#i still have 9 slots open and my commissions are still half off if anyone is still interested

[neopolitangumdrops]

Long due commission for @pan-flute-skeleton ~

The Undertale "It's You!" Meme, but with her metalocalypse OC, Kari~

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[buttsonthebeach]

In Media Res

I love that commissions allow me to write about pairings and world states that I have never written about before, and to dive into new characters, so I should be the one thanking @spectrestatus-recognised for trusting me with writing about Artur Hawke and Fenris during the Legacy DLC, struggling with the fallout of their tryst during Act II. 

So thank you, new friend! I loved working on this.

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots currently open as of 9/16/19)

Pairing: Artur Hawke x Fenris

Rating: Teen for sexual references

*************

In hindsight, bringing up the rumors he’d heard circulating Kirkwall while walking through the desolate ruins in the Vinmark Mountains, shortly after fighting Carta dwarves who were making even less sense than usual, knowing they were headed straight for an even larger Carta hideout, was not Artur Hawke’s finest decision.

But there, away from the city, they seemed so big that he could not ignore them. They filled the wide desert sky the way they’d filled each night since the night, which was the only way he would allow himself to think of what had happened. There amongst the scrubby plants and yellow sand, where there was only Carver, Varric - and, of course, Fenris - he could think of nothing else.

However much he wanted to.

And then they encountered Gerav, Varric’s old Carta contact, and as it became clear that they were after Artur and Carver’s blood, he just had to make the comment.

“Why do you want his blood so badly anyway? If you’re after eternal youth, I have to tell you, he’s no virgin.”

And even though Artur knew he should be more focused on the interrogation, he could hardly breathe now, and his hands were trembling, because that was the first time he’d heard someone say those words out loud, and Varric was saying them to a stranger, and Fenris was right here, and Carver was right here, and he wanted the earth to swallow him whole and be done with it.

So he said something once Gerav had been dealt with. Quietly, while he and Varric were at the head of the party.

“Varric, I’ve heard… stories of a personal nature being spread around town.”

“And you want me to set the record straight? I’m flattered.”

He should have noticed then that Varric’s voice was not pitched as low as he would like, that Carver and Fenris were close behind them, but his blood was still up from their fight, and his carefully wrought control - the greatest treasure he owned - was already balanced on a knife edge, because here he was fixing another thing magic had torn asunder, and likely righting another wrong of his father’s own making. Varric turned to look up at him, and then raised his eyebrows at the stony expression in Artur’s eyes. He was lucky he couldn’t see beneath the mask Artur wore to obscure the rest of his face. Artur willed that to be enough to end the matter, to grant him some peace from his own foolishness, to make it easier to be out here with the man he could not stop thinking about, to ease some of the shame.

“I haven’t told anyone about you and that, uh, angsty Tevinter elf. Try looking closer to home for that intelligence leak.”

And the same way that a fireball sucked up all the air around it before it exploded into life, all the air around Artur was sucked up by Varric’s words. There was a quick inhale behind them - Carver sucking in a lungful of his own. Artur felt his face lighting up hot as fire, felt the parts of it covered in fractal scarring puckering and stiffening as his lips drew tighter and tighter. He fidgeted with the edge of his mask, ensuring they stayed covered.

“Varric,” he managed to grit out.

“What? If Gamlen knows about your passionate night together, it can’t be that much of a secret.”

Artur’s mind was a clanging whirl of thought. Crazed Carta and strange murmurings about Hawke blood be damned. Magic had controlled - had ruined - everything about his life. He could hardly believe anything else could rise to a place in his life where it upset that balance - but here they were. Ground to a halt in the Vinmarks, not moving urgently through the Carta hideout towards the Warden Tower that promised to be the solution to the attacks he and Carver had faced, because -

Because one night, around a month ago, Artur had thought things were changing.

He had thought that all the destruction magic had wrought might be leading somewhere beautiful - that his father denying him the chance to enter the Circle, damning him to flee Ferelden with his family, to watch Bethany die, to fight to survive on Kirkwall’s streets - that teaching himself to control the very power that marked his skin with scars, that haunted his every night - that it might all have been leading to Fenris. Steady, forthright, principled, disciplined Fenris. If Fenris could look at Artur and see someone to love - someone to cherish - perhaps he could begin to see that in himself.

But that wasn’t what happened, of course. Artur had bared himself - had bared every inch of scarred, ruined skin - for the first time, and Fenris had delved in, had seemed, perhaps, to cherish it.

And then he’d turned away. Left without a trace.

