#if you can read my handwriting im impressed because i barely can

[vy-canis-melodis]

spitballing a new custom species becaise I Will Never Finish A Project I Will Only Start New Ones

[tangledstarlight]

...i said i was going to make it and well, here we are i guess. im so sorry for this.

Carlos Molina’s to Guide to Ghost Hood (title subject to change) 

welcome to the 1st edition, maybe i’ll make a 2nd if i get inspired enough but also, this is such a mess already i don’t think the world needs a part 2 dfghg

Link to the power point is in the first reblog. (i’d highly recommend watching it for the full experience dfgh)

Link to ao3 also in the first reblog. 

below the cut is the accompanying fic and description of the rules/guide.

The tape recorder lets out a low buzzing sound as Carlos presses a button on the side and stands it up between them on the dining room table. Julie shoots an amused glance at Reggie who’s taken up residence in the chair next to him, the two of them flipping open notebooks and clutching pencils. 

“Where did you even find a tape recorder?” She wonders, stretching out a finger to touch the silver rectangle only for her hand to be swatted away by Reggie.

“Found it in a box of moms stuff and dad said we could order some tapes from amazon,” Carlos replies matter of factly, straightening up in his chair once he seems to have found the page he was looking for. “Right. Let's start off easy, shall we?” 

He looks at her expectantly and Julie rolls her eyes, waving a hand at the two of them, “Lets.” 

“Question one,” Carlos taps his pencil at the top of his page before squinting at her, “Did you conduct any séance related activities before the ghosts showed up?” 

Julie blinks at him, wondering if he’s joking but the pair of them just look back at her, heads both slightly tilted and it’s at that moment that she realises how serious they’re going to be about this. It was going to be a long afternoon of questioning apparently. 

“No, I didn’t conduct any séance related activities. I just put on their CD and they y’know, fell out of the sky.” 

“Interesting, interesting,” Carlos mutters as he looks at Reggie’s notebook as the older boy writes her answer down, underlines something and taps it with his pencil that makes Carlos let out a small hm. “So you don’t know anything about the dark room? Didn’t make any wishes?” 

“No,” Julie shakes her head, watches Reggie write something else down and tilt his notebook to Carlos. It’s weird, watching them communicate like that, like they’ve created a shorthand between them and don’t even require her presence to have a conversation. Which is obviously true because they’ve clearly discussed all this beforehand. 

“You walked through Luke right? What did that feel like to you?” Reggie’s question catches her off guard and she looks between them, but Carlos is already looking at her, waiting for her answer. 

“It was um cold? But also not. I--” she frowns, trying to think back to that first night in the kitchen when she’d turned around and walked through him. Back when she’s barely known any of them and was more annoyed by their presence then comforted. “It was weird. The first few seconds after I walked through him I just felt cold but then it was like a rush of warmth? You know when you get one of those random shivers that runs through your whole body? It feels all weird and tingly but also kinda nice? Like that.” 

“Did it feel like you got a feel of Luke?” Carlos asks and Julie shrugs, a slight blush on her cheeks and somehow, despite the fact they can’t see each other, the two of them share a look. 

“What’s the next question,” anything to move off the topic of walking through Luke and how it felt. 

//

“Oh Julie is gonna be so pissed at you guys,” Alex mutters but makes no move to step in and stop the ‘experiment’ currently going on. He watches as Reggie tries to put a hand on Carlos’ shoulder, fingers phasing through the younger boy's jacket with a frown. 

“She won't be pissed if it works,” is all Reggie says, face morphing into one of concentration as he slowly lowers his hand on to Carlos’ shoulder again. 

For his part, Carlos bounces slightly on his toes, eyes fixed on the notebook in Alex’s hand in case they need to tell him something. And okay, Alex might not fully agree with the way the two of them are going about this whole thing, but he can’t say he’s not on board with it. Their whole stint as ghosts has been nothing but confusion after confusion that not even Willie has answers for. Does he think Reggie and Carlos are going to uncover some fundamental thing that makes them the way they are? Probably not. Will they maybe get him some kind of answer? God he hopes so. 

Especially since there’s been small moments in the last few weeks where Ray and Carlos have been able to hear them even without them playing music or Julie nearby. Which had scared all of them. Thought it was nothing compared to Ray’s reaction when he’d apparently walked into the kitchen to find Julie and Luke hugging, only for him to vanish when they suddenly let go. It was a hell of a way to find out they could be seen if they were touching her. 

