His eye takes purchase in your face as he leans into you, the kiss he offers you this time languid, lazy, loving instead of a mess of teeth and lips.

I love you, he thought, pulling away enough that your foreheads touch. God, how I love you. Just allow me to worship at the altar of your body once more.

Before you can stop yourself, and as if you can read his mind, you speak to him in a voice that's almost a whisper, "I think I love you,"

He looks dumbfounded, awestruck.

He finds his voice enough to say, simply, "I love you," followed by a kiss pressed to your nose.

The day that follows is soft and halcyon. You bask in one another like the afterglow is your lifeline, here in your own private world, all stardust and warmth. You don't know what the future holds. You stopped living in a world of 'what ifs' a long time ago. But you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you'll be there with him.

And he'll be there with you.

Like he always is.

[dorothylarouge]

Comic Book Review: Runaways by Rainbow Rowell

Hello, all. Today I will be taking some time to discuss a comic book I enjoy. This is the first in what will hopefully become a series of long-form comic book reviews I'll be writing for this blog as I continue working through my backlog of unread comics as well as ones I'm rereading, both on my own and through me and @bimboficationblues' book club.

I first read the original run of Runaways in digest trade paperback format at my local library when I was in middle school, and the book hit me at the exact right time, since I was pretty firmly the book's target demographic - young, restless, and beginning to grow resentful of the adult authorities in my life. I never read the 2017 revival, as I was not reading comics when I was in high school and college, but I was at my local library - a different one, I don't live in Texas anymore - while waiting for the power in my apartment to come back on due to an outage, and discovered that they carried the full series in trade paperback. I decided to check it out and see how it held up to the original run, and found myself pleasantly surprised by how much I liked it - enough, clearly, to make this post. I'll get into more detail about the 2017 book later in this post, but I'd like to first give an overview of the original series to provide some context for how this book came to be, since it's quite a niche, cult-classic book as far as Marvel titles go.

Part One: Born to Run

At the turn of the century, comic books faced a number of problems. The bottom had fallen out of the industry in the early 1990s due to the burst of the speculator bubble, sending shockwaves that continued to reverberate into the early 2000s. Marvel Comics had nearly been bankrupted and stripped for parts, surviving only by the skin of its teeth, and was only just getting back on its feet. But now, another threat was looming: anime and manga. Imported comics from Japan were beginning to capture a larger and larger market share of comics sold in the United States, fueled by the popularity of Dragon Ball, Sailor Moon, and others on television. Marvel sought to fight back by producing books which would appeal to young fans of these Japanese imports and act as gateway drugs into more standard Marvel fare. Their first effort came in 2000 with the utterly embarrassing Marvel Mangaverse, a group of books which copied superficial and stereotypical aesthetics of manga, without any of the substance.

Just look at this shit, man. Anyway, in 2003, Marvel tried a different approach with their Tsunami imprint. The books in this imprint would also employ art styles that reflected the influence of anime and manga, but would feature character-driven, in-continuity storylines aimed at a variety of age ranges. Among the titles Tsunami would publish was a book written by Brian K. Vaughn (known at the time mainly for his work at DC's Vertigo imprint, including a run on Swamp Thing and his own Y: The Last Man) and illustrated by Adrian Alphona (who would go on to co-develop Kamala Khan with G. Willow Wilson) titled Runaways.

The initial premise of Runaways was really quite brilliant in its simplicity: Alex Wilder, Nico Minoru, Chase Stein, Gertrude Yorkes, Molly Hayes, and Karolina Dean are casual friends bound together mainly because their parents are all friends - actors, engineers, lawyers, and influential people in the Los Angeles area - who gather once a year for a charity event.

As the kids are left bored and alone while their parents meet at Alex's house in Malibu, they find a secret passage and are able to observe their parents at the meeting, learning that, in truth, their parents are a group of supervillains known as the Pride, who control crime and vice in Los Angeles, and who conduct human sacrifices in arcane rituals.

As the kids attempt to discover more about their parents in order to find evidence to bring to the police, they each begin to discover unique powers and abilities: Gertrude has a psychic link with a genetically-engineered deinonychus, Karolina is a light-powered alien with the ability to fly, Molly is a super-strong, super-tough mutant, Chase gains access to powerful technology created by his parents, and Nico is able to summon a magical focus known as the Staff of One when she bleeds, which she can use to cast powerful magical spells, with the catch that she can never cast the same spell twice. Alex, with a genius strategic mind, becomes the group's leader, and with the group learning that the police in LA belong to the Pride, they run away from home and drop off the grid in order to find a way to put a stop to them.

The first volume of Runaways chronicles the kids' conflict with their parents, as well as run-ins with a vampire named Topher and Marvel's original runaway teen superheroes, Cloak and Dagger. Eventually, they learn that their parents were gathered to serve godlike giants called the Gibborim and conduct a ritual which would wipe out all life on Earth, save for six of the Pride - or more specifically, their heirs, the children. The volume ends with the team's climactic confrontation with their parents, as they begin the ritual to end the world, with Alex revealing himself to be a mole in the group and having secretly been on the side of the Pride all along. After Molly disrupts the ritual, the Gibborim arrive and vaporize Alex and kill the Pride, with the kids barely managing to escape. In the aftermath, the kids are placed into foster care, which they promptly run away from, becoming teenage fugitives once again.

The first volume of Runaways lasted only 18 issues, but sales of the digest format trade paperbacks (another thing copied from how manga is distributed in the US) proved so strong that a second volume began publication in 2005, featuring the same creative team. This volume saw the kids continue to evade the police, adult superheroes, and social services. Along the way, they recruit a few new runaways, including Victor Mancha, a cyborg built by the Avengers villain Ultron, and Xavin, a shapeshifting, genderfluid Skrull who imposes themself upon the group as Karolina's fiancee due to a marriage arranged by her parents. They also take a trip to New York City to help clear Cloak's name when he's accused of attempting to murder Dagger. There, they come into conflict with the Avengers, and get sushi with Spider-Man.

Over the course of the second volume, Gertrude is killed in a fight with a reformed Pride made up of a time-displaced version of Alex's father and his MMO friends, and Vaughn's run on the title ends with a story in which Chase, who is grief-stricken after her death, makes a deal with the Gibborim in order to bring her back in exchange for a sacrifice. The deal falls through, and the kids are forced to fight the gods that their parents once served, ultimately managing to defeat and erase the Gibborim from existence.

After Vaughn left the book, unfortunately, Runaways started a long period of decline. He was replaced as writer on the book by Joss Whedon, who penned a couple middling stories, including one where the kids fight the Punisher and the Kingpin, and another where they're flung back in time to 1907 New York, where they recruit the final member of the team, a young mutant and child bride named Klara Prast who can make the flowers grow. Yawn. Volume 2 of Runaways ended with issue 30, and the book was relaunched with a new #1 in 2008, this time with the creative team of Terry Moore (best known for his indie book Strangers in Paradise) and Humberto Ramos (a veritable workhorse whose portfolio speaks for itself, particularly his work on Spider-Man). This brief, forgettable run was followed by a fill-in issue or two by Christopher Yost, and then a final, mediocre arc by Kathryn Immonen which ended the series abruptly on a cliffhanger.

After this, the wilderness years. Characters from Runaways appeared with some regularity - Nico, Chase, and Victor all played major roles in various Avengers spinoff books, none of which suited them particularly well - although in the pages of Avengers AI, Victor would forge a friendship with a reprogrammed Doombot which would play a role later. Mostly, though, it became clear over the years that these characters did not work in normal superhero books, because they were not normal superheroes - they were Runaways. Part of the problem the book had come to face in the later years was a failure to understand that point. The Vaughn run had proven the potential of the characters and concept of the Runaways - they needed a writer who understood that potential, and how to bring it out - and they could have a renaissance.

Then, in 2017, a Runaways TV show premiered on Hulu, to tie into the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and Marvel, for the most cynical and synergistic of reasons, decided to give them that renaissance.

Part Two: It's Only Teenage Wasteland

Runaways volume 5 (volume 4 was an unrelated Secret Wars tie-in) is written throughought by Rainbow Rowell. Rowell's background is in contemporary young adult fiction, which isn't usually my cup of tea, but translates very well to this comic. Runaways, at its core, is not a superhero book- a point which will be made more explicitly later in the series - it is a teen drama with superpowers. Angst, sexual tension, and resentment of authority are all key elements of the series, which Rowell employs effectively throughout. Joining her on art for the initial run of the volume is Kris Anka, who would later go on to be the lead character designer for Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse. Anka's art is colorful and expressive and complements the tone of the series brilliantly. It's probably the best Runaways has ever looked. Of particular note are the outfits Anka designs for the characters, which change from issue to issue and help to characterize each Runaway visually.

The book picks up with the Runaways having split up, with Molly living with her grandmother, Victor having been reduced to an inert, deactivated head following his apparent death in Avengers AI, Karolina in college and dating Julie Power of Power Pack, Klara in foster care, Xavin in space, and Nico in a shitty LA apartment after a brief stint with the all-female A-Force. The inciting incident of the book occurs when Chase appears with a time machine, having recovered the dying Gert from the events of volume 2. Nico is able to use her magic to save Gert's life, and she wastes little time pushing to get the rest of the gang back together.

Of course, two years have passed since Gert died in-universe. Karolina, Nico, and Chase are all adults now, and Molly is a teenager now, happily living with her grandmother. Things changed while Gert was away, and there's no way to go back to the way things used to be.

The first arc of the book establishes some core themes which will continue to be relevant for the rest of its run: change, growing up, and family bonds. Gert is the heart of the book, despite her vociferous denials of that being her role. She is the driving force behind reuniting the Runaways, and her character is explored in this book more than it ever was in the Vaughn run - her negative self-image, which she hides behind an acid tongue, is a recurring focus. Of note is a scene where she discovers that her purple hair, which had previously set her apart and helped her to feel as if there was something special about her, has become a common fashion statement in the time she spent being dead. Her relationship with Chase is also examined - the age gap that now exists between them precludes any resumption of dating, and she eventually gets together with Victor - but Chase still loves her despite himself, and holds out hope that things can change when Gert gets older and the age gap is less of an issue. It's a little creepy, but psychologically understandable, as is his giving into temptation when a future version of Gert appears and practically throws herself at him.

Rowell's focus on character is central to what makes the book work. There are few titanic threats and fewer supervillains; the drama in Rowell's Runaways is driven by the characters and their relationships to one another, which are given a fresh perspective due to the characters having aged and grown since the previous volume of the series. Molly struggles with the idea of growing up and having to face adult fears and responsibilities, especially when her best friend in middle school offers her a way to stay young forever. Nico struggles with the feelings she's realized for Karolina - picking back up a plot thread from Xavin's introductory arc - as Karolina struggles balancing university, supporting the Runaways, and being a good girlfriend, failing at the latter as Julie breaks up with her - but in the process allowing her and Nico to finally have the right timing.

Also complicating matters are Victor's Doombot friend, who becomes a recurring character and joins the main cast in the back half of the series, and Alex Wilder, who has returned as a living corpse, with the children of the Gibborim on his heels. Rowell's portrayal of Alex is one of the series' most interesting aspects, as a young man burdened by his past mistakes and whose inability to acknowledge or account for them prevents any reconciliation with his one-time friends, and leads him to continue making the same mistakes over again. The only bond with the group he is able to maintain is with Molly, the only other Runaway who still misses her parents, and they have some very sweet interactions in a spotlight issue which serves as a look at what things could be like if Alex was willing to own up and atone for how he's hurt the others. His arc is left unresolved, though, for reasons we'll get more into in a bit. Doombot, meanwhile, has a brief storyline in which he comes to grips with his sense of individuality separate from the programming he was given by Doctor Doom, but other than that his primary role in the series is to serve as a caretaker, of sorts, to the kids, as well as a source of consistent comic relief.

That's another thing about this series: it's very funny! Much of the humor is character- and interaction-based, which is very much my style of humor in comics, but there's also some really nice sight gags and creative use of lettering and sound effects to create jokes. A lot of the humor in the original series can be hit-or-miss, in particular a lot of the more dated references, so the humor in this volume is a refreshing change of pace.

Following the fight with the children of the Gibborim - one of whom, Gib, sides with the group and becomes their newest member - the series enters its midpoint, in which Karolina drops out of college and begins moonlighting as a superhero as an unhealthy outlet for her anxiety, which ultimately ends up dragging the other Runaways into the orbit of Doc Justice, one of Los Angeles' premier superheroes, who outfits and equips the group as his new J-Team. I'm conflicted on this arc for a few reasons. The first is that it interrupts what I felt was an interesting arc for Karolina using superheroics as a coping mechanism, which I felt wasn't explored fully before Doc Justice showed up. On the other hand, though, the arc really gives Gert the spotlight after some time of having it off of her, and she's really able to shine as the one Runaway excluded by Doc Justice due to her weight and lack of powers, both key elements of her own negative self-image which haven't gotten a lot of focus since the early arcs of the series. Further, the arc serves to drive home the point that the Runaways are not superheroes and that Runaways is not a superhero book in the traditional sense. Seeing everyone in spandex and responding to distress calls just feels wrong. And Doc Justice is a great villain for the series: a conceited superhero obsessed with fame and media attention, who has systematically arranged the deaths of various teammates over the years in order to maximize sympathy and publicity. It's all very Hollywood. The ultimate downside of the Doc Justice arc, I think, is that after it's done, the series only has seven issues left. The eternal curse of Runaways, to have each volume cut too short, rears its head once again, and in using one of its final arcs to make a meta-commentary on the series as a whole, it sacrifices some opportunities for the character interactions and interpersonal drama that really make the book shine.

The final arc makes an effort to pivot back to that interpersonal drama, including a delightfully fucked-up romance between Chase and a future version of Gert who has traveled back in time to supposedly save him from himself, which blows up as you might it imagine it would once present Gert and Victor stumble across them. There's also a plot thread of Molly, Chase, and Nico helping a visiting Wolverine and Pixie track down a mutant who sent a distress message, in which Nico very nearly kisses Pixie due to her established character flaw of getting caught up in the moment, and it seems like she and Karolina are going to have an honest conversation about it - only for the conversation to instead be about the frankly much less interesting conflict Nico has been facing about the evil sorcerer whose spirit is housed in the Staff of One, and who is taking a piece of her soul every time she casts a spell. It's a conflict that could be interesting if more focus was placed upon it, but it's the subject of one issue prior to this and the end of the series means that it ends up going nowhere beyond Nico entrusting Karolina with the staff in the end. That's a major flaw in this run, though one that isn't entirely its own fault - its abrupt end means plot threads, like future Gert's abduction of Chase, Nico's conflict with the spirit of the Staff of One, and Alex's usurpation of the Doc Justice mantle, are left hanging.