Artur should have known not to expect anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Carver was saying, though the words may as well have come from a hundred miles away. “Are you saying…?”

“That Hawke and Fenris spent some quality alone time together?”

“Yes. That.”

“Well, yeah. Again, I didn’t think this was exactly a secret. I mean, where did you think the little red handkerchief came from?”

And now Artur’s whole body was locked up with anger, fear, dismay. Because of course Varric had noticed the token Fenris still wore, the token that tormented Artur himself, because why was Fenris wearing it if he had run away from their night together? Why wear a brand you had not wanted in the first place?

And why, on the Maker’s good green earth, was Carver asking Varric for more details?

“Angsty Tevinter elf?”

Fenris’s voice shook Artur free from the prison of his own body. They were spoken in that low drawl that sent heat up his spine even now, because he knew what it sounded like when the only light came from candles, when it was only the two of them. Artur turned back at last to see Fenris. His heart twisted in the desert wind, seeing the arch of Fenris’s pale eyebrow. The disdain written clearly on his face.

“I strive for nothing if not accuracy,” Varric said, his chin acquiring a haughty lift.

Fenris looked at Varric a moment longer. Then his eyes flickered over to Artur, so quickly that he immediately began to doubt whether or not it happened. Then back to Varric.

“Are we going to continue on at some point, or are we going to continue to allow bloodthirsty criminals to run rampant?” he drawled.

Varric turned back to Artur.

“Well, fearless leader? What say you? Am I exonerated in the case of who leaked the story of Hawke and the angsty Tevinter elf and their one night affair?”

Just like that the tension returned, radiating up his back, and the shame coiled tight in his stomach. Tears welled up and he had to speak around them, his voice coming out strangled and broken.

“Enough. We’re headed out.”

He turned away from all of them and headed down the path.

Except that wasn’t the end of it, of course.

They pushed through the Carta hideout, through a grueling fight with a man called Rhatigan, and into a passage down into the earth, down into the promised prison. They decided to make camp there, in the base of the prison, to give themselves time to recover. Varric hadn’t made any further comments, but Carver was glaring at him nonetheless whenever he caught the dwarf’s eye. Artur himself was exhausted enough that he could almost hope he would sleep without dreams, without the relentless circling of demons looking for the slightest weakness. Without any of them taking Fenris’s face, tempting and beckoning and shaming him.

But before he could slip off to that hopeful oblivion, Carver pulled up a seat next to him at their campfire, and Artur knew what was coming next.

“I’m sorry, how is it that half of Kirkwall, including the mouthy dwarf, seems to know something that I don’t?”

“Because the Grey Wardens, unlike half of Kirkwall, are actually focused on the duties they need to uphold. They don’t have time for gossip.”

Carver rolled his eyes. “What happened? With you and Fenris?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Carver.”

“Well you obviously talked to Varric about it.”

“A mistake which I both recognize and regret now. Can we drop it?”

Carver raised both his hands up, defensive. “Fine. I’m just - surprised. And I would have been happy that you let your guard down and let someone in if it wasn’t for Mother’s letter. She didn’t seem to know exactly what was going on, but she said until the Carta attacks started, you were barely leaving your room. Barely sleeping, barely eating. For an entire fortnight. And that was all because of Fenris? Was it really that bad?”

Artur’s heart ached. It had ached before, when his father died, when Bethany died, when Carver was bitten by the darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and then carted off by the Wardens. It ached whenever he saw the Gallows and thought of how much simpler and safer his life would have been within its stone walls. He thought he knew all the different ways it could ache. But this bruise was new, and fresh, and Carver wanted to keep pressing on it.

“I let Fenris in and he changed his mind,” Artur said finally, curtly. “End of discussion.”

Carver’s eyes widened - and then his face softened, and for a brief instant he looked so much like the sister they’d both lost that it closed up Artur’s throat. Then the anger resurfaced, and he was Carver again.

“I see. Well, then that says more about what kind of man he is than what kind of man you are.”

He didn’t raise the subject again that night, even though there was a part of Artur that wanted the chance to disagree with his little brother. To tell him that Fenris was the one who was right. That he had never deserved him. But Artur slept first, so exhausted that he remembered nothing of what he’d dreamt when Varric woke him for his turn on watch. This time it was the waking hours of the night that haunted him. Sitting there at the campfire, in the damp closeness of the prison with its eerie green light, replaying it over and over again - Fenris coming to the mansion after their confrontation with Hadriana on the Wounded Coast, Fenris’s lips on his, the shock of finally feeling another person’s body so close and warm against his own, finally crossing that barrier, finally letting go for once, instead of holding tight. Then Fenris lit by firelight, saying he could not stay, snapping shut the hopeful door Artur had opened within himself, seemingly for good. The images played over and over again on a loop in his mind, and at a certain point he stopped fighting them, let them wash over him, turned them this way and that, examining each moment for something new to cherish, something new to be wounded by.