“Oh!” Carlos suddenly exclaims, head whipping to look at his shoulder where Reggie’s hand is resting solidly on the fabric of the jacket. Alex feels his eyes widen a fraction and watches Reggie’s smile widen as he squeezes slightly on Carlos’ shoulder. “Oh my god! I can feel that!” 

“Holy shit,” Alex whispers, grip on the pencil in his fingers growing. 

“Hey! I heard that too! Quick! Write it down! 30 minutes and- and however many attempts it took!” Carlos grins, face turning towards him and Alex doesn’t even have time to feel guilty about swearing before he’s scribbling in Reggie’s notebook.

//

“Thanks again for taking me,” Carlos says as he pulls his seat belt across his chest and clicks it in, eyes drifting from his tia in the front seat to the little notebook resting on the back seat and the pencil that’s hovering just a few inches off the paper. Subtly he sees it tap on the page, once, twice, and he bites down on his grin, tucking his hands under his thighs to stop from bouncing in his seat. They’re ready. 

“Of course mijo,” Victoria smiles over at him as she turns on the engine, fingers already messing with the buttons on the radio to find her favourite station. “I have to say I’m impressed. Planning ahead for your dad's birthday.” 

“Mhm,” he agrees, his eyes on the notebook that he can just see in the rearview mirror. The pencils resting between the creases in the pages and he holds his breath as the radio jumps to a different station. 

Victoria frowns slightly, her eyes darting from the road to the radio and back, hand reaching out to change it back. When it jumps to another station. And another. Carlos feels his eyes widen a little, legs bouncing on top of his hands as he watches the radio cycle through station after station, only lingers for a few seconds on each before moving on. 

Finally it stops, the words of Despacito ringing through the car and it’s lucky they’re at a red light he thinks, because when Victoria tries to change it it jumps right back. 

“What the f-” she starts, the furrow between her brows growing deeper and the knuckles on her hand that’s still gripping the wheel turning white. 

“Can we leave it? I like this song,” he looks over at her with a smile, blinking in what he hopes is a completely innocent way. He’s pretty sure she’s too distracted by the radio to question it. 

“Sure, sure,” she mutters, not even looking at him, eyes going from the road to the radio. 

The song ends and from the corner of his eye he can see the pencil in the back moving, Reggie or Willie writing something down and he has to stop himself from turning around to see what it is. Instead he watches as tia starts changing the radio station again, her fingers never leaving the touch screen as if that was the problem. But the second she lands on her favourite 80’s classics station and is moving her fingers away it changes. Skipping through stations again until Despacito is once again filling the car. 

It’s probably lucky that they’re at another red light and that there’s no one behind them because her eyes widen and she’s suddenly saying words in Spanish that he knows he shouldn’t know and is pulling over to the side of the road. 

“We have to get out! The car is being possessed! Out, out Carlos! Come on!” Her seat belt is off and her door is open before Carlos even has a chance to process what’s happening. The notebook from the back is pushed in front of his face and he tilts his head a little to side to read Reggie’s familiar handwriting, 

Too far? 

“Maybe,” he whispers back, taking the notebook out of the ghost's hand as he starts to get out of the car, plucking the pencil out of the metal spirals and making a note about not pushing tia in a moving vehicle and to wait until after they’ve gone shopping first. 

She’s got her phone pressed to ear when he joins her on the sidewalk, pacing up and down. Carlos is pretty sure there’s going to be a family dinner story time in their near future. 

//

Luke watches as Carlos sets his tape recorder up, idly plucking out a half finished tune on his guitar in order to be seen and heard. He doesn’t really get the other boys interest in figuring out their ghostly state of being. The same way he doesn’t really care about finding answers to all of Alex’s questions. 

They ate some bad street dogs. They died. Julie brought them back and then she saved them a second time. They can play music and sometimes be seen. He already has all the answers he needs and it’s two words: Julie Molina. 

Would it be nice to know what the black room was? Sure. Did he sometimes wonder why they could be seen but other ghosts couldn't? Sometimes. Did he want answers? Only if someone was going to give them to him without having to do the work. Was he going to sit here and answer all of Carlos’ questions because it was important to him and to the others? Fuck yeah he was. 

“Does that think pick up our voices even if we’re not playing and not near Julie?” He nods at the recorder on the table after Carlos hits a button. 