It really is unfortunate, and makes the time spent on the Doc Justice arc, which probably could have taken four issues instead of a frankly indulgent seven, feel even more egregious and unnecessary with hindsight. This series has a leisurely pace, which is good when it allows character interactions and dynamics to stretch out and have maximum impact, but it also means that at the end, when everything has to wrap up relatively quickly due to the amount of time taken in previous arcs, there's a disorienting and frantic energy, like trying to get your room cleaned five minutes before your parents get home. In particular, the last issue crams a ton of stuff in, to an exhausting degree - Karolina summons her people to take her into space and treat her for injuries she sustained in Doc Justice's efforts to martyr her, future Gert enacts her plan to kidnap Chase into the timestream, Gert's time traveling parents show up for some reason, Alex is surveilling the team for reasons unknown, Xavin is now a general of Karolina's people... it's a lot to leave on a cliffhanger.

Rowell's Runaways is a good book, and I do recommend it, either on its own or, preferably, after reading the original 2000s run. It does a great job of moving the characters forward, maturing them, and giving them more adult problems to deal with, while maintaining the series' core themes of identity, questioning authority, and anxiety towards adulthood. It simply doesn't have enough issues left at the end to resolve all of its plot threads, and that is what ultimately holds it back from being great. 38 issues is a good run, better than any volume of Runaways before it was able to achieve, but its pacing choices and the number of plates it attempts to keep in the air leave the reader wanting more.

But, to its credit, it succeeds in making me really care about what that "more" could be.

Part Three: Run Away With Me

Volume 5 of Runaways ended with issue 38, cover date October 2021. It outlasted the TV show it was meant to tie in with by two years - a TV show that was eventually pulled from streaming as a cost-cutting measure. In the years since the series concluded, not much has been happening in that corner of the Marvel Universe. The characters have made few, if any, appearances, and there's been no talk of a sixth volume, despite the plot threads left hanging.

Well, that sucks, you know? Runaways is such a unique series with such a special voice and perspective in superhero comics, and it deserves a place in Marvel's publication roster as much as the millionth Spider-Man or X-Men spinoff does. It has never sold spectacularly, but it has an audience and, crucially, has always been good for its originally intended purpose: giving Marvel a backdoor into the teen and young adult market that has for decades now largely eschewed comic books. Manga sales now account for nearly half of all comics sold in the United States, and while Marvel now mainly serves as an IP farm for adaptation into the much more lucrative MCU, I think there's value in a series like Runaways that's able to tap into that YA market in a way Marvel's other books aren't able to.

I think with the right creative team, Runaways could easily become a solid seller that is able to have a respectable run of issues. Volume 3, as well as the original Vaughn run, prove that this is possible. I would seek out a writer like Mark Waid, whose bread and butter is character work and who was able to revitalize Archie's comic line to appeal to YA readers, or Ryan North, whose Fantastic Four is one of Marvel's best titles right now primarily on the strength of its character dynamics, or David Willis of Dumbing of Age, whose work for the past decade has entirely centered on young adults finding themselves, to take over the reins of a revival, someone with established chops in the genre. Pair them with a quality artist - think Chris Samnee or Todd Nauck, and I think there's a recipe there for a hit.

I hope we see Runaways come back again, sooner rather than later. Another eight year hiatus would be unbearable.

G-d help me, I wanna see these crazy kids again, and see where the road takes them.

FINAL SCORE: 3.5/5. A good comic.

[huntfeld]

In the Shadows of My Heart

Pairing: Enid Sinclair x Reader

Summary: The reader loves Enid Sinclair, who is dating Ajax. At the Rave’N, the reader confesses their feelings, leading to a turning point in their relationship.

———

The hallways of Nevermore Academy were always filled with a mix of creatures, each more peculiar than the last, but it was the same familiar sight that captured your attention day after day: Enid Sinclair. She was a whirlwind of color in a school that thrived on darker aesthetics. Her laughter danced in the air, brightening even the most dreary corners of the academy.

Yet today, your heart felt heavier than usual. Enid was walking hand in hand with Ajax, the laid-back guy with the sharp wit and an easy smile. The sight should’ve filled you with joy; they were cute together, after all. But the knot in your stomach twisted tighter with each passing moment.

“Hey, are you coming to the Rave’N tonight?” Enid called back to you, her voice bright and inviting.

You forced a smile, waving your hand dismissively. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

“Come on! You’ll miss all the fun!” She bounced on her feet, and for a moment, you could see her colorful energy illuminating the entire hallway. But Ajax tugged at her hand, and she turned to him, her eyes sparkling with affection.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be there,” Ajax said, leaning in to whisper something that made Enid giggle.

As they walked away, your heart sank deeper. You’d watched Enid from the sidelines, cherishing every moment shared in fleeting glances and laughter, all while keeping your feelings tightly locked away. It was hard not to feel the weight of your unspoken words; you loved her. But how could you compete with Ajax?

Days turned into weeks, and as Enid and Ajax’s relationship blossomed, your longing only intensified. She would sit beside you during classes, her shoulder brushing against yours as she whispered jokes and offered encouragement when you felt overwhelmed. There was an undeniable chemistry, a warmth that spread through you, but it always felt like a ghost lingering just out of reach.

One afternoon, while studying in the library, you watched her across the table. She was animated, sharing a funny story with Wednesday, but then she looked over at you, her gaze lingering just a second too long. Your breath hitched, and your heart raced, feeling an electric connection, but Ajax was nearby, flipping through a book with a lazy smile.

“Hey,” Enid said, leaning closer. “Do you think you could help me with my history project later? Ajax has plans with his buddies, and I could use a study partner.”

The invitation made your heart leap. “Of course! I’d love to.”

As the sun began to set, casting warm hues across the library, you packed your things, nerves fluttering in your stomach. Enid stayed behind, waiting for Ajax to finish chatting with some friends. You tried to focus on your work, but your mind was buzzing with thoughts of her.

When Enid finally joined you outside, her eyes sparkled. “Thanks for helping me! I always feel more confident when we study together.”

You both made your way to a quieter part of the campus, the soft rustle of leaves surrounding you like a cocoon. “You’re amazing, you know that?” you said, glancing at her, your heart racing. “You always brighten my day.”

Enid’s cheeks flushed a light pink. “Really? I thought you just put up with me.”

“Never,” you replied, feeling brave. “You make everything better, Enid.”

For a moment, the air felt charged between you, a stillness that seemed to pulse with unspoken words. But then, the distant sound of laughter echoed, and you both turned to see Ajax waving at her, calling her over. The moment shattered.

“I should go,” she said reluctantly, biting her lip. “But I’ll see you later, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

As she walked away, your heart sank again. You watched her go, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. But this time, you knew you had to act before it was too late.

That evening at the Rave’N, the atmosphere buzzed with excitement. Colorful lights flashed as students danced and laughed. You leaned against a wall, hoping to see Enid, but it was hard to shake off the gloom hanging over you.

Then, through the crowd, you spotted her. Enid was laughing with Ajax, but her eyes scanned the room, searching. When they landed on you, something shifted in her expression. She slipped away from Ajax’s side and made her way over, her energy infectious.

“Hey!” she said, eyes bright. “You came!”

“Yeah, I wanted to see you… and have some fun.” Your heart raced, knowing you had to speak up. “Enid, can we talk?”

“Of course! What’s up?” She looked genuinely curious.

You took a deep breath, the music pulsing around you. “I know you’re with Ajax, and I don’t want to ruin anything, but… I can’t hide how I feel anymore. I really like you, Enid. Like, really like you.”

Enid’s expression changed, surprise etched on her face, but there was something else—relief? “I… I like you too,” she whispered, glancing back at Ajax. “But I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“What?” Your heart leaped, a rush of hope flooding through you.

“I thought maybe if I acted normal, it would go away,” she admitted, her eyes shining. “But I can’t ignore how I feel, especially when I’m with you.”

You took a step closer, the space between you charged with tension. “So, what do we do?”

Enid’s gaze flickered to Ajax, who was chatting with some friends a few feet away. “I don’t want to hurt him, but… I can’t keep pretending I don’t care about you.”

“Then don’t,” you said, taking her hands in yours, feeling her warmth. “Tell him how you feel. We deserve to be happy too.”

With a determined nod, Enid squeezed your hands. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him. I just… I want you to be a part of my life.”

The music faded into the background as the world around you blurred. The only thing that mattered was this moment, the spark of possibility igniting between you.

“Then let’s start with this dance,” you said, leading her to the dance floor. As the music enveloped you, Enid’s laughter rang out, bright and free, and for the first time, you felt a sense of hope.

As the song shifted to a slower rhythm, Enid stepped closer, her heart racing in the same way yours was. You could feel her warmth radiating, and for a moment, you both lost yourselves in each other’s eyes.

“Enid, you’re the most incredible person,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the music. “I don’t want to keep feeling like this without knowing how you feel.”

“I don’t want to either,” she replied, her voice earnest. “You make me feel so alive. I just… I didn’t know how to break it to Ajax.”

Before you could respond, Enid glanced toward Ajax, who was now surrounded by a group of friends, oblivious to the turmoil brewing between you two. “I need to do this,” she said, determination shining in her eyes.

“Okay. Just… just be honest with him,” you encouraged, your heart pounding with anticipation and anxiety.

Taking a deep breath, Enid turned and walked back toward Ajax. You watched as she approached him, your heart in your throat. Ajax smiled at her, but Enid’s expression was serious. She took a moment, speaking softly, and you could see the tension growing between them.

Ajax’s smile faded as he listened, and for a moment, the world felt still. You couldn’t hear their conversation over the music, but you could see the surprise in his eyes, then a flicker of sadness.

You felt a wave of empathy wash over you, knowing this wasn’t easy for her. But you also felt a spark of hope. Whatever Enid was saying, she was finally expressing herself.

After a tense moment, Ajax nodded, his expression resigned, and Enid stepped back. She looked slightly shaken but resolute, and when her gaze met yours, your heart soared.

“Enid!” you called, stepping through the crowd to reach her. “Did you—?”

“I broke up with him,” she said, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “It felt right, like I had to do it. But it was still hard.”

You stepped closer, the noise of the Rave’N fading into the background as you cupped her face with your hands, wiping away the lingering uncertainty. “I’m proud of you. That took a lot of courage.”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with relief and determination. “And now I want to focus on what we could be.”

In that moment, the world around you faded completely, leaving just the two of you. Enid stepped forward, closing the distance between you, and before you knew it, she kissed you—soft and tentative at first, but then deepening as the weight of all those unspoken feelings poured out between you.

The kiss felt electric, like a spark igniting a fire. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer, as the warmth radiated between you. It was everything you had dreamed of and more. When you finally pulled away, both breathless, a smile broke out on Enid’s face, brighter.

———

[iamthedevilsminion]

You mentioned you had thoughts on art in iwtv? Something about Louis and photography?

yes, i did! in this post, i had a brief aside about louis and photography in comparison to daniel. a quick warning, i'm pretty black and white about good and bad art in this, that's not something that works in life about art. for the sake of this though, bear with me.

art and vampires is a really interesting topic; almost all the main cast has some point of connection to the arts. marius and painting, lestat with acting and music, louis with photography, armand with directing the theatre. claudia and journalling. i'm going to count daniel's journalism here too, i'll come back to that a little later.

specifically, these are all ways to connect to the world around them, and almost all of them fail spectacularly. marius' works haven't really survived him, he is an unknown name among his venetian contemporaries. lestat is not perceived as being "a real vampire", instead someone running off the clout of daniel's book. louis is desperately trying to connect to the world, but the only "good" work of his portfolio is someone else's.

and a very specific aspect of their artworks are an attempt to mimic, capture, and connect to life and living. and even more specifically, they're all failing.

marius as a painter, had to stage his references. each painting is a facsimile of a staged moment. it's noted that his works are often references to other, more esteemed painters. he has the skill, but is missing the eye required. marius is only ever creating imitations. there is no connection there, no understanding. his work is beautiful, certainly, he loved his aesthetics and maintained them through painting, but it is, at the end of it, a failed connection. he isn't actually interacting with the world, with life and humanity, he's still locked away in his tower crafting an idea of life that he thinks looks beautiful to the eye.

lestat, as an actor, is always performing; all the world's a stage. there is a struggle for genuine connections because he cannot move beyond the role he's assigned himself. his interactions with humans is coloured by the the person he is attempting to be within those interactions, and it leaves him unable to be genuine. we get little flashes of him being honest, such as the conversation with louis' family in early s1, with big emotions, but there is always an element of public performance. when he becomes a rock star, his attempts at honesty are twisted on him because of the book. it's not the vampire lestat, it's lestat the vampire from the book interview with the vampire. it's twisted into another role to play. a chance at connection lost.

armand is interesting, as he's been the subject of paintings, never true manifestations of himself, but as a role, an aesthetic. then, of course, he also directs -- and sometimes performs -- at the théâtre des vampires. he structures the performance in the same way that he leads conversations. there is an ideal outcome, a way that allows the audience the best experience, that portrays the right themes. his interactions with everyone are played like this. he pulls the strings; once more with feeling. there is no connection there, he sees players, not people. even the way he hunts has a script; gentleman death. armand also seeks this in other people. i've spoken about it a lot here, how he tries to live vicariously through other people, and i think this is only exemplified by his attitudes as a director.

louis' photography is the most literal translation to completely missing the point of his form. photography is meant to capture moments; there is something about photography as a medium that works so well in a connecting with humanity and life. to take a photo, and make the moment live forever. however for louis, it isn't. the best shot he captures in the show is a moment of vulnerability from armand, a spur of the moment shot that does successfully capture him. but he captured an immortal, his subject is going to live forever. and he walks each night looking for photographs to take. his camera is up at all times, he is not living in the moment, not living life. he's put a literal barrier between him and the world at large.

another little aside, but there's also something to be said about the way louis views art, as a dealer. he isn't viewing artwork for arts sake, he is looking at it for profit, and i think this is also a big tell about how he views the world.

daniel is an interesting aspect of this. he has spent his life succeeding at connecting with life. looking for stories about people who have slipped through the cracks. he knows people, how they live, how they love. he's seen the worst and best of humanity, and how complicated people are, and i think that while he has a distance between him and his subjects, there is a connection there that the others cannot make. this makes his transition into vampirism really interesting; will he maintain this level of connection? will he keep living? can he?

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Speaking of twst events, what are your Top 3 Favourite game events so far? I'm genuinely curious. :'DD

Are there any events you didn't like?

[Referencing this post!]

Mmmm… I think most events are at least okayish? In general, I tend to prefer stories with high stakes or the ones that have some meaningful impact on character development, which are few and far between when it comes to TWST 😅 so their events aren’t typically my thing! You’ll notice that my favorite events in TWST actually do have story and/or character relevance.

That being said!! My favorite events would have to be:

Glorious Masquerade — This is, in my opinion, TWST’s strongest story and best overall event. It stands out against the others by having actual stakes and fully committing to it, as well as does wonders for the SSR trio’s involvement and interests in taking down the Big Bad. This is particularly true of Idia and Malleus. Said Big Bad, Rollo, is also very compelling in his own right.

Wish Upon a Star — Historically, this was the first time we saw the student’s rooms! The story itself introduced us to Star Rogue, which was pivotal to the Shrouds’ childhood (and later becomes relevant again in book 6). It was sweet to see Deuce try so hard to get Idia to come out of his shell, and even sweeter to see how far Idia is willing to push himself for his brother.