Fenris was the one he needed to wake for the next guard rotation, though. It was the order they’d taken on previous excursions - Varric, Artur, Fenris, Carver, or Sebastian in the years that followed their disastrous Deep Roads expedition, and Carver joining the Wardens. But this was the first time after what had happened that he would be going into Fenris’s tent, seeing him sleeping there, touching his strong, solid shoulder, seeing him bleary and quiet in the dark for that split second before all his own walls came up, before he was alert and watchful again. He used to live for that moment of softness that only he got to see. He used to think that Fenris did, too. In the weeks leading up to the night they spent together, he’d sometimes catch Fenris lingering in that soft moment, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Artur went to Fenris’s tent, pulled back the flap, called his name. Did not dare to touch him, as he once had. He heard the rustle of blankets and then saw Fenris sitting up, the gleam of his elven eyes in the near-total darkness. The single, curt nod that indicated his understanding. He saw nothing of the softness he used to know. He pretended that it did not matter. This was what he had always expected out of his life. Fenris was right after all, about what he’d said when he killed Hadriana. 

What did magic touch that it did not spoil?

Artur, lying in his tent, seeing the indistinct shape of Fenris as he settled in for his watch, knew that it had spoiled this.

*

It was hard to tell that it was morning based on how dark it was within the tower, but their watches told them it was, and so they ate their rations and packed up camp and prepared to head onwards, upwards, through the tower, to whatever awaited them at the top. Things were getting serious now. The base of the tower was full of darkspawn, and deepstalkers, and a man called Larius who seemed to know the answers to the questions they were afraid to ask. It was full of memories, too, of Malcolm Hawke. Of his own demons, real and imagined. That had to mean that Fenris and Artur’s - indiscretion - would take a back seat. 

Right?

“Hawke looks like he could use some help over there moving the debris out of that doorway. Fenris, why don’t you offer assistance?” Varric said, even though Carver was closer, and already moving towards Artur to help shift the rocks that had fallen in their fight with one of the imprisoned shades.

“The situation looks to be well in hand,” Fenris returned dryly, evenly, refusing as ever to rise to anyone else’s bait, and wasn’t that one of the things Artur so admired about him? That no one - not even Anders - could ruffle him? Artur did not miss that Carver shot a glare at Fenris, and again he almost wanted to intervene, to defend the man who had shattered his heart.

“Somehow I doubt that Carver’s hands are the ones Hawke wants to be in.”

Artur didn’t even have to turn around to know what Varric’s face looked like. Smug, pleased with himself, with his own wordplay. He prayed silently to the Maker and his Bride for a moment for guidance, discernment, calm, self-control.

“How about instead of witty comments, you help next time?” Carver said when they were done, bristling with anger, staring Varric down.

“You should always play to your strengths, Junior. Witty repartee is mine.”

So of course, it still wasn’t over.

Because Varric was nervous.

There were darkspawn about, and crazed Wardens, and ancient demons and magical wards, and ancient dwarven secrets, and all of those were things that made Varric uneasy, and Varric’s way of dealing with unease was to engage in said witty repartee. So when they discovered the grave of a dwarf named Tethras Garen, and Artur said the rites to lay him to rest, what Varric said next was probably inevitable.

“That was sweet, Hawke. Now let’s get out of here before you see me cry. Unlike you, I don’t have a strong shoulder to go and bury my face in.”

That strike drove true, lodged deep. Artur remembered the smell of Fenris’s skin when he buried his face there. It overrode every other scent surrounding them in the present moment. He remembered the sound of Fenris’s heart pounding in his ears.

“No one here has any shoulders to cry on,” Carver said. “Onward. I think I see the next stairs up.”

“You know, you’ve been away too long, Carver,” Varric sighed. “I’ve missed having a lovable lug with more sword than sense along for one of our wild rides. Now, speaking of wild rides, I do have to ask if -”

“No.”

Artur said the word louder than was strictly necessary, and brushed past Varric as he did so. There were images that threatened within his mind that he would not allow himself to replay, or the shame would burn too bright, and there was shame aplenty here, with his father’s voice ringing in his ears.

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker’s will is written. The Maker’s will is in me, and I am safe. He had the will to withstand possession, temptation, destruction, despair. He had the will to overcome this.