“Yeah! It’s so cool too. You sound like, all static-y and I have to listen really hard sometimes because your voices fade in and out but they’re there!” 

Okay, Luke can admit that is pretty cool, “That’s wicked. Maybe we should start using that to communicate instead of writing.” He was really sick of people commenting on his handwriting. 

“Dude that’s genius! It would be like leaving each other voice notes!” He gestures in the air with his pencil the same way Julie does when she’s realised the issue with a verse and Luke smiles softly. He doesn’t know what voice notes are, but he’s glad he could contribute to the communication issue. 

“What questions have you got for me then little dude?” He raises an eyebrow at Carlos as he flips through his notebook. 

//

When he’d first knocked Alex down Willie never thought it would lead to him sitting in the Molina’s family living room, a whiteboard resting on his knees as a twelve year old shows him bar graphs and pie charts of information on ghosts. 

There was probably some kind of domino-butterfly effect going on that had led him here. But he’s too busy trying to fit all his know ghost knowledge onto a whiteboard so Carlos can fill in the gaps in his knowledge. 

Over the years Willie has met a lot of lifers, has interacted with a handful at the HGC but he’s never met a family like the Molina’s. Who found out ghosts were real and instead of running, or trying to profit off of them, had just...welcomed them into the family. Arms wide and hearts open. 

And more than that, here was Carlos trying to get answers to questions that none of them really had an answer too. 

“Black room, yes or no?” Carlos asks, holding up a flash card and a clothes peg, ready to add it to the line of string stretching across the room. It was already littered with other cards in an order that Willie really didn’t understand but seemed to make perfect sense to the younger boy and Reggie. 

Not for me, or anyone I asked at the club, he scribbles down, turning to the board around. 

“Just like we thought,” he nods to himself, taking two steps to the left and reaching up to attach the card, “An anomaly.” he whispers it to himself and Willie has to bite his lip to stop from smiling before remembering that Carlos can’t actually see him. 

“Hey,” Alex’s voice from the doorway drags his gaze away from the lifer and the smile he’d been trying to stop spreads across his face, “How’s it going?”

“I don’t think we’re even half way through,” he chuckles, gesturing with one hand at the stack of flashcards and the charts he hasn’t even seen yet. “Do you understand this system?” 

The exasperated laugh that leaves Alex’s lips is answer enough before he’s even shaking his head, strands of blonde hair dipping into his eyes and Willie wants to reach to move away, “Not a clue. They’ve tried to explain it to us but it makes zero sense to anyone but them.”  

“Hey, Alex, stop distracting him, we’re working here!” Carlos’ voice makes him jump, head turning back to where he’s standing with his arms crossed and shaking his head in disappointment in the vague direction of where Alex is standing. 

“Wait, can he see you?” Willie frowns, mind trying to remember if he knew this or not. 

“No, he’s just really good at sensing us these days,” Alex sighs, but there’s a fond look in his eyes as he looks at Carlos, “He says it’s his ghost powers kicking in from how often he hangs out with Reggie and from all the failed teleportation experiments.” 

“The failed what now?” 

“Oh, you’ll find out. I think it’s section 7?” Alex grins, pushing off from where he’d been leaning against the doorway and waving.

Willie turns back to Carlos feeling a little more confused than he had minutes ago but also much more intrigued about teleportation experiments. And if he could help get some answers for any of the many questions Alex had, that was cool too.

//

Carlos Molina’s Guide to Ghosting. So you became a ghost, huh?

 (working title, subject to change)

By Carlos Molina, with special thanks to Reggie Peters and Willie Skateboard. 

1st Edition. 

Dedicated to Alex Mercer, so he can stop asking so many questions. We’re working on it buddy.

1. Tangibility 

They can walk through anything (except my sister now, reasons still unclear). 

Works especially well with walls, doors and locked vaults (see exhibit a) 

When they walk through people it “allows them to get a feel for the person” – Reggie Peters. “It’s weird” – Alex Mercer. No comment from Luke Patterson as he was too busy staring at Julie. 

2. Souls

Objects can be attached to their souls. 

Still unclear if it has to be an object that they were close to in life, or if they can attach their souls to any object once a ghost. 

Experiments with Reggie Peters are still ongoing. Updates will follow.

3. Being Seen

Can be seen by “lifers*” when they play music with Julie. 

This is the first rule which only applies to our ghosts. 

They can be heard when they play music without Julie. This is also unclear as to why, working theory is “Our music is just so awesome it transcends deaths!” – Luke Patterson.