Fairy Gala: What If (NOT the first Fairy Gala; this is an important distinction!) — The edge this has over the original is that it is connected to Ortho’s growth as an individual post-book 6. He is able to discover his own take on what “evolution” is. Silver also gets a cool spotlight which demonstrates the pacifist teachings he was imparted with, serving as the bridge between fae and humans. Very pretty clothes and makeup too!!

I also liked:

Happy Beans Day I and II — This was a nice event that gave the whole cast their time to shine without feeling too bloated. It was also fun to see the different strategies and tactics each student employed; it helps show off their characters and problem solving abilities!

Ghost Marriage — I really liked that TWST parodied the fairy tale love stories and romantic events (that Disney and even mobile games in general are typically associated with). Hilarious how each of the guys tried and failed because they’re just silly high school students with no idea how to actually get a date 😂 I’m also biased for any outfit that involves formal wear.

White Rabbit Festival (Queendom of Roses hometown event) — The Alice in Wonderland aesthetic of Clock Town captured my heart 😌 It was also nice to see Deuce prove that he has turned over a new leaf to the townspeople.

The events I didn’t care for are:

Endless Halloween Night — I have very strong beef with the ending and the reasoning given for it 💀 It feels like everyone got gaslit into forgiveness… I also hated how no one held Malleus fully accountable after all the stress they were put through. Easily my most disliked event.

Tamashina Mina (Sunset Savanna hometown event) — Underwhelming ending in spite of the hype building for it. No meaningful payoff for the foreshadowing of Cheka’s guards.

Tsumsted Wonderland I and II — Nothing really happens (other than I guess the Tsums being cute)?? And it doesn’t really make an impact on anything.

Lost in the Book with Stitch — Same issue(s) as the Tsumsted events, except somehow even worse because everyone magically forgets everything they did with Stitch :/ so the experience means nothing in the long term…

Honorable mentions for my dislikes:

All Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles — I hate having to sit around and wait for ingredients and the fact that you can’t cook multiple dishes in one go. The lack of story also makes these events just not worth it for me.

Sam’s New Year Sale(s) and TWST Anniversary — Do these event count as a story event???? They’re just kinda celebratory short interactions, if anything.

[wooliguns]

iii. take me back to the light, i know you were way too bright for me; i’m hopeless, broken

Venti tries his absolute best to stay still, hoping Albedo will capture the aesthetic essence he aims for in his latest sketch. However, staying perfectly motionless proves more difficult than expected—his nose itches and an annoying yawn threatens to break free. He’s determined not to let it ruin things, but, well, that resolve lasts until he notices the telltale quirk forming at the corner of Albedo’s lips.

“Unbelievable,” Venti mutters, unceremoniously letting the book he’s been balancing on his head topple onto the grass. He kneels, scowling. “Oh, so that’s how it is. Still-life, my ass. Didn’t think I’d live to see the day you’d betray me, Albedo.” His voice drips with exaggerated flatness.

Albedo, ever the composed and good-natured pest, chuckles. He sets his sketchpad down and pencil, revealing his ruse. Blank. There’s nothing on the damn page. “I’m sorry,” he rumbles, not sounding the least bit sorry. “You looked so eager to pose. I couldn’t help but play along.” His aquamarine eyes glint waywardly under the sunlight, making him look utterly angelic despite being the unalloyed bane of Venti’s existence right now.

“Oh, I hate you. Hope you know that,” Venti says with a huff, even though, realistically, he could never hate Albedo. Not if the guy one day decided to step on his face and spit on his shoes, he would still probably shrug it off with a grin.

Albedo doesn’t reply, just smiles victoriously as he pulls his golden hair into a neat ponytail. He starts setting up for an actual drawing session this time, which is the least he can do after wasting Venti’s precious minutes.

Slightly mollified, Venti sidles up closer to him, his annoyance ebbing as he becomes enthralled by the scattered sketches piled around Albedo’s feet. The artist’s talent, irritatingly impressive as always, radiates from every line on every page. Venti’s gaze lands on a particular drawing of Klee, Albedo’s younger stepsister, and beams.

“She just turned eleven,” Albedo informs casually, conceivably noticing Venti’s interest.

Venti immediately glows brighter, then soon after crumples into melodramatic woe. “What?! Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve gotten her a gift! Or—or baked her something!”

Albedo shrugs, unbothered as he slides more sketches into a clear binder. “I didn’t think about it at the time. Sorry.”

“Ugh, valid. But next time, tell me.” Venti spins around and pulls his phone out, fingers flying across the screen. “What’s her birthday? I’m setting an alarm so you can’t escape me again.”

“Twenty-seventh,” Albedo replies.

Venti types furiously and then pockets his phone with a triumphant grin. “Got it. I’ll get her something amazing.”

“It’s okay, you really don’t have to,” Albedo tells him, calmly, albeit sounding a little concerned too. His soft puppy-dog eyes are nearly enough to make Venti hesitate—but only nearly.

“I want to,” Venti insists, indignant. “I missed her birthday; let me make it up to her! Besides, I’m getting paid this week, so it’s settled.”

With a sigh, Albedo relents. “Fine. Do what you like.”

Venti flops back onto the grass, folding his arms behind his head as the sun warms his face. Victory tastes sweet.

They lounge in their usual campus park spot from there. While Venti practices the ukulele he borrowed from the music hall (being broke is an art form he’s mastered), Albedo takes advantage of his unexpected free time. His professor had canceled class, leaving him with no pressing obligations—besides badgering Venti, apparently.

Venti’s gaze drifts toward the school gates, where he spots Xingqiu walking with someone. In an instant, Venti is up like a sprightly meerkat, waving wildly. “Hey!”

Xingqiu notices him immediately, beaming as he pivots toward their tree. He tugs his companion along, breaking into an easy jog to reach them.

“Barbatos!” Xingqiu greets with a laugh, and Venti jumps to his feet, ready to match the energy.

“Well, well, who’s this?” Venti quips, grinning as he hip-checks Xingqiu.

“We just had lunch off-campus,” Xingqiu explains, gesturing to his companion. “Oh, by the way—this is my best friend, Chongyun. Chongyun, meet Venti and Albedo.”

At the name, Venti squints at the new boy. Ice-blue hair? Check. Cat-like eyes? Check. Wait a minute…

“The kid from the topmost loos!” Venti exclaims, pointing at Chongyun with wide eyes.

Chongyun’s eyes shift nervously between Venti, Albedo, and Xingqiu before offering a sheepish smile. “Uh… yes, I guess we’ve met.”

“You have?” Xingqiu gasps, clearly affronted. A hand settles on his hip as he narrows his eyes. “How? And why wasn’t I informed? That’s sus.”

Venti arches a brow, already finding amusement in the dramatics. “What’s so suspicious about it? It was pure coincidence,” he conveys, smirking as he glances at Chongyun. “I was in a hurry to use the bathroom, and this guy was taking his sweet time.”

Xingqiu clears his throat, gaze flicking to Chongyun. “Hmm. I wonder why that is.”

Chongyun flushes a deep red, waving his hands defensively. “Nothing! I—I was just… struggling to zip my fly!”

The group collectively winces. Even Albedo, who has been serenely flipping through his sketches, momentarily pauses to grimace before returning to his task.

“I see,” Xingqiu utters flatly, his sigh heavy with resignation.

Venti bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. Still, his mind snags on something else entirely: Xingqiu’s recent confession. This Chongyun—the flustered, earnest boy Xingqiu’s been quietly pining for—is him.

“A-anyway!” Chongyun stammers, seemingly desperate to change the subject. “It’s nice to meet you properly. Again, I’m Chongyun. And you’re Venti, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Venti blinks. “You have?”

Chongyun nods, and his blush deepens as he scratches the back of his neck. “Xiao talks about you sometimes.”

Something warm sparks in Venti’s chest—flattery, maybe. Or disbelief. Or the terrifying realization that his beloved Xiao casually brings him up in conversation with strangers.

Taking Chongyun’s outstretched hand, Venti shakes it steadfastly, offering a wide grin. “Nice to meet you too, Chongyun.”

“That’s a surprise,” Albedo interjects without looking up. “I thought Venti knew everyone on campus.”

“Hehe, guess not!” Venti scratches at his nape.

“Honestly, I thought so too,” Xingqiu adds, grinning slyly.

With the formalities over, Chongyun and Xingqiu join them on the grass. Xingqiu pulls out a novel he’s been raving about lately, while Chongyun carefully situates his camera on his lap like it’s a priceless artifact. They sit close—very close—and Venti can’t help but watch them interact.

For one, Xingqiu laughs at everything Chongyun says, practically glowing. Chongyun, in turn, performs these oddly endearing little gestures, like miming exaggerated impressions or fixing the stray hairs on Xingqiu’s collar. The way they light up around each other is almost… sickeningly sweet.

Venti leans back against the tree, trying not to feel like a third wheel. Or a fourth wheel. Or a fifth, because Albedo is also here, ignoring everyone as he taps away on his phone.

Still, his mind drifts back to a conversation he had with Xingqiu not long ago—a confession of sorts, one that lingers in the back of his mind.

“Have you… ever been in love, Venti?” Xingqiu had asked one evening, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Fallen in love, Barbatos. You know, head over heels? Completely whipped? The kind of thing that makes you forget your own name because you’re too busy imagining their smile?”

Oh, if only you knew, Venti had thought.

“Hmm. I’ve been feeling that way lately,” Xingqiu had continued. “Like my heart’s too big for my chest, and I’m half convinced it might explode. It’s… unsettling.”

Venti had agreed, labeling it as fatal.

Because he knows. Archons, does he know…

Watching Xingqiu and Chongyun now, he can’t help but feel envious. Xingqiu had been so open about his feelings—so willing to hope. Venti, on the other hand, has been holding his own emotions hostage, trapped in a tangle of longing and fear.

He forces himself to look away when Chongyun gently brushes a crumb from Xingqiu’s cheek, eliciting a bashful flush from the boy.

Clearing his throat, Venti decides to meddle—because jealousy makes him petty, and Xingqiu deserves a tiny bit of embarrassment. “So, Chongyun,” he starts, all faux innocence, “which department are you from? Not that I’m ignoring the giant camera in your lap or anything, but I don’t want to assume.”

Chongyun glances up, smiling politely. “Photography.”

Venti hums, nodding. “Ah, that explains why you know Xiao,” he says, chest tightening at the mere mention of the name.

“Yeah, we have a few classes together. Xiao’s the top student. Professor Baizhu absolutely adores him,” Chongyun says, grinning with obvious admiration. “I actually look up to him. The guy’s just… great at what he does.”

Venti snorts a laugh, already expecting such praise. “Why am I not surprised? He’s a perfectionist, through and through. Trust me, I’d know—I’ve been his best friend for almost four years.”

And there it is, Venti thinks. Apparently, announcing his role in Xiao’s life to every new person he meets has become part of his personality. Not ideal, but what can you do? It’s the truth.

He shifts gears, trying to steer the conversation back to the two lovebirds sitting in front of him. “But what about you two? How long have you known each other?”

Chongyun and Xingqiu exchange a look, and it’s immediately clear who’s more affected by the question. Xingqiu blushes, a faint pink blooming across his freckled cheeks, before quickly looking away, fumbling with the bracelet on his wrist.

Venti detects it right away—especially because it matches the one on Chongyun’s wrist. How quaint. Matching accessories. Venti bites back a sigh of longing. Would Xiao ever agree to something like that with me? Probably not.

“Since elementary school,” Chongyun answers eventually, holding his hand up to count his fingers. “Yeah, I’m sure it was back then.”

“That’s a long time,” Venti muses, tilting his head as he ponders. “Even longer than Xiao and I.”

Chongyun hums in agreement, nodding with a small smile.

“And let me guess,” Venti continues, smirking as he glances at Xingqiu, whose head is practically buried in his chest at this point. “You share some classes too?”

“Yup!” Chongyun says cheerfully, completely oblivious to Xingqiu’s growing discomfort, perhaps.

Venti leans back with a knowing grin. “How sweet,” he drawls, regarding Xingqiu who looks like he wants to sink into the grass and disappear, the poor lad’s face as red as a ripe tomato.

Alright, fine. I’ll let them off the hook, Venti decides. Everyone’s just a mess over someone around here, himself included. He really has no room to judge.

And just as that thought crosses his mind, he catches on a figure moving through the far end of the park. Even from a distance, Xiao is pronounced and sexily attractive in his jet-black hooded jacket and track pants, the loose fabric bunched up to reveal flashes of pale skin above his multi-colored Vans high-tops—a neon dissonance of green, purple, blue, and yellow, and… gods above, Venti mewls, sighing dreamily. Xiao could be wearing a potato sack and he’d still look cool, the hottest in Venti’s eyes… It’s infuriating, really, like damn it. He’s so effortlessly stylish, so skilled and keen, always putting himself together as if life were a runway. One of the many reasons Venti is utterly, hopelessly, permanently in love with him.

…Trailing behind Xiao is the usual gaggle of girls, giggling and whispering as they follow him across the park. Venti doesn’t even bother being jealous anymore. This is just how things are when you’re Xiao.

Still, he can’t help himself. He waves enthusiastically, raising an arm as if trying to steal his best friend’s attention from across a crowd.

Xiao glances in their direction and waves back, donning a neutral facial expression. A couple of the girls following him squint at Venti, likely wondering who’s earned such a rare acknowledgment, but Venti couldn’t care less. Instead, he focuses on how Xiao shifts his grip on a tripod in one hand and his DSLR camera in the other, turning to climb the staircase toward the upper levels of campus.

Venti can only watch him go, his heart sinking with every step the guy takes out of view.

“You’re so smitten,” Xingqiu suddenly drawls.

Venti whips his head around, fixing him with his most smug assertion. “Ha-ha. Look who’s talking.”

The boy tenses, his blush somehow deepening to a dangerous shade of scarlet. “W-what—”

“Oh, nothing,” Venti sing-songs, stretching the words with faux chaste. “Just saying, your dear Chongyun seems to have no idea how red your face gets every time he looks at you.”

Xingqiu’s jaw drops, but Venti shoots him a cheeky grin before he can protest and opens his mouth as if to say more.

That’s all it takes. Xingqiu grabs Chongyun’s hand, dragging him to his feet in a frantic rush. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

“Huh?” Chongyun blinks in confusion, appearing like a lost puppy. “But I thought we still had a few minutes? I was going to—”

“We don’t,” Xingqiu grits, discomfiture apparent now. “I just remembered—I need to stop by the library. Immediately. Let’s go.”

And just like that, they’re gone, leaving Venti and Albedo sitting alone under the tree.

Albedo snorts softly, looking up from his phone for the first time in a while. “Completely oblivious,” he murmurs.

“Painfully so,” Venti agrees, folding his arms over his chest, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

**

Venti doesn’t mind going home alone—not this time, anyway. When he texts Xiao to ask if they’ll be heading back together, the guy informs him that he’s tied up with a shoot and suggests Venti go ahead without him. Fair enough. Venti is more than ready to crash and call it a day, especially with tomorrow’s golden opportunity looming ahead: Saturday.

No classes. No coursework. No recitals. Just blissful freedom.

Sure, he has a morning shift at Cat’s Tail, but after that? He plans to plant himself on the couch, binge-watch whatever strikes his fancy, and fully embrace his inner couch potato. Just the thought of it has him grinning as he pushes open the door to their dorm.