It still wasn’t over there, though. Varric’s ability to find a joke was boundless, and perhaps even keener for the constant danger surrounding them, and after they defiled the foul Altar of Dumat they found in the base of the tower, he returned to the subject.

“So I’m curious” he said, panting, still exhausted from the effort of fighting the demons that poured forth when the altar was defiled. “Which of you made the first move? Purely for posterity’s sake, of course. I may not have started the rumors floating around Kirkwall, but now that they’re out there, you’ll want someone to help keep the story straight, right?”

“Varric, enough,” Carver said. “Can you not see the looks Artur’s face? And Fenris’s too, for that matter, though I have to confess I care a little less about his feelings on the matter.”

Artur had been doing his best not to look at Fenris as all of this happened. Or to look at him much more than normal, anyway. He’d caught that one glimpse when Varric first broached this subject, and he’d read it as disdain. He looked again now, more closely. Fenris was looking away from them, mouth set in a hard, thin line, fists clenched at his sides.

He was ashamed. Willing himself to be anywhere but here. Like he had been that night by the fire.

This should never have happened.

“Yes, I can see the look on their faces. Have you ever seen a pair that needed to lighten up more than these two? Or anyone who really needed to kiss and make up, for that matter? Because I sure haven’t.”

Carver made an exasperated, almost wounded sound.

“We don’t have time for this. We’re getting close. I can feel it. Hear it. Like - like a Calling.”

“Junior, I don’t know about you, but I need a rest after that fight,” Varric said. It was true. He was leaning on Bianca for support.

“Fine,” Artur said. “We’ll take a quick breather.”

The instant the words left his mouth, Fenris strode away from them, off into the damp darkness, far enough to be outside of earshot, and Artur’s heart broke again. He should not have brought Fenris along. He should not have subjected him to this shame. Even if he’d only caught wind of the rumors about them right as they left the city, he should have known that it was too soon. That mere weeks would not be enough to erase what had happened, the bottomless guilt Fenris must feel for violating his principles, for getting close to someone who did not deserve it, someone damaged. Artur felt the hard knot that had choked him for those weeks that he had stayed inside the mansion rising up from the pit of his belly into his throat once more, threatening to cut off his breath, to make moving impossible.

“Should you go talk to him?” Carver asked, voice pitched low.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Carver threw his hands in the air. “Well, I guess we’ll all just be miserable all the way up then. Wonderful.”

“We’d be fine if it wasn’t for that blasted dwarf,” Artur finally said, his voice cracking. “We were fine all the way from Kirkwall to the Vinmarks. You saw it. Fenris was polite. He even stood up for me when Varric made his blasted comment about me - rolling around in pudding and gravy or whatever nonsense he came up with this time.” Although, had that really helped? Fenris, the only person who’d seen him beneath the clothes and mask, insisting that Artur wasn’t at all fat? Didn’t that just kindle the shame even further? 

“I swear, if Varric doesn’t stop, I’ll tell him that Sebastian is more of a friend than he has ever been. That will shut him up,” Artur said, his voice cracking again, and he hadn’t felt this on edge in so long, and it only made the flame of his shame burn higher, hotter.

“Still,” Carver insisted. “If you and Fenris had a fling, and it ended badly, why did you bring him along?”

“It wasn’t a fling,” Artur countered. “It was -”

It was supposed to be a beginning. And it had been. It was a beginning the way a stillbirth was, the way a candle that flamed to life and then guttered and died in the same breath was. A beginning that never got to really begin. His eyes drifted over to Fenris again, standing ramrod straight, arms folded, staring off at something Artur could not see.

“It wasn’t a fling,” he went on finally. “And I brought him because I knew we would face heavy opposition from the Carta, whatever they were up to. I needed the best warrior I knew to help keep us safe.”

Not all because Artur was hoping that a change of scenery, that getting out of dreadful Kirkwall, that fighting alongside each other, might fix things. Might at least save their friendship. Not at all because he had gone so many weeks already without seeing Fenris, and he didn’t want to wait longer. He was not a fool. He wasn’t.

“You already had me. What more could you need?” Carver said, a wry, cocky little grin on his face. Artur rolled his eyes. “Come on. Smile. Everyone has had their heart broken before.”

As if this was the first time Artur’s heart had been broken. As if the world didn’t break it every day.

Carver clapped his hand to Artur’s shoulder. It shook his whole body. When had his little brother stopped being so little?

“Thank you for trying, Carver,” he said. Carver nodded, smiled, went to sit down.