Mr Willie Skateboard was quick to point out it’s “weird” and “ghosts aren’t supposed to be seen by lifers.”

4. Touching

Our ghosts can now touch Julie. The biggest change in their afterlife. 

Still no explanation for it. Experiments are ongoing (see exhibit b) 

Have witnessed Julie hugging the air many times only for Alex or Willie to appear. Same with hand holding. (see exhibit c for dads reaction) 

5. Magic

Some ghosts have powers and abilities. 

Willie* can control different types of technology. Appears to work best with cars. This we believe correlates with who a ghost dies. 

In our expedition to test his skills he skipped through 15 different radio stations of Tia’s car until he found one playing despacito. Test was a success. Tia does think her car is haunted now however.

6. ???

There was a dark room. 

All other ghosts interviewed had never heard of it before. 

All our ghosts agreed it was weird and creepy. 

We are choosing to pretend it didn’t happen. 

Working theory: a hole in time that they fell through. Must find a way to test.

7. Teleporting

part 1)

Ghosts can teleport wherever they want in the world. 

Only the most powerful can teleport a lifer with them (will keep attempting)

part b) 

Our ghosts can pinpoint Julie’s exact location wherever she may be in the world. 

Will be helpful if she is ever kidnapped, Julie however wishes they would stop using said power to find her in gym class.

“I already have find my friend activated” – Flynn had to say on the matter. 

part c) 

Julie can summon the boys to her if she concentrates hard enough. Came in handy when an evil magician tried to kidnap them.

Also possibly how they escaped the dark room, no way to prove or deny this as dad won’t let me eat a bad hotdog to become a ghost.

Working theory: magic of music and family 

See Exhibit d 

See Exhibit e  

[b4kuch1n]

two ghosts in Morioh

another day of running around taking care of businesses with my mom. Got some down time in the afternoon and spent it on this. yes Im a fluff writer now. somebody take me out the back

warning for non-plot, terrible poetry (Im serious. Ive never written a poem in english before. its not too nice to the hand), a filler OC thrown in on the spot, lotsa outta-nowhere headcanons, and all else possibly applicable. 

Read on AO3 

Okuyasu finally picked up.

Which was a good thing, because Josuke didn't wanna seem fussy or overbearing. 'twas a lost cause anyway, his mom would tell him, given that he had been anxious ever since he came home from the supposed double date that afternoon, and had walked from one end of the hall to the other over forty time (yes, she counted up until forty), mumbling to himself, hands firmly in his pants' pockets because he knew the moment he stopped holding it tight he would ruin his pomp by running his hand through his hair in frustration. An emotion that he caused to himself, his mom would remind him, because he refused to just walk over to Okuyasu's house and knock.

When the boy in question finally picked up, Josuke was a bit stiff from the draft in the hallway as well as from the tension built up by being stubborn. Okuyasu's voice only just managed to break through.

“Josuke?”

He sounded a bit hoarse. “Yeah, dude, I'm here,” Josuke said. The tension didn't leave him immediately like he hoped. “You didn't come.”

“Fuck, sorry about that. I'm jus'... 'm not in the best mood right now. Didn't wanna ruin it for you guys.”

“Shit, what happened? You okay?” Josuke could hear something fell on the floor with a metallic clunk. “What's that?”

“Oh it's-- 's the paint can. I'm fixin' up big bro's room upstairs. Been meaning to for a while now so... It's.” Okuyasu trailed off.

Josuke felt his shoulders stiffen up a bit more.

“It's some'n to do.”

Josuke bit his lip. After a moment of consciously picking off all traces of anxiety from his manners, he said, calmly, “I'm gonna come over.”

“No, dude, y'don't have to!” Okuyasu immediately barked, with something like panic in his tone. “I'm a bummer right now,” he added, almost sheepishly. “It's dumb, it'll go away on its own. Jus' some'n from the class.”

“Don't even think of it as me coming over to comfort you if that's better.” Josuke had to actively try to stay nonchalant now. “I'm helping with the room fixin'. It's gonna take the rest of the night with just you. That cool?”

He just caught his free hand moving towards his head on its own when Okuyasu sighed and he could hear the paint can being picked up. “Fine. I'm gonna be upstairs, let yaself in when you're over.”

By August 1999, Okuyasu had been sleeping in the guest room downstairs for ten months.