“Home sweet home,” he purrs, wiggling his hips in delight as he tosses his keys into the bowl by the door. For once, he even bothers to line up his shoes neatly on the rack. Xiao would be so proud, he muses. Might even treat me to skewers for this feat of domesticity.

The dorm is quiet and spacious, much larger than most student housing, thanks to Xiao’s insistence on having ‘sufficient personal space’ and, well, his wallet. Xiao had been the one to pick the place, make the down payment, and ensure it was conveniently located near his sister’s dorm. Not that Venti’s complaining—having his own room, a shared living area, and a decent kitchen was a major upgrade from the shoe boxes he’d toured before Xiao came into the picture.

Ambling into the kitchen, Venti pulls open the fridge with his signature shit-eating grin—only to find it nearly empty. He sighs, shoulders slumping, already drafting a mental note to restock. He briefly considers texting Xiao about it but dismisses the idea. He’s got enough on his plate, Venti rationalizes. This is a tomorrow problem.

For now, he settles for reheating two slices of frozen mushroom pizza, demolishing them like a starving feral cat, and downing two glasses of water with the grace of a fish out of water. The loud, echoing burp he lets loose afterward is just icing on the cake.

When he finally crashes into his room, he checks his phone one last time for any messages from Xiao. Nothing. Shrugging, he succumbs to sleep, determined to wake early for work.

**

As it turns out, Xiao came home around midnight, skipping dinner since he’d eaten at the set, and headed straight to bed. He updated Venti about it the following morning, over a quick exchange before their schedules diverged.

**

By 8 AM the following day, Venti is at Cat’s Tail in his uniform: pale blue collared shirt, black slacks, a yellow plaid apron tied at the waist, and the shop’s signature pink hat complete with cat ears. His hair is tucked neatly into a hairnet beneath the hat, and he’s ready to tackle the pre-opening duties: tidying up, organizing supplies, and making sure the shop is as picture-perfect as its pastel aesthetic demands.

Cat’s Tail is a gem of an ice cream parlor, its interior designed to charm every visitor. The walls are immaculately white, decorated with beige and pink paw prints and playful kittens in soft pastel hues. The sky-blue tables match the bar-style stools, while cozy booths line the corners.

Outside, yellow-and-white umbrellas provide shade for the patio seating, surrounded by white wooden fences that give the place a quaint, cheerful vibe. The shop’s hot pink double doors are a bold touch that somehow works, a nod to the rumored influence of the owner’s daughter, Diona.

This place wasn’t always the sweet, family-friendly hangout it is today. It used to be a rowdy pub, where night-shift workers and weary men drowned their sorrows. But when Mr. Draff, the owner, had his daughter, everything changed. The inn was transformed into an ice cream establishment—a cooler, happier space to match the new chapter of his family’s life.

Venti finds the history oddly heartwarming, even if the cat-themed hat feels a little ridiculous at times. He adjusts it with a fond sigh as he wipes down the counter.

“Kaeya, have you seen Fischl? She was supposed to help me set up the toppings,” he calls after a bit more tinkering, addressing his co-worker, Kaeya—the ever-charismatic roommate of Diluc. The two of them met through the man himself, a friendship born of Venti’s frequent visits to Angel’s Share. Kaeya had casually mentioned Cat’s Tail one evening, and Venti, always on the lookout for more mora, decided to apply. Now here they are, slinging soft serve together.

A head crowned with sun-kissed skin pokes out of the walk-in fridge, Kaeya’s trademark grin lighting up the room. That grin, Venti decides, is worth bottling. Kaeya is like a sunbeam personified—fun, easy-going, and seemingly untouched by the tribulations of life. Venti doesn’t say it often, but he’s grateful for Kaeya’s energy. It’s like free therapy.

“She’s in here with me,” the man answers with a chuckle, stepping fully into view. “I’ll send her your way.”

“Barbatos, yo!” Fischl’s voice precedes her, and soon she’s traipsing out of the fridge, carrying a gallon of butterscotch ice cream. She strides to the dispenser, securing the tub in place. Without missing a beat, she dips a scooper into the icy contents and sets it aside before joining Venti to help sort the toppings. Fischl never needs to be told twice, one of the many reasons Venti tolerates her penchant for theatrical outbursts.

Meanwhile, Noelle is manning the syrup pumps, meticulously wiping the machines until they shine. She mops up a stray stain on the floor with almost military precision. The girl’s dedication to keeping things spotless is so eminent that even Mr. Draff sings her praises. If cleanliness is next to godliness, Noelle might as well be the Archon of Tidy.

At exactly 9:30 AM, the doors open, and customers trickle in. The morning crowd is manageable—two or three regulars at a time. Venti expertly taps away at the register while Fischl and Noelle handle the dispensers. Kaeya flits between tables, spraying and wiping surfaces while flashing his signature smile at anyone who looks his way.

Two hours pass in the usual blur of orders, scoops, and toppings. Then, blessedly, it’s break time.

Venti usually spends his fifteen-minute break sitting around, occasionally buzzing a table while keeping an eye on incoming customers. Today, however, a familiar pair of voices cuts through the mellow music.

“Barbatos!” Xiangling calls, bounding into view with Hu Tao in tow. The two are dressed casually—Xiangling in a black tee and blue jacket over gray leggings, while Hu Tao pairs her own black tee with denim shorts. Venti raises a brow because, hey, matching shirts? Interesting. Date vibes?

“Hey! What brings you two here?” he asks, standing up from one of the double booths he’s claimed for break-time loitering. Xiangling greets him with a quick peck on the cheek, followed by Hu Tao doing the same. Venti snickers inwardly; these two are always full of surprises.

“We were talking about what to eat, and Hu said she was craving something sweet,” Xiangling explains cheerfully. “So, Cat’s Tail it is!”

Hu Tao nods sagely, hands clasped behind her back. “It’s a good choice,” she says, as if this were some profound decision.

“Alright, then! What’ll it be?” Venti asks, stepping toward the counter, instinctively ready to serve. Xiangling and Hu Tao follow, stopping at the glass-covered dispensers where Fischl and Noelle are hard at work.

“Hey, Amy, Noelle,” Xiangling greets, peering at the neatly labeled mills of soft serve. She hums thoughtfully, licking her lips. “I’ll have Neapolitan, please. In a glass for here.”

Noelle springs into action, trilling, “Coming right up!” with her usual efficiency.

Hu Tao takes her time deciding, her pensive expression almost comical. Finally, she settles on Moose Tracks in a sugar cone. “No toppings,” she adds, waving Venti’s suggestion off with a dismissive flick of her wrist.

“Suit yourself,” Venti quips, grinning.

Xiangling, meanwhile, requests marshmallows and a cherry on top, paying for their orders before joining Hu Tao at a booth. Venti notices Xiangling trying to pull Hu Tao to sit beside her, only for Hu Tao to stubbornly plop down opposite her. Xiangling frowns but doesn’t push the matter.

From his vantage point, Venti watches the interaction, something niggling at the back of his mind. The usually rowdy Hu Tao is quieter today, her easy-going demeanor noticeably subdued. And Xiangling, ever the sunshine incarnate, seems… irresolute.

Are they in a fight? A disagreement? Venti furrows his brow, unsure if he should step in or leave them be. Knowing those two, it could be something as trivial as who forgot to save their progress in a co-op game.

Or… maybe it’s not so trivial.

Either way, he decides to give them space. “They’ll sort it out,” he mutters under his breath, pushing aside his concerns as he wipes down the counter. Probably.

He hopes so, anyway.

As he tidies up a set of glasses, his attention drifts back to Hu Tao and Xiangling, can’t help it, especially when what started as an unusually quiet interaction has now evolved into… something else. He bites his lip, and tips just a bit closer, trying not to make it obvious that he’s eavesdropping.

Alas, the two girls are gesturing wildly, Hu Tao’s hands cutting through the air with distinct exasperation while Xiangling frowns deeply, her eyes suspiciously glossy. Hu Tao’s mouth moves quickly—probably a blend of rebuttals and damage control—but Xiangling looks dubious, dipping her chin in what can only be described as distraught submission.

Then, like the flip of a coin, the tension dissolves. Hu Tao slides out of her seat and slips in beside Xiangling, resting her forehead against the shorter girl’s shoulder. Xiangling clings to Hu Tao’s arm like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded, burying her face into her friend—no, her something more—with a palpable need for comfort.

Venti pauses, a knot forming in his chest. He doesn’t know much about their relationship—if it’s even a relationship in the romantic sense—but he’s always suspected there’s something. He’s seen the tarrying glances, the subtle touches, the kind of closeness that goes beyond mere friendship. Today seems like confirmation, though he doesn’t think it’s his place to pry.

One day, he broods. Maybe they’ll tell me. Or I’ll just ask. Either way’s fine.

His thoughts are interrupted by Kaeya’s voice from behind him. “Break’s over, Barbatos. Back on the clock.”

“Alright,” he acquiesces, shaking himself out of his daze.

Hu Tao’s voice cuts through the low hum of the shop. “Barbatos, we’re off!”

He looks up just in time to see the two girls heading for the door, Hu Tao’s arm securely around Xiangling’s waist. Xiangling’s eyes are still red, though she’s smiling now. Hu Tao keeps her gaze ahead, solidly, her usually boisterous zeal reputably tempered.

“Okay, take care! And for the love of gods, stop fighting!” Venti calls after them.

Xiangling turns her head, her voice surprisingly chipper as she shouts back, “You don’t get to decide that! We’ll have our lovers’ quarrel if we want to!”

Venti grins but stops short when he catches the flush creeping up Hu Tao’s cheeks. It’s the first time he’s ever seen Hu Tao blush, and that alone almost makes him succumb to laughter. Fascinating.

“Guess they had a misunderstanding, huh?” Fischl comments, materializing beside him with her typical uncanny timing.

Venti glances over his shoulder. Kaeya is behind the till, Noelle serving two new customers at the soft-serve station. “Yeah, looks like it,” he says, exhaling. “No idea what it was about, though. This is the first time I’ve seen them actually fight.”

Fischl places her hands on her hips, tone turning dreamy. “Ah, young love.”

Venti snorts, rolling his eyes. “You talk like you’re eighty. It’s weird.”

Fischl shrugs, entirely unbothered. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t look eighty,” she retorts with a laugh, turning back to wipe the counter and align the tissue and straw dispensers with the fidelity of a millelith drill sergeant.

“Fair point,” Venti mutters, polishing a glass.

After a pause, Fischl asks, “So, how’s Xiao?”

Venti’s fingers falter for just a second, the glass in his hand almost slipping. “Oh, he’s fine. Doing a photoshoot right now,” he replies as evenly as he can, forcing a steady breath. Internally, his heart is somersaulting like it’s auditioning for the circus.

Fischl hums, and Venti swears she sounds suspicious. “I see. And how are things with him?”

Venti chokes on air, coughing discreetly into his fist. “What are you talking about? We’re cool. Busy with academics, sharing the bills, the usual,” he croons, doing his best to appear unbothered. If this were a poker game, he’d be losing miserably.

“Okay,” Fischl punctuates slowly, her tone heavy with doubt. “If you say so.”

Venti swallows, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. Thankfully, Fischl takes the hint.

“By the way,” she says, straightening. “We’re getting our salaries tomorrow. Mr. Draff mentioned it earlier. Have you got your card yet?”

“I have!” Venti grins, perking up at the mention of his long-awaited paycheck. “Finally! It’s about damn time. I waited forever for that stupid debit card.”

“Good!” Fischl exclaims, her grin matching his. “I’m buying myself a bird.”

“A… bird?” Venti echoes, blinking.

“Yes. A cockatiel, to be specific,” Fischl declares, full of conviction. “They’re intelligent, majestic creatures. Unlike some people I know,” she jests, shooting him a pointed look.

Venti laughs, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Enjoy your bird. Just don’t make it your new co-worker, okay? I’d like to keep my job.”

Fischl smirks. “No promises.”

As they return to their tasks, Venti shakes his head, chuckling. Work is never dull around here.

**

Around 5 PM, Ganyu arrives at Cat’s Tail to pick up Venti, just as they’d planned via text. She mentioned needing company for a mall trip and possibly a movie, and Venti had happily accepted. Perhaps, he’ll have his me-time next week, no biggie.

After clocking out, he swaps his work uniform for the casual outfit he’d packed earlier—black jeans, a loose white tee, and a lightweight blue cardigan.

“See you all next week!” he chirps, waving to his coworkers.

“Take care, Barbatos!” Kaeya calls back with a grin dazzling enough to outshine the shop’s pastel decor.

Hooking arms with Ganyu as they stroll to the subway, Venti asks, “So, what’s on the movie docket?”

Ganyu taps her cheek with a finger, her expression thoughtful. “I haven’t decided yet. Maybe we’ll just choose something when we get there? I’m not picky.” She smiles at him, soft and sweet.

Venti can only beam, nodding. “Sounds like a plan!”

The subway ride is uneventful, save for his bouncing ideas for potential movie genres: psychological thrillers, rom-coms, and a brief pitch for an absurdly campy sci-fi flick that Ganyu vetoes immediately with a laugh. After three stops, they disembark, the bustling mall just a short walk away.

The blast of air-conditioning as they enter feels like stepping into paradise, instantly cutting through the lingering warmth of the day. First on their agenda: shopping. Ganyu mentions needing a violet dress, but this somehow snowballs into her also picking up tank tops, a couple of shirts, and a pair of shoes. After withdrawing extra cash from a joint account she shares with Xiao and Qiqi, she explains, “Just in case.”

Venti, in the mood to be a gentleman, carries most of the bags, juggling them with surprising dexterity as they grab snacks—pretzels for him, churros for her.

“Shall we?” Ganyu gestures toward the cinema after they’ve loaded up on carbs.

They settle on a psychological horror film by A24, which, true to the studio’s reputation, turns out to be equal parts phenomenal and horrifying. The first shocking scene—a decapitation during a frantic car ride—earns a shriek from Venti that could probably register on a seismograph.

“Oh, grow up,” Ganyu teases, snickering as she nudges him.

“Grow up? I’m sorry, did we not just watch someone’s head snap off like it was a cheap bobblehead?!” Venti hisses, smacking her arm in return.

Their banter elicits a chorus of hissing ‘shhh’s from other patrons, forcing them to shrink into their seats, stifling laughter. The movie’s relentless tension keeps them gripping each other’s arms, half-hiding behind their hands, gasping and jumping at every twist. By the end, they’re a jittery mess, though exhilarated.

As they emerge from the theater, Venti still clutching the popcorn bucket like a battle trophy, they chatter animatedly about the film’s best scenes, debating the symbolism of certain shots. They nearly miss seeing Mona sitting alone at a table in a restaurant nestled just outside the cinema.

“Hey, that’s—” Venti begins, pointing.

But Ganyu grabs his wrist, pinning him mid-step. Her expression alters, her usually serene features drawn tight with tension. Her gaze fixes ahead, and Venti follows it.

Keqing.

The short-haired girl from the other day is heading toward Mona’s table, her confident stride faltering only as she approaches.

“What’s she doing here?” Ganyu whispers, trembling.