Varric sidled over a few moments later, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“So - I may have possibly, once or twice, just a little, crossed a line today.”

At that, Artur could not help but snort, even if full on laughter felt impossible, even if it had for weeks.

“But - look, you and Fenris are tough reads on a good day. I genuinely couldn’t tell at first if this was just the two of you being intensely awkward about a budding romance, or if things really had gone sideways.”

“And at exactly what point did it become clear to you that it was the latter?”

“Oh, right after that first exchange.”

“And yet you persisted?”

Varric raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Look - I don’t do my best work in caves. Or surrounded by darkspawn. Or demons.”

“I don’t think you have to be at your intellectual prime to recognize when something is private and should be left that way.”

“Alright, alright, alright. Message received. But - I’ve gotta ask - why did it go sideways?”

Artur wondered why anyone would keep asking such an elementary, obvious question. He had only ever shown his scars to his family - and to Fenris, on that night - but he knew they manifested in places other than his face. That his magic alone should have made it obvious why he was an unworthy partner. The Chantry was wise to separate them, to prevent them from having families. To contain the danger they represented. And then there were the changes his magic had wrought in him - how it had made him cautious, controlled, afraid. How it had filled him with loathing.

“There was never a way that it could have gone otherwise,” Artur said finally.

Varric looked at him for a good long moment.

“I know you have a hard time seeing it, but you’re the hero in this story, Hawke. You deserve to be happy. If Fenris makes you happy - isn’t it worth reaching for that happiness?”

He had been happy the night that Fenris came to him. Blindingly, stupidly happy. Artur glanced towards Fenris once more, and then looked away again. The memory of that feeling would have to be enough.

“Varric - I just need you to leave us alone. Please.”

Again, the hands raised in the placating gesture.

“I hear you. But, Hawke - I know when a story is over. And this one - this one isn’t yet.”

Artur knew that Varric meant for the words to be soothing, but instead they felt ominous. Wasn’t that what Artur had wanted all his life? For things to just be over? Resolved? Safe, the way they would have been within the thick stone walls of a Circle? He couldn’t have Fenris. He’d accepted that. Now he just wanted the pain to go away.

“I hope it is over,” he said, and Varric saw his cue to leave.

They went on through the tower, its madness, its twists and turns and dangers. Towards this ancient evil named Corypheus, who Malcolm Hawke had used his own blood to seal away. By the end the focused edge that was necessary for combat had shorn away most of Artur Hawke’s other feelings and thoughts. But then there was a moment, near the very top of the tower, knowing what was next, when they caught their breath, and Fenris was standing there, tan cheeks flushed, green eyes bright, white hair mussed, and Artur could think of nothing but how he wanted to cross the space between them and kiss him, and speak the truth.

I don’t want this to be over.

Fenris caught his gaze that time, and a shock coursed down Artur’s spine, like ice water. For an instant, there was that softness again in Fenris, the kind that blurred every line, dulled every hurt. Then Fenris looked away again, and Artur took a deep breath, centering himself, preparing for what came next, and climbed to the top of the tower.

*

They came home in one piece, Corypheus defeated, another of his family’s mistakes corrected. Fenris melted back into the shadows of Hightown, and for all that they lived close to one another, Artur did not see him for several more weeks. It was for the best. He needed to let the wound close up, scar over. One more mark to join all the others.

Varric couldn’t quite seem to stop himself from bringing it up, whatever he’d promised while they were in the tower. Artur was sure he meant well. But he found himself closing off from Varric as well, too wounded by the invasion of his privacy, that one square foot of space he tried to reserve for himself alone in a world that seemed determined to take all the rest. The others wasted no time joining in on the cajoling. Sebastian was the only one who politely refused to join in, who sent Artur sympathetic glances whenever the topic came up. They discussed it only once, standing on the steps of Kirkwall’s chantry, looking out over the city. The endless rows of houses leading down to the harbor and the Gallows, the endless problems that always found ways to lay themselves at Artur Hawke’s feet.

“If Andraste has taught us anything,” Sebastian said. “It is that we have to pass through the fire to reach our true potential. Perhaps even to know the truth of anything. You and Fenris are passing through the fire now. Only the Maker knows what is on the other side. All you need to do is put your trust in Him, and keep putting one foot in front of another. He will not lead you astray.”

Artur took in each word, held them close in his chest, refused to let them just slide away. He took the first real, deep breath he’d taken since that night.

“You’re right,” he said. “Nothing is over until the Maker says it is so.”