Keicho was a private person, and nobody could blame him at that. No kid would want to leave their toys trailing about when their father was so quick to anger. Keicho had faced so much of that misdirected rage, had put himself between his father and his younger brother so many times, that anything he had that wasn't broken he held on with an almost death grip. His routines, his CD collection, his rules, his own anger. He never learned to let go, and Okuyasu, whom Morioh had given more chances than it ever did his brother, had been feeling something like pity for that, and then guilty for pitying his brother.

He didn't really want to use Keicho's room again, especially when he never got his brother's permission. When Keicho had left balancing the book in Okuyasu's hand, their life became a clash between Okuyasu's fussing about trying to take care of things and Keicho's own rhythm and order, the solution to which that they came up with being that Keicho got the entirety of the second floor to himself. Okuyasu didn't mind – everything was simple with him, really – but after Keicho's death he felt even more out of place in that part of the house.

“It's fine if you wanna seal it off, dude,” Josuke told him one evening when he stayed the night, “you're the one living here. It's not like people know or care about that stuff, either way.” Josuke was smart, but he also believed in courtesy and manners even though he had been subjected to so much of the opposite of that, and it made for a strange kind of trust in humanity. One that was different from Okuyasu's own.

So in the end he decided to only seal Keicho's room. He had been slowly packing everything his brother left behind in the house into small carboard boxes and stashing them in the hallway. He wanted to keep a whole afternoon and evening free just to fix up the room itself, but he didn't think today would be it.

“Yeah, Koichi actually steered me home the moment we were sure you wouldn't show,” Josuke said mid-sweep. “I don't think Yukako mind. Actually I'm pretty sure Yukako doesn't really want me there third wheeling them. Gotta say I was about the same.”

“Sorry for leaving you hangin',” Okuyasu repeated, just as apologetic as when he said it the first time.

“It's not your fault you aren't well, dude,” Josuke stood up straight, free hand in his pocket. “Though a word beforehand would be good. But you were home late from the class, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Goto-sensei holding you up again?”

“Nah, he's nice.” He would be, after Josuke and Okuyasu dragged him out of some serious troubles last month. He was also a nice man in general. Okuyasu thought his writing style really didn't reflect that.

Josuke raised an eyebrow at his answer. Well, Josuke would have a different impression of Mister Goto Azuma, moderately famous novelist, given that the one who had to take a pen in the arm to grab the man (then under a Stand's control) was him and not Okuyasu. That kind of viciousness must keep people wary for a long time. Not to mention the apology gift they got was a place in Goto's ten-hour creative writing course organized by the uni, which was of no use to Josuke, but which Okuyasu snatched right up.

Outside of that event though, Goto-sensei was a mild-mannered, if a bit emotional and wordy person. He had anguish in his heart, sure, but he told Okuyasu once in class, in the tone of someone who was citing their name and age, that he wanted to love everything and anything more than he wanted to wallow in his sadness, so he channeled all of it into his writing and left his personal life free for his other emotions. Okuyasu found that a good way to do things as any.

“I'm gonna trust you on that,” Josuke said after a stretch of silence. Okuyasu grinned. “Anyway, something happened during the writing class then?”

“Yeah-- well, nah, but yeah.” Okuyasu rubbed his hands nervously under Josuke's confused look. “I mean, kinda? Goto-sensei gave us a prompt, and then I wrote something sad, and it bummed me out. 's all.”

Josuke's eyes grew wide. “Oh,” he said, “huh.”

“Yeah, it's dumb. Tolja don't mind it.”

“It's not dumb if it bums you out, dude.” Josuke leaned the broom against the desk and stepped closer to Okuyasu. His pomp looked almost plastic-ish under the buzzing light of the room. Okuyasu blinked when he held his biceps with both his hands. “I like you happy, Okuyasu. We gotta go there somehow, and I'm not a waiting man.”

Okuyasu looked at Josuke, eyes somehow brighter than the light should've made them, hands holding him firm as if willing him to believe. As if that had ever been necessary. He took a deep breath, and broke out in a grin.

“Thought so. You're a musical man.”

“Hell yeah I am.” The grin crept up onto Josuke's face, and he dragged Okuyasu in for a quick hug. “So, what's that piece you wrote today about?”

“I mean, you can read it.”

It must be impossible for Josuke's eyes to grow wider than this. This was maximum wide eye for him. “Really?”