Venti swallows. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence?”

But he notices Ganyu’s hands tighten around the shopping bags, her knuckles turning white. Her cheeks are flushed, lips pressed thin. Venti’s curiosity spikes because… Why is Ganyu so rattled?

Just then—

He witnesses Keqing lean down toward Mona, seemingly going in for a cheek kiss, but the other girl subtly turns her head away, facial expression pinched with discomfort. The scene brims with awkward strain, and Venti’s eyebrows shoot up. What in Teyvat is going on here?

“Let’s go, Venti,” Ganyu whispers, sharply, voice cracking as she tugs on his arm.

“Wait, Ganyu—what—”

But she’s already dragging him away, weaving through the crowded mall with determined strides. They duck behind a pillar far from the restaurant, both out of breath.

“So, it is Mona,” he hears Ganyu mutter, staring at the ground, fists clenched at her sides.

“Okay, but… what just happened? Ganyu, I’m so lost right now,” he admits gently.

She doesn’t meet his eyes when she pleads, “I’ll tell you about it later, okay? Just… please, can we go home?”

Nodding, Venti doesn’t dither to escort her out of the mall, shelving the idea of finding Klee’s gift for another day. There’s still tomorrow, after all. Right now, his focus is on Ganyu, holding her hand firmly as they head to the subway. They ride the train back to the dormitory in near silence, Ganyu clutching her shopping bags and staring at the floor. Venti doesn’t press; he knows she’ll talk when she’s ready.

When they arrive, she quietly asks if they can talk in his room—just somewhere that isn’t hers. He agrees without hesitation. If Ganyu needs someone, he’ll be that someone.

As they step into the dorm, Venti announces their arrival, more out of habit than expectation. “We’re home!”

He doesn’t expect anyone to answer, so when Xiao perks up from his spot by the fish tank, it nearly gives him a heart attack.

“Oh, you’re together,” Xiao remarks, glancing at them as he sprinkles fish food into Cecilia’s tank.

Venti bristles. Xiao, of course, looks impossibly good even in casual wear—gray sweater, joggers, silver necklace, and those stupid black piercings. He’s barefoot too, padding toward them like he’s the pinnacle of effortless chic. Venti can’t decide if he wants to hug him or scream into a pillow.

“Yeah,” Venti manages to croak, gripping Ganyu’s hand a little tighter before letting it go. “We went to the mall. Saw a movie.”

Xiao raises an eyebrow, shoving his hands into his joggers’ pockets as he nears them. “What movie?”

“Hereditary,” Ganyu answers too quickly, her voice shaky.

Venti mentally winces. If anyone can spot cracks in a story, it’s Xiao.

Xiao tilts his head, thoughtful. “Ah, the horror film. How was it—”

“No time for chit-chat!” Venti interrupts, lightly nudging Ganyu toward his room. “Ganyu, go. Now.”

She nods sheepishly at her brother. “Sorry, ge. Venti and I need to discuss something.”

Xiao looks puzzled. “About what?”

“Just… girl talk,” Venti reasons, plastering on what he hopes is his most convincing grin. Gods, please let this work.

He starts marching toward his room before Xiao can question him further. But of course, the guy isn’t one to let things go so easily. He grabs Venti’s arm, pulling him back.

“What’s going on, Venti?” Xiao’s eyes bore into his, the concern in his voice both maddening and endearing.

Venti’s heart leaps into his throat, but he keeps calm. “It’s a private matter,” he almost whispers, carefully taking Xiao’s hand off him. “She’ll tell you when she’s ready. Stop prying, you meddling old man.”

Xiao stares at him for all of five seconds before sighing. “Fine,” he relents, stepping back. “Just… let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do. Thanks, Xiao,” Venti says, offering him a genuine smile before retreating to his room.

Ganyu is already seated on his bed, head bowed, shopping bags at her feet. As he shuts the door behind him, he catches a glimpse of Xiao watching from across the living room, looking nervous.

Gosh, he’s such a worrywart.

Turning back to Ganyu, Venti clears his desk, shoving stray papers into a drawer before flopping into his chair and swiveling to face her. His stomach tightens when he sees her red-rimmed eyes.

“Ganyu—”

“What we saw just now…” she starts, her voice breaking as she looks up at him. “Keqing told me she had… someone. She never said they were together, but… they’ve slept together. A lot. But it’s not a real relationship.”

Venti blinks, trying to process the words. “Oh.” Then it clicks. “Oh… So, Mona and Keqing are… fuck buddies?”

Ganyu sniffles. “I didn’t expect this… fuck,” she swears, brokenly. It’s the first time Venti’s ever heard her swear. “She could’ve just told me!”

“What’s… what’s up with you and Keqing, anyway?” Venti asks quietly, carefully. He’s walking on eggshells here, trying to be gentle.

“Keqing and I…” Ganyu pauses, locking eyes with him. She takes a shaky breath. “We’ve been having sex.”

Venti’s jaw drops. Not a little, not a polite ‘oh’ of understanding—but a full-on gape, wide enough to swallow his own surprise. “I—wow,” he breathes out, trying to digest this bombshell.

Ganyu rolls her eyes and looks up at the ceiling, probably in an effort to stop the tears threatening to spill over. “Yeah. Behind everyone’s back. And like the idiot I am, I thought it was more than that. I thought we were slowly building toward something real, like a proper relationship. Turns out I’m just another one of her fuck buddies—like Mona, apparently. Gods, I’m so fucking dumb!”

“Hey, no,” Venti rushes to soothe, frowning. “Hey, Ganyu, it’s not your fault.”

He stands from the chair and sits beside her on the bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and Ganyu instantly leans into him, finally letting the tears fall.

“Sshh,” he lulls, rubbing her arm. “Stop blaming yourself, okay? None of this is your fault.”

“I know I shouldn’t have expected anything,” Ganyu sobs. “We both agreed there’d be no strings attached. But… it still hurts. Seeing her with someone else, meeting another girl like that… It just hurts.”

Venti nods, keeping silent to let her talk.

“Before I asked you to come with me to the mall today,” she tacks on, quivering, “I asked Keqing to come. And she… she lied. Said she had something for school.” Her voice breaks again, and she chokes out a shaky laugh. “Gods, I’ve never felt so betrayed in my life. And the worst part? She didn’t even owe me anything. Not honesty, not loyalty—we’re not even dating.”

Venti’s chest tightens. “Ganyu…”

She cries tacitly against his shoulder, and he has no other option but to wrap an arm around her, holding her closer as though he can shield her from the pain.

“I don’t know what to say, love…” he murmurs, honestly, feeling completely inadequate in the face of her heartbreak.

“That’s fine, Venti,” she whispers, sniffling again. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m just… thankful you’re here.”

Her gratitude makes Venti tighten his hold on her. She’s so composed most of the time, so strong. Seeing her like this feels wrong like the world is out of balance.

It takes a while, but her sobs subside in the end, and she pulls away, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks, sighing.

“This is why Keqing cut her hair short,” she says, voice steadier now but still thick with emotion. “She said she got hurt and wanted to change something—said it was part of her ‘moving on’ process.”

“So it’s Mona who hurt her,” Venti murmurs, putting the pieces together.

“Seems like it,” Ganyu agrees with a nod. “She used to have long, beautiful hair, you know? To think she’d cut it so drastically… it must mean Mona was someone really important to her. She must’ve loved her so much.”

“Shit,” Venti curses, grimacing as he looks down at his hands. He doesn’t know how to take this. Mona is one of his closest friends—one of the brightest in their group. They’ve known her for a year, and he’s always admired her fiery spirit and no-nonsense attitude. …What is he supposed to do now?

Almost as if she’s reading his mind, Ganyu tells him, “Whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to avoid Mona because of me,” Ganyu continues, shaking her head. “I’m not avoiding her either. They must have their reasons for… whatever this is. I’ll talk to Keqing on Monday. Get the whole story.”

Venti nods, slowly, meeting her gaze. “Alright. I hope… I hope it goes well.”

“Me too.” Ganyu scoots away, standing and collecting her shopping bags. “Venti, thank you. For listening. And for not making me feel… bad about hiding this.”

Venti looks up at her. “You haven’t told Xiao, have you?”

“No.” Ganyu shakes her head, biting her lip. “I didn’t want to. Not yet. Not until it was official between me and… that girl.”

“I see. I understand, Ganyu…” Venti murmurs, softly but sincerely. And he does. Oh, Archons, does he. He’s memorized Xiao’s habits and temperament like the sheet music for a difficult recital piece. The guy would shut down the entire idea of his sister engaging in a ‘friends with benefits, no strings attached’ companionship before she even finished the sentence. Hell, Venti could practically hear his reaction already: “My sister? Absolutely not.”

Nope. Ganyu admitting this to her overly concerned, fiercely protective brother? Respectfully, not in a million years.

The girl loiters by the door, her hand tightening on the knob. She takes a steadying breath, shoulders rising and falling before she turns to Venti with a pleading look.

“Please… don’t let him see me like this,” she whispers, fragile cadence and all yet firm enough to reach his ears.

“Of course,” Venti says instantly, springing off the bed as if on cue. He crosses the room and nudges her aside, slipping out first.

The first thing he does is scan the living room, spotting Xiao seated on the sofa, polishing the lens of his camera, unsuspecting. Then he looks up the moment he hears the door creak open. “So you did need something,” he says, arching an eyebrow.

Venti blinks, scrambling for an excuse. “Yeah, um… we need—” He glances around for inspiration and spills, “Socks. We need socks.”

Xiao’s brow arches higher. “Socks?”

“Yes, socks. Yours, specifically.” Venti nods, doing his best to look serious.

Xiao sets the camera down with a quiet sigh. “Fine.” He rises from the couch and without another word, disappears into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Once Xiao is out of sight, Venti spins on his heel and waves at Ganyu, frantically, who is still hovering behind the bedroom door. “Coast is clear!”

Ganyu wastes no time. She darts out of the room, footsteps light and fast as she makes a beeline for the front door. She pauses only briefly, mouthing a silent thank you to Venti, before slipping out into the hallway and vanishing from sight.

Just in time, too. The door to Xiao’s room opens, and he reemerges holding a neatly folded pair of socks.

Venti throws on his best totally normal and not suspicious at all face. “You took too long,” he scoffs with a nonchalant shrug, stepping aside to let Xiao pass. “Ganyu already left. I just gave her my socks instead.”

Xiao pauses, brows knitting together. Then, with a soft “Ah,” he nods and lets it go.

He tosses the socks into the air as if to dismiss the matter entirely, catching them lazily with one hand before shaking his head with the faintest hint of a smile. It’s an innocent, almost boyish expression, one that tugs unexpectedly at Venti’s chest.

As Xiao returns to his seat, Venti watches him for a moment longer, a wistful smile playing on his lips.

Maybe one day, Xiao… she’ll let you in on the matter. But for now, let her handle it on her own.

With a quiet sigh, Venti retreats to his room, closing the door behind him. He pauses mid-step as a thought strikes him, sending a shiver up his spine.

No wonder Scaramouche found Mona that night, drunk off her jest…

It clicks now, doesn’t it? Like a final puzzle piece snapping into place. The tangled web of emotions and misunderstandings makes sense, painfully so.

**

True to his word, Venti heads back to the mall the next day to get a gift for Klee. At eleven, she’s probably starting to outgrow toys, so he settles on something more age-appropriate: a cute new outfit and a Totoro-themed hat. He knows how much Klee loves her hats—he’s seen her wear what feels like a hundred different ones over the times they’ve spent together. The gray-and-indigo blend of this particular hat is adorable, and he can already picture her blonde hair peeking out from under it, her face glimmering with that contagious grin of hers. The thought alone has Venti smiling like an idiot as he heads to the grocery store on the ground floor.

With a cart in hand, he meanders down the aisles, tossing in essentials for the week alongside a few indulgences. He even picks up a pack of noodles boasting exotic flavors he’s only just discovered. Thank the heavens for payday—Cat’s Tail’s payout might not be groundbreaking, but it’s enough to make these moments feel indulgent.

He turns a corner, muttering, “Excuse me,” as he navigates the cereal aisle.

“Oh, go ahead. Sorry,” comes the response.

Venti barely registers it until the voice’s owner calls out, “Venti?”

He stops mid-turn, blinking. “S-Scaramouche?” Well, speak of the devil and his laundry detergent.

Scaramouche stands there holding a shopping basket filled… entirely with soap.

Unable to stop, Venti gestures toward the basket, a grin forming on his lips. “Laundry day?”

“Yeah,” Scaramouche replies evenly, albeit his tone is laced with challenge.

Venti bites his lip, the sight of that basket amusing him far more than it should. “I didn’t peg you as the hand-washing type. What’s next? Knitting scarves and baking bread?”

The other boy raises a brow, one hand settling on his hip. “I find it relaxing,” he grouses simply, with a shrug so casual that Venti almost feels bad for teasing.

Almost.

“Fair enough. Respect,” Venti says, giving him a small nod of approval. “Anyway, I should—” He motions toward his cart, which is already looking a little overstuffed, and starts to wheel it away.

But Scaramouche, to his surprise, falls into step beside him.

“Need anything?” he quips, quirking a brow as he tosses a box of Honey Stars into the cart.

“No,” Scaramouche says, almost absentmindedly. “I just thought I’d keep you company. You know, since I’m done with my own shopping.”

Venti hums, then shrugs. “Sure. Be my guest.”

And so they roam the aisles together, Venti finding himself rethinking his assumptions about Scaramouche. Based on their first meeting—where the guy had teased Mona mercilessly—Venti had pegged him as a snarky, spoiled rich kid, the kind who’d rather skate at a park all day and laugh at someone falling off their bike than do something as mundane as hand-wash clothes or shop for groceries.

But here he is, casually pushing a cart alongside Venti, tossing out genuinely helpful suggestions for brands of noodles and condiments. It’s oddly… homely.

Venti chances a peek at Scaramouche, who’s scanning the shelves with a mild, relaxed expression. Maybe I judged him too quickly.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Venti blurts after a stretch of silence.

“Am I?” Scaramouche muses, glancing over. “I mean, I usually am. Not much to say.”

“Fair enough.”

They continue their little detour, chatting here and there as Venti navigates the aisles, chucking in some milk cartons, bags of rice, and the occasional snack that catches his eye. At some point, he grabs a jar of peanut butter, and Scaramouche croons his assent, apparently a fan of the brand.

“So, did you just transfer to our college?” Venti asks, trying to place him.

Scaramouche shakes his head. “No. If you’re asking why we only just met, it’s because I don’t hang around much. I stick to myself, mostly. Well, except for Xiao and a few others. Otherwise, I’m home as soon as classes are over.”

“Oh, I guess that explains it,” Venti drones, tossing a bottle of pepper into his cart. “And, this is your second year too.”

“Uh-huh. Photography isn’t really my thing,” the guy admits, candidly. “But a lot of my friends have built successful careers with it, so I thought, why not? Besides, I’ve been told I’m pretty good at capturing moments and all that.”

“Might I ask who told you that?” Venti inquires, an eyebrow quirking upward as he nudges Scaramouche with his elbow, fishing for something to tease him with.