Sebastian clapped his hand to Artur’s shoulder, gave it a squeeze. Artur closed his eyes, the better to take in that sensation, the warmth of the sun on his face, the smell of incense and the quiet murmur of the Chant coming out of the chantry. He pictured Fenris’s face, and for the first time he was filled with more hope than fear.

[djddueces]

An Idol in Teal Chapter 2

JUST FINISHED. Hope you guys like! Feedback is appreciated please. 

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SAPPORO: September 2006

The sun shone bright through the girl’s bedroom, illuminating the whole room. Deep in her slumber, the sun’s rays did not faze her. She was sleeping silently. Her light blue bangs covered her eyes, and her long pigtails fell behind her to the floor. Suddenly, a loud noise startled the girl and she sat up, panicked.

“HUH? WHAT? WHO’S THERE? INTRUDER ALERT!!” she screamed as she threw her plushies at her door.

“Are you done making a ruckus or do I need to come in there?” The woman behind the door seemed angry, and the girl did not want to piss her off.

“Come in mom…..” She groaned. The doorknob made a clicking noise as it turned, and appearing in the doorway was a woman. She had short baby blue hair and turquoise eyes. She was wearing a business dress and had a briefcase in her hand. She glanced at the girl sitting in the bed.

“Seriously Miku, I must have called you a million times. You have school today. I mean, you’re 15 years old, I shouldn’t have to wake you up anymore.” Miku scratched her head and laughed nervously.

“Heh heh, I know, I know, but you know I do need my beauty sleep. It’s what keeps me so flawless.”

“If you were so flawless, you wouldn’t have failed math and had to take make up classes in summer school, now would you,” her mom said through gritted teeth. Miku, mouth agape, sighed.

“Listen honey, just try to pay more attention next time and don’t sleep in class. I mean, it’s bad enough you don’t have anyone to talk to or be around, but just try to be a little more social.” She walked over to the bed and sat down next to Miku, hugging her. She started speaking Japanese to Miku.

“Ganbate Miku. Daisuki.”

“Mom, you know English is easier for me to understand right?”

“Embrace your Japanese heritage Miku.” “Of what, weeaboos??” She grabbed her plushie and snuggled it.

“Just make sure you eat and don’t miss the train today, okay? I love you. I’ll be home tonight with dinner. What do you want?”

“Can we go out later? I kind of been meaning to ask you that, but I know you’ve been swamped with work.” Her next words were almost inaudible.

“I miss you….”

“Huh? What was that Miku? I didn’t catch your last part.” She tilted her head at her daughter.

Miku dropped her plushie and waved her hands back and forth rapidly. “It’s nothing mom don’t worry.” Her mom kissed her forehead and stood up.

“Sure, we can go out tonight, but make sure to be ready by about 7 okay? I love you. I’ll talk to you later.” She walked over to door and closed it gently behind her. Miku plopped back down in her bed.

“I’m not alone….I have you Sailor Moon.” She picked up the plushie and held it close to her chest. “She didn’t have to point it out….It’s not my fault I can’t make friends. I’ve tried so many times, just nothing clicks. Plus,” she leaped out of bed and picked up a toy microphone, “I’m going to be an idol anyways! Idols don’t need friends! We make our own rules whenever we want, go to sleep whenever we want, and do whatever we want whenever we want!” But was she really happy? Was all of this just a cover up of how Miku really felt deep down inside? Did she really want a friend? Or did she simply want to be acknowledged by others? The blue-haired girl changed out of her pajamas and into her school uniform, which consisted of a black blouse, black button up shirt and black thigh high socks. She also grabbed her pink jacket and headphones.

“Now where is my iPod?” She searched around the room for it. It wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“I’m always losing things….Maybe it’s downstairs in the back room.” She grabbed her backpack and just as she was about to leave, she glared into the mirror, sluggishly.

“My hair is a mess….I love my pigtails and all, but they’re SOOOO hard to take care of.” Grabbing the brush from her dresser, she straightened out her hair. She rummaged around in her draw for a scrunchy also. “I think I’ll go bun today. Sound good Sailor Moon?” The plush didn’t respond. “Figures….Talking to inanimate objects again, you really are alone Miku…..” She carefully folded her pigtails together and crunched them up. With one hand on her hair and the other with the srunchy, she carefully tied her hair into a bun. Looking into the mirror, it turned out terribly.

“I look like a fool….Maybe I can do…..” She took a chunk of her hair and pulled it through the scrunchy, letting it fall into a single ponytail.

“THERE WE GO! Bun isn’t too big and the ponytail falls just about right. Rather thicker ponytail than I would have liked, but I’ll live.” She smiled and trotted downstairs in search of food.