“'s not fine art or some'n, but if you're cool with that, why the hell not. Wait here.”

Josuke waited in Keicho's half-cleaned room while Okuyasu went downstairs to fetch his notebook. Goto-sensei didn't care what his students did with what they wrote after class (“It's yours,” he had said, with passion, “and me telling you what to do with what's inherently yours is against everything I live for. Any experience you have with your own writing is deeply personal and unique, and if that includes setting your drafts on fire and inhaling the smoke, who am I to keep that from you?” He seemed to actually got misty-eyed at that idea.), but Okuyasu liked the man, and he thought keeping the things he wrote in his class in order was a way to show respect to a good teacher. Or it could at least make up for his terrible handwriting.

He flipped through the notebook as he went back upstairs. Man, he wrote more than he thought he did.

“Here,” he handed the notebook – opened to the correct page – to Josuke, who had finished sweeping the room and was bouncing on the balls of his feet in a subdued excitement. Josuke seemed extra careful with his hold on the thing.

“It's a poem?” Okuyasu didn't think that was actually meant to be a question, but he faltered a bit nonetheless.

“It's-- yeah. You aren't into that?”

“Dude, I barely read actual literature no matter what kind, that's not the thing. I'm just... poems are supposed to be even more about emotions than, like, novels and shit, right? I, uh...”

Josuke bit his lip. Okuyasu tried to follow the thread of logic.

“Goto-sensei said our writing is whatever we will it to be. If ya worry this won't be manly and cool, I'm gonna. I'm gonna will it into being for ya.”

“It's not that, dummy.” Josuke smacked him over the head with the notebook. He was smiling again though, so Okuyasu didn't mind. “I just don't think I can get the whole experience without you, like, walking me through it. Since you're the one with the emotions in this poem and all. So can you...”

Okuyasu grabbed the notebook. He looked at Josuke, and then at the words on the page between them, and then tentatively finished that hanging thought. “...recite it for ya?”

“Forget it if it bums you out again, okay?” Josuke held his hands up. “I'm cool either way. I wanna read it properly, sure, but if it's gonna ruin the night for you then forget it.”

Okuyasu stood there with his own notebook in his hand, with his boyfriend, in his brother's room that they were cleaning. He looked at Josuke, and then up at the buzzing light, and then at Keicho's CD collection on the shelf, newly dusted.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, “I'm not gonna hold onto it like that, dude.” And then he took Josuke's hand and said, “Let's come up to the roof for a bit.”

They left Keicho's room behind and went up to the attic, from where they climbed their way awkwardly up onto the Nijimuras' newly re-tiled roof. August was too early to feel chilly at night in Morioh, but there were winds, and the sky was wide open. Okuyasu thought it was a good place as any to give the poem a reading.

They settled on the warm tiles, and then Okuyasu had to stand up to go get a flashlight, and when he came back to the roof Josuke was still there – as if he would go away the moment Okuyasu blinked – the notebook balanced on his thigh.

“Ready,” Josuke said once Okuyasu had sit back down snug next to him, partly as a question and partly as a confirmation of his own status, and Okuyasu nodded.

“Alright.”

Okuyasu had never recited a poem before. His mom was a storyteller when she was alive, but there was a long stretch of time during which her conditions worsened slowly and the occasions lessened until both her and the stories were gone. His dad wasn't a wordy man, not outside of anger and grief. Keicho really would rather have silence than a human voice outside of his own, and again Okuyasu couldn't blame him for that. Or even question it, really, not when Keicho had his CDs and treasured them so. Outside of all that, Okuyasu had also never been good at school. He had other things to do, and the few literature classes he actually sat in for never saw him chosen by a teacher to read anything out loud from the textbook.

So, Okuyasu didn't really know what he was doing, no. But he was also a simple man, and right now it was doing it or not doing it. And Josuke had casted his vote – the only one that counted here and now.

“It's called 1999,” he said, and found his voice a bit raspy. He didn't figure out to clear his throat.

Cigarette butt on the ground

he chose one to pick up

and hold like a torch

Hand over head

Whispers like smoke

flow

1999

numbers he carried

one

in his left pocket

on the pad

along the line

into the waves

it's important, that's what he said

Cigarette butt in the air

His hand red

His eyes red

through them, the sky orange

twilight is for a while,

if statues are the same

1999

replays dissolve

into statics

into waves

away

one

on his lips

I didn't mean it like that,

or was it

I never told him,

or even

I don't think he knows,

that's what he said

Cigarette butt against the sky

futile

1999

variables

one

dissolved into the waves

my name is doubt,

and his I never got

1999

I met two ghosts in Morioh.