The guy hums thoughtfully. “Signora and Dottore, my childhood friends, for starters. My mom said so too, and…” He pauses, tutting as he digs through his mental archives. Then, with a snap of his fingers, he adds, “Oh, right. Xiao.”

“You’re close with Xiao, aren’t you?” Venti pries, nudging him again for good measure.

“Kind of,” Scaramouche utters, his tone casual—too casual. Then his gaze strops as he transfers his full attention to Venti. His lips curl into a smirk before he asks, “Why? You in love with him?”

And, what? Venti screeches to a halt. Abruptly. Thoroughly. Did he just—?

“Are you dumb?” is all Venti can manage, his voice louder than intended, the tips of his ears burning.

Scaramouche blinks, clearly unbothered, then dissolves into a cackle, clutching his stomach as he bends forward. “Holy shit, the look on your face—priceless.”

Annoyed and utterly mortified, Venti mutters something unintelligible under his breath and bolts down the aisle, pushing his cart faster than necessary. Damn it, Scaramouche! His cheeks are practically on fire, and he can already feel his palms starting to sweat.

“Hey, wait up!” Scaramouche calls after him, still laughing like a maniac, but Venti keeps moving, weaving through aisles like he’s running from his doom.

And then he crashes into someone.

The cart slams into the person’s side, forcing them to stumble backward with a grunt.

“What the—?”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry!” Venti rambles, bowing his head instinctively.

“Clumsy as always,” the person says coolly, and Venti’s stomach twists because of course.

“Xiao,” Scaramouche drawls as he finally catches up, delight lacing his voice. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Venti’s eyes snap up, and yep, there’s Xiao, looking effortlessly composed despite just being nearly run over. His dandelion gaze flickers between Venti and Scaramouche. “You two grocery shopping together?”

“No!” Venti squeaks, too quick to answer. Clearing his throat, he tries again, forcing some calm into his tone. “We just bumped into each other. Total coincidence.” Why is he even explaining, so anxiously?

“True,” Scaramouche adds, shrugging as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “In fact, I don’t even have his number—sooo, I say, let’s fix that!” He shoves the device toward Venti, who sighs in resignation and takes it, entering his number.

As Venti types, he can feel Xiao’s eyes on him. Not a peep. Not a passing look. No, Xiao’s gaze is drilling into his very soul, and Venti can’t decide if he wants to burst into laughter or melt into the floor.

“Here,” he mumbles, shoving the phone back into Scaramouche’s hand before mustering the courage to glance at Xiao.

Xiao isn’t paying attention to Scaramouche anymore; rather he’s staring at his phone now, his thumb scrolling across the screen.

Oh, great. He’s texting. Totally uninterested in whatever this is.

Venti turns his attention to the other two people with Xiao: Kazuha and Aether.

“Barbatos, hi!” Aether chirps, waving cheerfully.

“Hi, Aether,” Venti greets back, forcing a smile.

Kazuha offers a soft smile of his own, the faintest dusting of pink on his cheeks. Meanwhile, Xiao’s phone buzzes with an incoming call, and he steps aside to answer it, turning his back to the group.

That’s when Venti’s brain decides to betray him. Again. Because now that Xiao isn’t looking, he lets his eyes wander. On him.

The guy’s wearing a dark green varsity jacket with the letter ‘A’ stitched on the chest—Alatus, of course—paired with a simple black V-neck and black ripped skinny jeans. His Adidas sneakers are the same vibrant green as his jacket. And—Archons help him—his hair is tied up in a loose ponytail, teal strands swaying gently as he tilts his head to listen to whoever’s on the other end of the call, and, fuck, why… Why does he have to look this good all the time? Venti sighs heavily, slumping against his cart because he is so cursed for life. Oh, to have a ridiculously hot best friend who’s also oblivious to your feelings. Truly, this is my punishment for all the times I ‘borrowed’ apples from Diluc’s tavern.

“You’re drooling, Venti.”

“I am not,” he retorts, indignantly wiping at his mouth just in case. Scaramouche answers with a chuckle and, without warning, pinches Venti’s cheek. Venti hisses, trying to swat him away. “Stop it, you weirdo!”

“You’re so cute, you know?” the guy smirks, murmuring his next words just enough to make Venti pause, “I think I might be starting to like you.”

Venti’s eyes widen. “What—” Wait, is he serious? Is he messing with me? What’s going on?

“Venti,” Xiao’s voice cuts through, smooth but with a hint of irritation, and Venti swivels toward him like he’s been caught red-handed.

“Eh?”

Xiao jerks his chin toward the cart. “Why are you buying so many?”

Venti blinks down at it, and realizes, Oh. Right. The cart that I filled to the brim like I was preparing for the apocalypse. “B-because I thought we needed this much?” he stammers, voice rising an octave.

“We don’t,” Xiao replies bluntly, already moving to take control of the cart. He nudges Venti aside and touches delicately (but unwaveringly), prying Venti’s hands off the handle like a parent dealing with a wayward child. “You’re wasting money—and fridge space. Half of this will rot before you remember we bought it.”

Venti’s too stunned to respond straight away, standing rooted as Xiao wheels the cart down the aisle, muttering something under his breath about oyster sauce overload. When he snaps out of it, his first instinct is to run after Xiao. Never mind Scaramouche’s maybe serious, maybe not confession. Xiao has just commandeered his groceries, and that takes precedence.

“Xiao! Wait! I’m sorry!” Venti calls, catching up as Xiao begins returning random items to their respective shelves. He’s already sliding two bottles of oyster sauce back into place—on the wrong rack, no less.

“I wasn’t thinking,” he submits, panting a little as he skids to a stop beside Xiao. “I’m really sorry, okay? I just thought we’d need a lot for the week.”

Xiao shoots him a sidelong glance, clicking his tongue. “Too much,” he mutters, putting a bag of flour back onto a shelf labeled for rice. “You don’t think things through sometimes.”

The way Xiao says it isn’t exactly harsh, but it makes Venti feel like a kicked puppy. His lips wobble slightly as he mumbles, “That’s a gift, by the way,” when Xiao’s hand brushes the bag containing Klee’s present.

“For?”

“Klee.”

Xiao pauses, leaving the bag alone, before he resumes reorganizing the cart. Aether, Kazuha, and Scaramouche rejoin them at that moment, their gazes making Venti acutely aware of how much of a scene he’s probably making.

“What are you doing here, Xiao? I thought you had an appointment,” Venti mumbles, head dipping in shame.

“Just finished,” Xiao replies tersely.

Venti nods, sticking close to the guy’s side as he trails behind him. “Look, Xiao, I’m really sorry. I thought I was being helpful.”

Xiao stops pushing the cart and turns to face him with a sigh. For a moment, Venti braces for another scolding. Instead, Xiao raises a hand and pats him twice on the head.

“Fine,” Xiao says simply, his tone softening.

The touch is brief—too brief—but Venti feels his heart leap into his throat. He grins, warmth spreading through his chest as he follows Xiao like an overexcited duckling. Maybe, just maybe, Xiao loves him too, huh? Wishful thinking, Barbatos. Keep dreaming.

Feigning guilt (just because), Venti starts to pout again.

“Stop doing that,” Xiao mutters without looking at him. “You look ugly.”

“E-eh?!” Venti sputters, glaring at him. “No, you!”

Xiao scoffs, grabbing a box of strawberry milk from the fridge section. “You.”

“No, you,” Venti huffs, sticking his tongue out.

In a flash, Xiao’s arm loops around his head, pulling him into a playful headlock. Xiao musses his hair and pinches his cheek hard enough to make him yelp.

“Xiaooo!” he shrieks, squirming to break free, but Xiao only lets him go after a moment, laughing softly.

“You’re such a jerk!” he whines, smoothing his disheveled hair down.

Xiao’s rare laugh lingers in the air, and Venti can’t bring himself to be annoyed further. Instead, he folds his arms and pretends to sulk, at least, earning an eye roll from his best friend.

Ugh.

After checking out and paying for their groceries, Scaramouche, Aether, and Kazuha part ways with them. Not before Scaramouche leans in to whisper, “I’ll text you later,” his breath ghosting over Venti’s ear.

Venti nods, cheeks burning as he salutes Scaramouche with two fingers. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Xiao watching the exchange, and—was that a twitch of his jaw?

Whatever. He dismisses it with a shake of his head, bidding the others goodbye.

Before they leave the mall, Xiao surprises him by buying him fries and a Coke float. “For your effort,” the guy elaborates, handing over the tray.

Munching on fries like they’re the most divine food ever created, Venti walks next to Xiao, his earlier embarrassment fading into a warm, contented haze. The guy might scold him a lot, but moments like these remind him why he can never let go. Can never let him go…

Because Xiao, for all his stoicism, is still the sweetest jerk Venti knows.

**

Xiao stares at the letter in his hand, knuckles blanching as his grip tightens. His sharp gaze is locked on the page as if willing it to combust. “That’s it, Venti. We’re calling the cops.”

The words hit Venti like a slap, leaving his mouth agape and his thoughts scrambling. He watches as Xiao gathers the grocery bags from the ground, promptly, and stalks toward the stairs leading to their dorm. The door slams shut behind him, shaking the frame.

“Xiao!” Venti calls as he bursts through the door after him. “What for?”

Xiao whips around the vigor in his glare freezing Venti in place. “If these letters don’t stop coming, I’m reporting this stalker to the police. End of story.”

“E-eh?” Venti’s voice rises, gesturing wildly in protest. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

“Extreme?” Xiao’s scoff is a whip crack in the air. He points the crumpled letter at Venti like an accusation. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t some lovestruck admirer leaving you flowers. It’s a stalker, someone who knows too much and won’t leave you alone.”

“But they’re harmless!” Venti ends up yelling, trying to reach for the paper—

—But Xiao yanks his hand away, holding it high above Venti’s reach. His somewhat taller frame due to his shoes, partnered with his athletic agility, makes it a losing game, but Venti tries anyway, standing on his toes and swiping for the letter.

“Give it to me!”

“No.” Xiao’s voice is a growl, his posture stiff as he stares down at Venti.

They’re close all of a sudden—far too close for comfort. Nose to nose, almost breathing each other’s air. For a fleeting second, Venti notices the pink flush crawling up Xiao’s neck and the faint twitch of his lips. But the moment shatters like glass. Xiao shoves the letter into his pocket and takes a deliberate step back, clearing his throat.

“You… You need to take this seriously.”

“You need to stop being so overbearing!” Venti snaps, raising his voice as he throws his hands in the air.

Xiao freezes, and something changes in his expression—an unspoken boundary crossed. His shoulders square, face hardening, and when he speaks, his tone is icy. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Venti stares, blindsided. “What?”

“You love the attention.” Xiao’s accusation lands with venom, eyes narrowing. “That’s why you don’t care. You like the idea that someone out there is so obsessed with you, that they’re willing to leave letters like this. You eat it up.”

“Excuse me?” Venti’s voice shakes with both fury and disbelief.

“You heard me.” Xiao’s jaw tightens, astute bearing boring into Venti’s like daggers. “You’re selfish. You care more about your ego than your safety—or mine.”

The words sting worse than Venti expects. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, fingers curling into fists. “That’s—that’s bullshit!”

“Is it?” Xiao steps closer, his presence suffocating. “Face it, Venti. You don’t want them to stop.”

“And what about you?” Venti shouts, his own voice cracking now. “What’s your problem, huh? Are you jealous? Is that it?”

Faltering for a split second, Xiao’s composure slips, but it returns with a vengeance. He sneers, mockingly. “In your dreams, Barbatos.”

The nickname feels like a punch. Venti’s vision blurs, and he knows tears are threatening to spill. He hates this. Hates fighting with Xiao… He hates the sharpness in his tone and the venom in his words. It stings.

“Fine!” Venti shouts, pacing in frustration. His movements are wild, he knows, becoming frenzied, a reflection of the storm inside him. “You want me to admit it? Fine! I like the attention. So what? What does it matter to you?”

“It matters because they know where we live!” Xiao’s voice is louder now, uncharacteristically raw. “They know everything about you. Your routines, your habits—hell, probably even your damn shoe size!”

“So what if they do?!” Venti whirls on him, chest heaving. “You think it’s one of our friends, don’t you? Maybe it is! Maybe it’s someone I see every day!”

“Like who? Scaramouche? Albedo?” Xiao’s hands ball into fists, brows knitted. He’s angry.

And, Venti, he… he just— “I don’t know!”

“Exactly!” Xiao’s yell echoes through the room like a thunderclap. “You don’t know, Venti, because no one knows you better than I do!”

The room falls deathly silent. And it’s like a bucket of ice has been dumped over Venti’s head.

He stares at Xiao, the weight of his words pressing on his chest like a stone. His lips tremble as he takes a step back. “You… you don’t know me, Xiao.”

The hurt in his voice is palpable, and it’s enough to make the other waver, his rage dimming for a fraction of a second. “Venti, I didn’t mean—”

But Venti doesn’t let him finish.

“No. …You don’t know me, Xiao. Not like you think you do.”

Without another word, Venti turns on his heel and storms out of the dorm. The door slams shut behind him, rattling the walls. Xiao calls after him, desperately, but Venti doesn’t stop.

The night air bites at his skin as he sprints down the empty street, the traces of their fight playing over and over in his mind. Tears blur his vision, and his chest feels tight, as if the world itself is caving in on him.

It sucks, but he thinks he’ll spend the night somewhere else for now. Until then, he’s not letting Xiao hear a word from him.

[sweetmariihs2]

So, I made this playlist for Cedric on Spotify and I came here to talk about it. And believe me- I have A LOT to say. No one asked, but I can't keep this to myself.

I'm autistic, so I think that explains for itself (i'm hyperfocused). I made this playlist 100% based on the character trying to keep it very close to canon, I tried to capture the Disney feeling, the vibes, his personality, through the lyrics and instrumentals of the songs.

Rewatching Sofia The First, I felt a lot of nostalgia of childhood and old Disney princess movies, so I really wanted to capture that feeling, because otherwise the playlist wouldn't make sense, it wouldn't be Cedric. Furthermore, Cedric is a sorcerer and visually speaking I see that he fits slightly into the whimsigoth aesthetic, which would be themes related to the moon and stars, magic, witchcraft. That alone suits him, but added to that, I feel like he has this similar vibe to Merlin from Sword In The Stone, for example. So I think with Cedric, the stars and magic aesthetic suits him well, but not in a 90s girls way like whimsical/whimsigoth does. In this case, it would be something more magical, more nostalgic, like a wizard character straight out of a book, which directly goes back to Disney.

For the Disney villain vibe (something that would be a middle ground between Gargamel (I know he's not from Disney) and Merlin), I have his songs like Cedric The Great and My Evil Dreams, but also Poor Unfortunate Souls (Ursula's theme), Higitus Figitus (Merlin's theme), How Could I Refuse (Preminger's theme). I also have some instrumental songs, such as Let Me Tell You A Story from Russell Shaw and La Valse De Renard, which capture the feeling of that clumsy and nervous sorcerer, who's always moody and busy with everything at once, planning. You know what I'm talking about, do not pretend you don't.