Once in the kitchen, she looked around for her iPod still. “Still no sign. And I can’t locate my phone either. UGH.” Her stomach rumbled and she patted it while looking at the clock.

“Let’s see, it’s 7 am now. School starts at 9. Train ride is about a half hour, and I still have to look for my belongings.” She reached into the pantry and grabbed a Pop Tart. Soon after, she took a mini carton of milk from the fridge and glugged it in one shot. She let out a long and deep “AHHHHHHHH,” and proceeded to take a bite out of the Pop Tart next. With a Pop Tart in hand, she looked around the house for her iPod and phone.

Walking down the hallway, she passed a room with a glass window. You could see through the glass. The room was located at the end of the hallway, towards the back of her house. She opened the door and came across another door, with no windows in sight. She slowly turned the doorknob and walked into darkness. Feeling the wall for a light switch, she turned it on. In front of her stood a small room, no bigger than hers. There was a huge glass wall in the center that went up to the ceiling. About halfway down to the floor was a giant audio panel. There were dozens of switches on the panel, some of which Miku didn’t even know what they did. To the right was a door that led into the glass room. She walked over to it and entered, closing the door behind her. In the small glass room was a single microphone hanging from the ceiling. She went over and stood in front of the microphone.

“Testing, 1,2, is this thing on?” she said jokingly, knowing everything in the room had been out of commission for years.  The soft carpet underneath her comforted her bare feet. It was as cozy as a bed, and Miku had fallen asleep in this room dozens of times when she wanted to be alone, something that her mom scolded her for multiple times.

“I can’t believe none of this stuff works anymore.” She squat down and fell backwards, looking up at the microphone. She wanted to practice her singing and record music for demos, but her mom refused to get the systems back online. She told Miku that being an idol was a waste of time, and that nothing good with come from it.

“I don’t get it….” She rolled onto her side and looked at the wall. “Mom was a famous DJ….She loved doing it. She knew how to work all of this. So why did she quit? Is it because I was born? Is it because my sperm donor abandoned us?” Thinking about this wasn’t going to make her any happier. Her mom had Miku at a very young age. She was a world famous DJ that while mostly doing shows in Japan, also went to countries to DJ, such as the USA and countries in Europe. As stupid and childish as it was, Miku blamed herself for her mom giving up her passion. While also having a minor in marketing (what she was doing now, hence the business suit), she knew her mom wasn’t happy. She read about articles about how lots of people would flock to the venue to see her mom perform.

“Mom, what can I do to convince you to teach me all of this?” She once again turned around, this time lying on her belly. “All you wanted me to learn is piano. Why? I dunno, to teach me responsibility? To make me practice something and not be bored. I picked up guitar all on my own. I’m still no good at it. I’m trying though. I won’t give up. I want to become an idol. I want to do what you did. Mom, this is my passion. And I will convince you to teach me, even if I have to beg and plead. You will succumb to my request!” She stood back up and walked out of the room, making sure to turn off the light. She walked out of the other room and back into the hallway. The clock read 7:30.

“Guess I should be going soon, but not without my iPod or phone. Shit, why am I looking for my phone, not like anyone ever texts me anyways….” She checked the den for her iPod, but it wasn’t there.

“AH DAMMIT WHERE IS IT?!” She ran into the living room next, and tore it up. Music was the only thing that kept her sane, and to lose her iPod was the same to her as losing her life. After a few minutes of searching and coming up empty, she thought hard about where it would be.

“Where was the last place I used it. Where is it? Maybe it’s…..” Suddenly, it came back to her. She jolted towards the stairs and ran up. Down the hallway, and next to her room was the bathroom. She opened up the cabinet underneath the sink and found a pink item sitting there. It was her iPod.

“AH THERE YOU ARE MOMMY HAS YOU!” She grabbed it as if it were a sacred item and turned it on. Still full battery. Miku occasionally practiced lip synching in front of the mirror, and left it there when she went to take a shower.

“I’ll never lose you again I promise.” She connected the jack from her headphones into the headphone slot in her iPod and slipped it into her jacket pocket.

“Right, I should be getting to school now. But for what reason? Idols don’t have to go to school!” She put the two headphone buds in her ears and walked downstairs towards the back door.