They were quiet a long time after that. When Josuke spoke up, he sounded like he just cried a bit. “Dude, that's so fucking sad.”

Okuyasu tried to keep himself from shining the flashlight on Josuke to see if he really had been crying. “For real? I don' even know what it's exactly about anymore. Jus' a buncha, uh, concepts put together randomly.”

“It got emotions into me, alright? So it's good to me, deal with it.”

“It makes you sad!”

“It's good sad though. Like listening to a late artist's album sad.” Josuke threw an arm around Okuyasu's shoulders. “That's how art is.”

“Sure,” Okuyasu harrumphed, but then smiled to himself, just a bit.

The two sat there on the roof well into the night. At one point they found their hands intertwined; Okuyasu let himself lean into the contact, flashlight and notebook laid aside, essentially forgotten. Late night breeze felt like sleep.

“The point of that poem is that I love you,” he said, and let it be.

The hand in his own tightened, and Josuke replied, with all the conviction his being could store, “I know, dude. Love you too.”

[artificialqueens]

Here I Go Again! (Group Fic) - Chapter One - pureCAMP

A/N - without further ado, here it is! i hope u enjoy it as much as i do because im the hugest mamma mia fan ever

Honey, Honey - I Have A Dream - Money, Money, Money 

One wedding. One husband. One mom. Three dads. Trixie held her breath and gazed out at the horizon. The way that the sun reflected off the sea water, creating idyllic crystals in the midst of their paradise, was something Trixie had always loved. As a little girl, she’d stare from her bedroom window at the glittering ocean until the sun sank beneath the waves, and she would be put to bed. She would never not love staring out until her eyesight went blurry.

  However, there was one thing she loved more, and that was when the gentle waves of the sea were interrupted by a boat carrying her two best friends. Stood at the dock, she bounced up and down, unable to control her excitement.

  “TRIXIEEEEE!” Naomi yelled first, descending from the boat with ease. Her long, slender legs carried her over the wobbling of the little boat and onto the wooden planks with all the grace of an aspiring supermodel. Kim wasn’t so lucky. She stumbled, almost falling in, but managed to regain her balance and land on the dock with a slightly louder thud. Both girls opened their arms instantly and crushed Trixie in a sweaty hug.

  It had been too long. Kim had been staying with her father and living away, whilst Naomi attended a girl’s school far off in Italy. Of course they’d kept in contact, but it was nothing in comparison to having her girls back again, in the flesh, under the baking Greek sun.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” Trixie beamed, regarding her friends. “Everything’s been so crazy! Mom is gonna be so happy to see you! Although I’m sure she’ll start to stress even more now that guests are arriving.”

  Trixie’s mom, Sharon, was the definition of a workaholic. The moment she’d seen the ring, and Trixie’s huge smile, she’d taken the idea of a huge white wedding in her stride, as though it was something she did every day. Money was tight, and it added on a boatload of extra work, but she didn’t care.

  Naomi smiled. “I can’t believe little Trix is getting hitched! I can’t wait to meet your guy and all his hot friends.”

  Kim rolled her eyes. “You’re really thinking of your vagina right now? We’re here for Trixie’s wedding, not so you can flirt with some oiled up Greek dude!”

  “That’s what Trixie did, isn’t it?” Naomi shrugged. “Let me find one, too.”

  “Brian isn’t Greek.” Trixie told her, laughing. “He’s Russian-American.”

  Part of Trixie couldn’t believe it - she was getting married. Sure, she’d always believed it would happen someday. Most people did it. But to be the first out of her friends - both of them uniquely beautiful, their complexions darker and smoother than Trixie’s - it was incredible. At only twenty, somebody had seen past her red cheeks, her freckles, her dimples and her clumsiness, and fallen hard for her. Brian was a blessing.

  “Aw, you’re all lovesick! Your eyes are sparkling!” Naomi cooed.

  “Ew.” Kim shook her head. “Keep your oily Greeks away from me.”

  “That’s probably offensive.” Trixie said. “Hey, come on! Let’s get off this dock and actually catch up. So much is happening right now!”