And not just as a villain, but as a Disney character on his own- I feel like Sofia The First does a great job of paying homage to the old films and capturing that same feeling, so I see STF as not just a cartoon 'produced' by Disney (like The Owl House for example) but like one of those princess movies, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty. So I added stuff that could give me this feeling and still stay in character for him, like Disney songs, for example:

You know, not all the songs in that list are exactly from Disney, but that doesn't means they don't give the same feeling. And not only that- they feel nostalgic (and emotional, if I may say)

But I don't want to divide these songs in boxes, saying stuff like "this one is for the disney theme" "this one has lyrics that match his character" "this one fits his aesthetic"- some songs are there for more than just one reason, and I like to see it as a set, after all they are all on the same playlist. These songs fit the Disney Character vibes, but some also fit the magic aesthetic stuff, so it's all mixed. I prefer to see it that way

For this magical vibe, I have one of my favorite singers, Aurora Aksnes. She has an album called The Gods We Can Touch and just half of it has this vibe, not just in the looks of the album but also in the instrumentals, melodies and lyrics, so I couldn't help but include some of her songs. And I find it ironic that most of her songs that I chose have lyrics that suit him.

Like the case of the song "Potion For Love", which narrates a situation of romantic frustration, and both the lyrics and the title remind me of Cedric's situation with Sascha in the episode Enchanted Feast, and what I understand from that title is that there is no solution to love, there is no magic potion that can solve this problem. I love being a nerd

Other songs of hers that also suit him a lot are the case of Midas Touch, which I already mentioned here on Tumblr, where she narrates the situation of a reckless king in love (King Midas) who is desperate for Aurora's love, as if he depended on it, but she can't love him back because he "turns everything he touches to stone", and she can't accept this role, even though he's begging her to do so (it reminds us a lot of a situation, doesn't it?) (it could be either a y/n x Cedric situation or the events in The Day Of The Sorcerers, but in that case I prefer to ignore the romantic phrases in the song and turn it into something platonic, otherwise it will be really weird).

You Keep Me Crawling has lyrics open to interpretation, as it can talk about both religion and an abusive relationship, but it also fits the case of a wicked dictator, which the narrator still has hopes of them having mercy and deep down still being a good person, just like the case of Cedric and Sofia in The Day Of The Sorcerers.

Conflict Of The Mind talks about family issues/family fights, that despite everything, they still love eachother. Aurora wrote this song for her sister and it reminds me of Cedric and Cordelia.

A Dangerous Thing talks about a two sided person, but that Aurora knew from the first moment that this person was dangerous, and it's just getting worse and worse, to the point she reminds herself that there is no love in the world anyway, her good heart always forgets this. WHO SHOUTED SOFIA AFTER READING THIS?

To Be Loved, just read some of the lyrics: "I tell myself I have to build defenses / 'Cause once you are in love, you are defenseless / Everything was easy when it meant less [...] / Nobody knows me, nobody knows me / I'm never lonely / Until someone holds me / And let's go, just to show me / How it's like to be loved [...] / Cause nobody shows me / Nobody shows me / How is like to be loved"

The Innocent, I won't explain myself, I'll just put a part of the lyrics here: "Danger in the boy that would lose control / When everyone thought he had a heart of gold / I remember how he used to play / He'd let me win if I let him stay / He left without a single trace / I don't know why he said goodbye... to love / You would never let me in to your heart"

Exist For Love is for... fanfic purposes. And because it's the opposite song of Potion For Love. And in the MV she gets out of a shell like a mermaid/Aphrodite. Cedric x Mermaid reader, why not if he was a sea monster once (and this song is about being all lovey dovey with someone, it fits him when he was in love with Sascha, poor thing). And this album has those magical vibes, I already spoke about it before

The other Aurora's songs are there just because of the vibes. BECASE I WANT THEM TO BE *jk*

There's also Million Dollar Man by Lana Del Rey where she's in love by that villain guy and she sings "I don't know how you convince them, and get them, babe / I don't know what you do, it's unbelievable / And I don't know how you get over, get over / Someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you" and you know. It's a Lana Del Rey song. He is one of the man written by LDR I just know that he is. Salvatore is there too 👀

AND QUEEN OF DISASTED BECAUSE SHE SINGS "you're the king and baby i'm the queen of disaster"

Some directions so you can understand and use the playlist a little better:

The songs that suit him because of the lyrics are the ones at the top (a large part of the playlist), even though there are still a few that were chosen just for the vibes mixed in there. From "What Is A Youth" onwards, there are the songs that I listen to when writing and drawing things related to him, these are the instrumental songs and Disney songs, and further down are the podcasts that are uploaded by users in the app, because the owners of these songs didn't wanted to publish them on the platform.

If you want songs that match the situations he experienced, listen to the top of the playlist. If you want to daydream and feel like you're in Enchancia, or better said, in a Cedric x Y/N fanfic, I mean, in a Disney movie, listen to "What Is a Youth" and below. Of course, you don't need to listen to everything in order, and you can mix it up, like I usually do. A Disney vibes song, a magical vibes song, a song that suits him, just like a cake recipe. Chef's kiss

I put a lot of effort into it and it's too good to be kept hidden. I listen to it almost everyday lmao (if not everyday)

And now of you excuse me I'm going to retreat to my workshop to cry

thank you

[bakuliwrites]

Fun Facts About Your Tav

Orlando

Thank you so so much for tagging me @kalmiaphlox!!!!! I appreciate it so much! Loved seeing your Tav, Hircine! Sorry this took me so long to get to.

Tagging @elinorbard, @inkymoonbunny, and @bardic-inspo, and anyone else who would like to share their Tav/Durge!

Working on drawing Orlando more, so artwork to come. I have some drawings I made of her aesthetic here like a year ago, if you are curious :) Anyways, here's some info about Orlando! Some basic info before we start: Orlando is a tiefling (a Deep Sea Tiefling homebrew kinda deal, so that's what her whole aesthetic is supposed to be) and she is a Sorlock!

Is your character good, evil, or neutral (makes some good decisions, some bad ones)?

Orlando is probably Chaotic Good. She tries her best to be a good person, and believes strongly in freedom for herself and others. But she has a bit of a vengeful streak (She is a sorlock, but I think she would've made a good paladin, too, honestly). She's not above seeking out revenge on the people that have wronged others, especially those she cares about.

What hobbies do they partake in?

Orlando enjoys writing, reading, and alchemy. When she was little, she loved all of the stories her mother used to tell her and would come up with her own tales. I think if she were to finally settle down, she'd want to write her own adventure stories or children's books! She is also constantly mixing potions in camp and stopping to collect every herb and plant she can possibly find. She picked up this hobby/craft from her mother, who was an expert potion maker!

Do they own any heirlooms from their family or ancestors?

Orlando keeps a locket with a scale from her mother and a scale from her brother. It is her most prized possession and she would never part with it. She carries it with her throughout her adventures and is grateful that she didn't lose it when she was captured by the Illithid.

Can your character cook?

Yes! Orlando loves to cook, and she loves to help Gale cook at camp. Though she was born into nobility, she and her mother and brother eventually escaped it. They had to make a life for themselves, so cooking was essential for survival in her later childhood. Orlando also finds cooking relaxing and can lose herself in the creativity of it. It's a bit like creating a potion to her!

Does your character have a best friend?

Orlando's brother, Cían, and a young dragonborn boy named Torinn were her best friends growing up. But Torinn eventually (supposedly-more on that later) moved away, and Orlando was separated from her brother when they were eleven. After that, Enver became her best friend when they lived in the HOH together. Amongst the companions, however, Karlach, Astarion, and Wyll swiftly become Orlando's best friends :)

Their biggest fear?

Losing her freedom, and losing herself to the eldritch powers that haunt her family. She's worked hard to build a life for herself, to free herself from the tyranny of her youth. Losing that independence is terrifying to her, and with the insertion of the tadpole, her worst fears are slowly coming true.

Name one of their red flags.

Her loyalty to Gortash. She can be convinced to betray him, but it's really hard for Orlando to abandon someone that has meant so very much to her over the course of her life. Her loyalty can be a green flag, but it can also be a pretty serious red flag if it goes too far.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 9/19/2023

unknown flu-like-symptoms-but-not-the-flu-or-COVID problems

listening

no one particular thing has been stuck in my head so here are two short little things

new release Strike by La Femme is a delightful synthy one-minute sketch of a car chase in the pouring rain. spotify

Trumpet Sketches - Remastered by Janko Nilovic is a 1:40 doodle. when the organ hits... spotify

i have been following La Femme ever since i loved their credits song for As Above So Below, and the trumpet sketches are off the spotify recommended

-

reading

actually finished this book last tuesday, still reading berserk, but i don't have coherent berserk thoughts bc im still stuffing my entire elbow into my mouth and screaming about it.

The Stolen Coast, by Dwyer Murphy, has a lot of problems. the first problem is that the publisher bills it as a "noir jewel heist" novel when it is in fact a vibes novel about being sad and trapped in massachusetts. which, mood! but very much not what i or any other goodreads reviewer signed up for.

ABOUT THE STOLEN COAST Adrift in a sleepy coastal Massachusetts town, a man who ferries fugitives by day gets twisted up in a plot to pilfer diamonds in this Casablanca-infused heist novel.

Casablanca is a real fuckin goddamn reach. this is like saying Home Alone 2 and The Taking of Pelham 123 are similar bc they both have pivotal scenes in subways. when you are expecting a cool noir jewel heist and you get a vibes book, it feels very meandering and indecisive with exceptionally poor pacing and very light on the plot. dwyer knows how to put a sentence together, and there is a high degree of aesthetic polish, but i lived in mass and found myself filling in a lot of the vibes from lived experience. this is a book that expects you to already know *extremely* minute regional accent differences.

i often found myself more interested in the antagonist lawyer and his wife (who has a standing weekly appointment to fuck her bodyguard at the region's finest wedding destination hotel, and orders champage afterwards every week) than the protagonists of our story. the femme fatale loops all the way back around to manic pixie, which i didn't know was possible for a woman to do. as an example of the aesthetic polish but editorial disarray of the book, wherein we know so much about our protagonists but so little of it is relevant, i was convinced that "our main man Jack is a Harvard lawyer" was a long running gag for most of the book (a la "our good for nothing son is actually Very Important and just slumming it here") and was actually quite anxious to see if the actual lawyer would ferret him out, but no. jack is actually a real lawyer but it simply does not fucking matter.

there are a. number of happenings that mr murphy tries to pass off as luck and just like Ha Ha Things Just Break Like That Sometimes but it really just feels like acts of god. their planned heist breaks bad for them with no consequences and then breaks very well for them with very few consequences. this is not a long book. the actual heist felt like filling time.

it's a book that's very very good at capturing the New England depression and sense of stagnancy, for want of a nail etc, the bizarre little self-important snow globe everyone lives in, but everyone has such small ambitions. this is sort of the point of noir, that the rot never actually changes no matter what you do, but the protag is the perpetrator of the rot? this is largely a personal crisis that he’s choosing not to address. perhaps most unforgivably, for such a short book it dragged a whole fuck of a lot.

i have been betrayed by whoever did this npr book review

-

watching

Forty Guns (1957, dir Fuller). this is the most movie reviewer ass section ive written in a minute. this one is for sickos only. it is not an interesting movie by itself (choppy and kind of messy) but it is an interesting movie if you know the limitations of the genre and the hays code it's slamming up against.

there is simply So Much that happens in this movie (from the very good Criterion Collection essay):

While the story sounds rather tidy in summary, the plot of Forty Guns is rife with intrigue and action—juggling political corruption, theft, betrayal, an unwanted pregnancy, a serious maiming, three romances, four murders, and a suicide. 

there's some oddly dorky but endearing straight people visual and verbal double entendre. visually unique but does not stick its landing, and i don't know that i love the original ending as opposed to the studio ending either.

it gets a solid B on the "westerns i would let other people watch" list. not one of the top three movies to convince someone that some westerns are good actually, but a fun little weird offshoot of the genre.

why did i watch this: surely by seeing a post from another cowboyblogger? it was fairly recently added to my letterboxd watchlist, but the why of it i could not tell you

-

playing

im convinced theres a bug in the Court of Fontaine region in g/enshin bc i have been stuck at 97% for several weeks now. tick over to 100% godddamnit.

-

making

acquired all the stuff to dye a couch cover, have not actually dyed the couch cover, due to being down with some sort of sickness

[thewickedbohemian]

Dream Animated Movie Musical Tournament Seed Round Group F

For information on this tournament as well as the seed poll for group A go here

Why these musicals should be animated movies (in my opinion)

Once On This Island: it's basically a fairytale (so kinda feels like a Disney musical without really being one) and animation would be the only real way you could capture some of the things this show tries to do on film (just imagine "Mama Will Provide" alone and see the potential here)

The Music Man: classic old-fashioned musicals always seem like they could work well as animated movies to me and The Music Man seems to be one of the most still-beloved from that era (also the closest thing it's had to a movie recently, that 2000s one with Matthew Broderick, is kinda not well liked among fans of the musical so, like Harold Hill, this could deserve a chance at redemption)

Newsies: on the one hand it's a successful Disney musical adaptation of a successful Disney movie so some cynics might say the next step is to make a movie of that musical for even more money, on the other hand due to things like the addition of Katherine the stage musical does feel like enough of a unique entity it could be made into an animated movie without feeling like Disney's doing that kind of recycling (also one of the closest things Disney's ever done to a project with a pro-labor message, we could use that right about now)

City Of Angels: due to the dual-world nature of the story this could either blend live-action and animation (but animation less goofy than what Who Framed Roger Rabbit did) or black-and-white and color animation, either way this would definitely push some boundaries

Venice: although to some the book could use a few touch-ups (but that's what the second look a movie'd give a show like this is for) I still think at its best it's an underrated powerful show that deserves a way to reach a wide audience and as for why animation it'd help provide a layer of distance between some of the content both for soft-hearted viewers when the plot, y'know, Goes There, and for those in positions of power such that they might feel its political content hit dangerously close to home otherwise

Spring Awakening: the messages of this show are timely enough for it to deserve a movie and animation would both help the distance like with Venice and play into the whole dark romanticism of the show's aesthetic otherwise (if I had my druthers over how this would be an animated movie it'd (even if it had to be "drawn" via computer animation and would have to be 3D-animated as long as it could look close to the 2D vibe) do that thing Batman: The Animated Series did with the black backgrounds but have a more "flowy" sort of style like a dark version of certain Disney movies' aesthetic)

Caroline, Or Change: this is another one where it just feels like it'd work better animated but I don't quite know how to say how but this powerful story does deserve to get more notice

[nigh-temptation]

Alledia, in this version, is split up into 7 countries:

Windsor

Coco

Lufen

Nautilus

Frontera

Kanalis

Gulfeńn (which is split into more regions, or provinces)

(I will draw a better quality map someday 😔)

I made the map a little less of one big supercontinent, and I thought that making this world feel a little bigger would help make this story feel more vast without needing to leave the planet (I am never forgiving Kazu for that goofy ending in book 7, it literally came out of nowhere)

I will update this map later (I’m going to move the mountain range in Gulfeńn to the coast, so that geographically it makes a little sense as to why that whole area is an arid desert, and extend the mountain range up up north a bit)

During the war all the western countries are known as the Common Alliance (or at least, it will be if I don’t think of a less cheesy name). The best way to think about these countries is this:

(The flags are a bit ugly, but I tried my best 😭)

Windsor:

NOT occupied by Gulfeńn yet

the superpower of the CA

It’s really cold up there

Like… wet and cold

This place is just 1940’s England

Their national animal is the whale

I imagine Windsorian cities looking like Dunwall from Dishonored

Coco:

I haven’t come up with much other than it’s a small nation with not that much to offer in the way of trade, and was actually going through negotiations to become a part of Lufen before the war

Not occupied by Gulfeńn

Nautilus:

They are only partially occupied by Gulfeńn

The “front line” country

A lot of citizens have been displaced from here

This country (in my head at least) reminds me a little of Ireland

Frontera:

Completely occupied by Gulfeńn

A lot of elves actually live here

Human-Elf relations here is a lot more chill than in… say Windsor

Kanalis:

Also completely occupied by Gulfeńn

Basically if Chicago was a country

I always read Enzo and Rico’s lines in a Chicagoan accent, because they have Italian names 🤷‍♂️

Lufen:

‘MERICA RAAAHHHH 🦅🦅🦅

Idk, I have it in my head that this is cowboy country

This place is a lot looser than The boarder countries or Windsor

It’s a bunch of farmland broken up by forest, plains, and towns (kinda like where I live)

These guys are technically neutral, but have been sending supplies to Windsor

I will have a separate post for Gulfeńn (and why I am spelling it like that), but for now I want to focus on the human countries.