“Idol, idol, gonna be an idol. Idol, idol, that’s what I want to be!” she sang. It was her passion after all. She dreaded the idea of getting a 9-5, sitting in a cubicle, and doing what her mom did. She convinced her mom many times to get back into her passion, and many times her mother told her no and not to dwell on being an idol. “Hmph, whatever mom,” the light blue-haired girl said to herself while reminiscing. “You do you, and I’ll do me. That way, I can prove you wrong. Miku once again looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Shit, 8 am. Gotta run!” She grabbed her keys off the kitchen hook, put a song on her iPod, and ran out the door, locking it behind her. She darted for the train station, which was not that far from her house. Up the block and making a right at the corner, she continue to pace herself, making sure she wasn’t too tired during class. In the horizon, she saw the tracks of the train, elevated about the ocean front. Or was it a giant river? Pond even? “Eh, no time to think about this Miku. You NEED to get on the next train,” she said to herself. “You’re sweet, sweet loving me,” she sang. “Keep me coming, coming, ay ay ay,” she giggled to herself. “Come. Speaking of things coming, THE TRAIN!” The train was pulling into the station. Miku bolted for the steps, running up them fast, knocking someone over in the process. “SORRY!!” she said as she ran.

Once up the stairs, she approached the turnstiles. Grabbing her backpack and flinging it around her, she grabbed her card out of her card holder, smacked it on the panel, and walked through the turnstiles, and with good timing also. The doors opened, and she walked into one of the train cars. It was particular empty for this time of day. “Well, it is Friday after all. Friday, Friday, GOTTA GET DOWN ON FRIDAY!” She laughed as she sang, looking around to make sure no one heard her atrocious singing. “I don’t think I have that bad of a voice.” She continued to sing silently to herself. Soon, the train doors closed, and it took off, next stop, Fukisawa Middle School.

“Here we go. Same shit, different day.” She changed the song of her iPod to something instrumental, and tapped her foot to the beat. And off she went. As she looked through the window behind her, the ocean was a glistening blue, sparkling due to the sun’s rays. You could even see the bottom of the ocean sometimes, that’s how shallow the river was at the base, but as the train ride continued, and the further it extended out, you couldn’t see anything anymore at the bottom, though it was still a bright blue color. Current time: 8:20 am.

“Barely going to make it, but I’ll just dart to my class like usual.” Changing the song again on her iPod, she continued to look out into the ocean. She may have convinced herself that she would be lonely for now, but that wouldn’t be the case forever. She didn’t want friends. She didn’t even want a boyfriend. All she wanted was her idol dreams to come true. She always associated music with adventure, and some songs would pump her up, to the point she would close her eyes and think about the future. It didn’t make sense to other people when she explained it, but to her, it made all the sense in the world. Music plus adventure equaled a lifetime of happiness to her. The more and more she thought of it, the more and more motivated she became. She switched to a Spanish song and started humming the beat to herself. Soon enough, she saw the school through the train windows, which sent her back into deep depression. Once the train came to a stop and the doors opened up, she placed her iPod in her jacket pocket, making sure she had all her belongings, and walked out and down the stairs, the train station directly across from the school gate. The time read 8:50 am.

“Let’s do this.”

As Miku approached the school gates, she was stopped by a tall looking figure.

“ID please,” the tall figure said.

“Can we do this another day? I’m going to be late to class.” Miku said sluggishly.

“I won’t ask again. ID please,” the tall figure said with a stern voice. Scared, Miku flipped her backpack from around her and took out her ID, flashing it to the guard.

“Thank you. Proceed.”

Miku ignored the figure’s gesture and check the time on her flip phone.

“8:55 SHIT.” She ran towards the doors. Her class was on the third floor, so she had to be fast. She ran up the stairs all the way to the third floor.

“Too many stairs today….” She huffed and puffed as she made one last jolt for the classroom door. As the clock read 8:59 am, she reached for the door. Pulling it open, she gave a sigh of relief, and took her seat. Last row from the door, second to last seat, all the kids were seated. Not one made the effort to say good morning to her, and she didn’t even bother to start up a conversation. She saw school as a waste and just stopping her from achieving and pursuing her dream as an idol. Her mom would also kill her if she dropped out of school and didn’t go to college. Miku pulled the chair out from the desk, sitting down and plopping her bag next to her. As she did all of this, the classroom began filling up with kids, the teacher following behind. She was about 5 foot 1, an inch smaller than Miku, with long hair like herself, but instead of light blue, it was dark black. She wore a white short sleeve blouse, a black mini-skirt, and black flats. Glasses complimented her eyes, and she was a little younger than Miku’s mom.

“Good morning class,” the female teacher said.

“Good morning Mrs. Kurosu,” the class said back along with Miku. Miku then turned her head to the window and looked up the sky.

“One day God, I will be an idol. Don’t forget me please.”