You might be wondering… how exactly did humans end up on Alledia anyways? Well my friend, I have a surprisingly simple answer for you!

I don’t fully know :/

I’d like to think they stumbled across the “Gate” (or portal thingy that Emily stumbled into) at some point hundreds of years ago, and adapted accordingly… but that leaves a couple of plot holes (how did that many people fit through the Gate? How did people of that many different cultures come all at once?) so let’s just not think about that for now 😅

The time period in which this will be set is more so in the 1930’s-1940’s. Because this is fantasy, we don’t have to be exact, and we can be a bit more flexible with “historical accuracy” or whatever.

I feel like a war oriented story such as this would benefit more from a Dieselpunk aesthetic. That way we have a bit of the modern age to work with, in terms of technology, and a thematic framework for the story right off the bat.

Here is an example of Dieselpunk! This piece is called Gray Monster by Jakub Rozalski:

I think mechs, blimps, and wartime would work perfectly with this genre of punk

final quick note, in my version of this story there are a couple different powers at play: The Common Alliance (bad-ish guys), The Resistance (okay guys), Gulfeńn (bad-ish guys), Ceilis (meh guys), and the Luna Moth Crew (good guys!)

Remember, this is an ongoing WAR. It is NOT a good time to live in Alledia, and the world should feel as such. With that being said, this is not going to be a “gritty” depressing story. I still want to capture the magic that the early books had. We can still have some fun with it!

Let me know what you think and if I should change anything :D

[quidfree]

I'm converting everyone in my life to tsh fans and without fail everyone always tells me that how funny it is that richard tells on himself so badly by writing francis by far the most like an actual person, in contrast especially to how. not like a person camilla is written.

I guess I was just wondering what you find most endearing about the richard-francis dynamic/what aspect you like to write the most, because for me it's got to be the way richard's own narration betrays how close they are just in the details he manages to capture

spreading the good word…

but like yeah you & i share the same instinct when it comes to those two anon you’re so real. bc it really drives me crazy like… richard’s Whole Thing is that he is soo fucked up and he wants to desperately to be part of something Beautiful and Real and Not what he has come from, and so he lies to us and to himself and edits his memories and his interactions and puts a group of pretentious rich kids on a pedestal bc they have the aesthetic of something he wants. and there is some truth to it and to him and to the relationships they build, but as the story progresses it becomes harder and harder for him to hold on to the grand visions he had of them and his life with them bc in fact all of them are just kind of bad people in pretty banal ways. and so by the end he is disillusioned and alone and washes back up to californiaaa baby and all of his once friends are fallen idols and he never really knew them at all.

EXCEPT that’s not true! both bc there were some moments of Realness, but mostly because throughout the whole act two, the one person who is With us-as-richard as everything falls apart is francis! he’s there! he is annoying and everpresent and inspiring richard to have nightmare visions of them as old men still bitching at each other, but he’s There as an actual person! henry’s an absentee god and charles is a study in cruel self-destruction and camilla is a mystery of absence, but francis is an actual right there flesh and blood person! they have serious conversations abt the people they’re in love with! they drive each other up a wall! richard takes francis to get diagnosed w panic disorders! he absolutely Knows francis, and for all that he is constantly complaining abt him, they’re also just. friends. that doesn’t mean theyre Nice About It, but it’s like.. richard you did make an actual friend. somehow in the midst of this whole mess you two stumbled into friendship. it’s just crazy to me bc they’re both so judgmental and shallow in some ways but they know each other at their very worst and that doesn’t stop them being friends. and that’s not enough to keep them #besties after the end of the year (fair enough with two dead friends and three murder/suicides within the space of a year), but YEARS later when francis tries to kill himself he sends richard a goodbye letter! and richard drops everything to rush to him in a panic and when they see each other in the hospital they’re so happy abt it! bc they somehow fucked up and managed to care abt each other despite knowing what assholes they are!

it’s just too good / awful. also the whole ending is so perfect in that regard. squad reunion around the bestie’s suicide bed before his sham homophobia marriage! richard Immediately proposes to camilla bc he’s crazy!! she somehow does not tell him straight up that he’s insane bc they have almost no interaction throughout the whole book and also timing! richard literally tells her they should get married bc they both love(d) henry! etc

anyways i went off topic bc the above isn’t even a proper answer to your question. what i find most endearing is like, francis putting blankets over richard while he sleeps and richard remembering sooooo many of francis’ quips verbatim years later. and what i like writing the most is like… hm. yeah maybe richard self-reporting, and Also i really enjoy writing francis’ feelings from richard pov. maybe a hot take but i do not think theyre at all In Love in the book, so getting to decide what that would look like is really fun. but maybe that’s for another ask…

[twistedtummies2]

Year of the Bat - Number 15

Welcome to Year of the Bat! In honor of Kevin Conroy, Arleen Sorkin, and Richard Moll, I’m counting down my Top 31 Favorite Episodes of “Batman: The Animated Series” throughout this January. We’ve officially entered the Top 15! TODAY’S EPISODE QUOTE: “Kids these days. No respect.” Number 15 is…Legends of the Dark Knight.

One of the great things about many famous comic book characters is their adaptability. Some of these characters were created nearly a century ago; Batman, for example, first appeared in the late 1930s. (He actually turns 85 Years Old this very year!) Some characters that old who were popular then have, for one reason or another, not stood the test of time. Batman has, and part of this is because his creators found him easy to adapt and reconfigure as times changed. Bruce Wayne and his universe have been portrayed more seriously or more goofily over the decades, and have been made to appeal to adults and children alike time and time again. “Batman: The Animated Series” is widely considered the most definitive take on the Caped Crusader and his world specifically because the writers who worked on this show understood this, and had a deep love for ALL sides of Batman’s world. The show, therefore, hits a near-perfect balance, overall, between silly superhero shenanigans, and dark, complex, sometimes downright brutal storytelling.

“Legends of the Dark Knight” is an episode that exemplifies not only the skillful balance of tone the Animated Series managed for the majority of its run, but acts as a tribute to the long and storied history of Batman, and the adaptability of the character. The plot focuses on a group of random children, living in Gotham, all of whom are gossiping about the mysterious Dark Knight. Through their banter, they start to share stories and theories about what Batman is really like, all of which pay homage to different past incarnations of Batman. Some of these references are relatively brief; for example, a passing friend of theirs named “Joel,” and his bizarre, strangely effeminate fixations on Batman, are meant to be a joking reference to Joel Schumacher’s much maligned film versions of the character. Another case is one young man who makes insinuations of Batman being some monstrous vampire, a reference to the Elseworlds “Batman & Dracula Trilogy” written by Doug Moench.

The most notable of these homages, however, are two long sequences of the show, acting essentially as stories within a story. The first is a tribute the late Golden Age and the Silver Age of comics, as well as to the Adam West 1960s TV series. It features an original adventure, with Batman and Robin battling the Joker, when the Clown Prince of Crime tries to steal the original score of the opera “Pagliacci.” The second sequence is taken directly from the pages of Frank Miller’s somewhat controversial (but highly influential) masterwork, “The Dark Knight Returns.” This one adapts and combines two scenes from the graphic novel, where Batman faces the despicable Mutant Leader. I love both these sequences; it’s neat to see the way the animation style changes for each to match the decade and story style (I especially love how the first sequence so accurately captures the look of Dick Sprang’s famous aesthetics). Interestingly, they also bring in new voice actors to play the characters in each one; instead of Mark Hamill, for example, Michael McKean plays the 60s-era Joker. Meanwhile, Michael Ironside – who would later play the devilish Darkseid for the DCAU – voices Frank Miller’s Batman. Both are perfect casting.

The episode ends with the kids bearing witness to the real Batman – Conroy’s vocals and all – duking it out with the villainous Firefly. I used to love this episode a lot more, but upon revisiting it, I felt I had lost some love for it, and I think part of it is this final sequence. While I love the idea of the kids encountering the real Batman after all that, and I suppose such a thing was inevitable with a plot like this…something about it feels underwhelming after the spectacular sequences we saw earlier in the episode. It’s hard for me to say what the issue is, but I don’t think that was the intention, based on the way things are set up and described in-story. Still, it’s not necessarily a bad ending, for various and probably obvious reasons. It’s a great episode that showcases a different perspective (several different perspectives, in fact) on Batman and the City as a whole, and if you’re as much of a fan of the history of this character – and the duality of the Animated Series itself – as I am, you owe it to yourself to give this one a quick peek. That is, of course, presuming you haven’t already.

Tomorrow we move on to Number 14! Hint: “This used to be a beautiful street. Good people lived here once.”

[petty-crush]

“Looking for Mr Goodbar”

I didn’t expect a film about a first grade teacher (for the deaf) cruising bars for no strings sex to be so joyful and visually enticing, but I am very glad it is.

The film announces its moxie by a tender and poetic series of black and white photographs in the opening. Capturing moments in time. It sets the yarn into a totally different footing than I expected.

Amusingly, I’ve never seen opening credits look so much like closing credits. I briefly wondered the intent, but later the real ending hits like a nail at warp speed and its all very impactful.

Diane Keaton gives one of her very best performances, a casual way of entering scenes that is riveting.

Surely she must have been giggling in real life when her character Theresa reads “The Godfather” at a bar, and not only is told by her suitor that he liked Pacino but that he will, indeed, make her an offer she can’t refuse.

I’ve never seen a film so blasé and yet free wheeling towards dream sequences. Again and again, they present some of the funniest, visually alive scenes and gives the film a great deal of spontaneity.

Speaking of which, anyone else notice the picture of leatherface from “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” in the professor’s office? How droll.

There are lots of little details like that in this film. Richard Brooks, as befitting a director who rose in the ranks via classic Hollywood system, has a time just aesthetically blocking the overbearing father resigned from life in a Norte dame college sports coat.

The photography/angles he and cinematographer William Fraker put on the screen is consistently stunning and gorgeously lit.

There is a certain point in which I felt my attention and eagerness drag. It wasn’t one sequence or a uninterrupted 10 minutes, it just felt like it went from nimble to oxen slow in the last half hour.

The structure is otherwise pretty sound: woman ashamed of her background tries to become free with non stop sex and flagrant disregard for rules of an an older generation. I like that.

There are even additions like her deathly fright of her possible children suffering like she did, from scoliosis. The moment where the before stone faced father breaks down and tells her his sister (her aunt) slowly wasting away from her condition is greatly effective.

On the opposite spectrum is Theresa’s delight at penetrative sex. Brooks chooses to let the camera linger on her face and her surprise turned delight at getting fucked so well.

The ending is brutal. The light, the anger, the violence, the self loathing and homophobia, is raw and overwhelming. Remarkably executed and edited.

That said, it feels like the director (and book writer) just decided to end it here. It feels nether muscularly random nor a drill slowly but surely cratering the earth. Just kinda arbitrary, really.

This film has a very limited release and public presence. The title seems to be more known than the actual picture.

At its peak an essential 70s cinema vibe bursts forth and leaves us stunned. A crime tension gem.

[luclockyerviscom]

Painting Process

For the style of the painting I was very inspired by John Constable's work after seeing some in museums recently, so tried to capture a romantic era painting aesthetic. I switched up my brush after feedback to be more in line with my romantic painting inspiration and came up with an updated version of the image, simplified, with Napoleon and the windmill much more prominent and readable at a distance. I really wanted the image to be realistically lit but very dark, in particular to assist with the readability of the text on the back cover, reducing contrast and darkening that part of the image. The pig is oversized to make him more imposing and I gave him some badges like he wears in the book, inspired by russian military badges. I also made him smoke a pipe, both something the pigs begin to do in the end of the book, and to make him reminiscent of Stalin, the inspiration for the character, who was often pictured smoking a pipe. I do wish I had managed to include some of the other animals but found it difficult to get them to work in the image. Overall I'm really pleased with this project so far.

Design progress, most heavily used reference, and current design shown below.

[watching-pictures-move]

Tagged by @mariocki, a few questions by which to get to know me better:

Last song: I’ve been listening to Born Too Late by Saint Vitus on repeat over the last week or so, so unsurprisingly it’s something from that album.

Favourite colour: Blue is my stock answer because it goes with most things and most shades of it look good, but over the last few years I’ve warmed up to green.

Currently watching: I don’t watch many TV shows, but I did go through the miniseries adaptation of On Wings of Eagles last week after finishing the book. The cast makes it watchable, but it’s got that TV grade hamminess, and a lot of the changes made to adapt it to the small screen are pretty dumb. Interestingly, once I logged it on Letterboxd, one of my mutuals piped in to mention that his father was a State Department official mentioned in the book and tangentially involved in the events covered.

Sweet/savoury/spicy: Savoury for sure. I definitely have a sweet tooth but I’ve tried to avoid too much sugar for health reasons (not that I’m especially good at it, haha). My friends chirp me for my spice tolerance (which is probably pretty average but low by South Asian standards, I’m South Asian but they are not btw), but I find too much spice, at the level my friends like, overwhelms the other flavours in a dish.

Currently playing: I’m not a huge gamer, but I did recently enjoy RoboCop: Rogue City, which does a great job of capturing the tone and aesthetics of the movies and has some really tasty, weighty gunplay to boot. I will probably get to the Terminator game the same studio put out next, although these days I take a decent break in between games.

Current obsession: This is a tough one. I guess because it’s almost October I’m diving back into watching mostly horror movies as I usually do this time of year earlier this year I did a bit of a Laurel and Hardy binge and watched 29 of their movies. (They are my most watched actors this year, followed by Mae Busch and a bunch of other regulars who appeared in their movies.) Before that I got really annoying about Miami Vice when I went through it last year.

Thank you for tagging me!