  Beneath her feet, the white sand was soft and almost powder-like. Over the years, Trixie had gotten used to it, barely noticing the way it stretched around the perimeter of the island that encased her wonderful little home. Bright sunlight glazed overhead as she led the girls up the rocky path to the cliffside, her eyes fixed on the white buildings at the top, but she stopped short at the entrance to one of the small caves.

  When they were children, living on the island, Trixie often escaped from the hotel and taverna by skipping down the cliff face towards a little cave. It was perfectly safe, inhabited only by some of the island’s native flowers, and she’d proclaimed the three large rocks there to be her pirate ship, Naomi’s ship, and Kim’s. Years and years had been spent playing there, or gossiping as teens - anything it was needed for. Now, it was serving a different purpose. Hiding a secret.

  “Are we stopping for a rest break? Thank God.” Kim huffed, catching her breath against the steep edge of the cliff. “I don’t know how you do this everyday.”

  Trixie shook her head. “I have to, I live here. Now shush, I have something I need to tell you.”

  Naomi’s eyes widened. Kim’s jaw hit the floor.

  “I’m not pregnant!” She held her hands up, her skin blushing furiously. “God, it’s like I can read your minds! No babies here, no way. I’m way too young for that! It’s actually… about my dad.”

  As she’d expected, both girls looked confused. Kim inclined her head. “The dad you’ve never met and know nothing about?”

  Trixie sighed. “That’s the one. It’s just… with all this wedding stuff happening, I keep thinking about him. Everything is so traditional except the fact that I don’t have a dad to give me away at the beginning of the ceremony. I know mom can do it, but it isn’t the same.”

  Not having a dad hadn’t really had the hugest impact on Trixie’s life. At the end of the day, one fantastic parent was much better than two mediocre ones. Still, she’d always felt like a part of her identity was missing. She loved her mom dearly; she’d be forever indebted to her for everything she’d done for her. But often, she didn’t recognise herself in her mom. There had to be something more. Part of her she had to have gotten from her dad - the man she’d never met.

  “But how?” Naomi fretted. “I know you want the perfect wedding, but no one knows anything about your dad. There’s no way you’ll find him.”

  Tentatively, Trixie removed the book from beneath the rock she’d sat on. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine as she looked at it, even though she’d already examined it cover to cover. The tie-dyed front was old and withered, the pages curled with age. She leafed through it again carefully, acting like it was made of gold. If young Trixie had been a pirate, this was her treasure.

  “Well… Mom wrote about him in this - it’s the year she got pregnant with me. I found it when searching for some wedding decorations. I read it, and invited my dad.”

  Kim bit her lip. “Didn’t Sharon say your dad was long gone when she found out about you?”

  “Yes. And he was.” Trixie replied. “But she never said anything more. Claimed she forgot. I never knew if he was an islander, a long-term boyfriend, a summer romance, I didn’t even know his name!”

  “And now?” Naomi pressed.

  Trixie began to read aloud.

  July 17th Dear Diary, What a night. Justin thrills me in the BEST of ways. He has the most beautiful eyes. His hands are so strong. His arms are so muscular… I’m rambling. I can’t help it. Justin’s the one, I know he is. I’ve never felt like this before. He makes me feel so safe, so loved, so… You know. Tonight was the best night of all. I rowed him over to the little island again, and…

Naomi pulled a face. “And what?”

  Kim smacked her upside the head. “Naomi, you dumb bitch. If you were writing a diary about your sex life twenty years ago, you’d use dot dot dot. Keep up, please.”

  Dear Diary, WHAT. A. NIGHT. Justin is a fucking beast! I feel like I want to scream when he does his thing! He’s just oh-so-amazing! Every single night, we just…

  “Your mom really knew how to party.” Kim nodded, impressed. “So your dad is some unidentified guy named Justin. I’m sure there isn’t many Justin’s out there in the world. You’ll find him easy.”

  Trixie rolled her eyes so hard, she thought they might fall out. “I’m not done! It’s not that simple.”

  “Glad you caught on.” Kim murmured.

  “Not like that!” Trixie defended herself. “Just… there’s more.”

  Dear Diary, What a night. Justin’s a liar, a dirty cheating rotten liar and I never want to see his fucking face ever again. Engaged! Engaged! All this time, he’s been holding me in his arms, telling me he’s in love with me… and he’s engaged. He’s gone, and I’ll never see him again. Off to get married.

“Asshole.”

  “Cunt.”

  “But not, like, unheard of.” Naomi commented. “Some asshole dumped your mom for another woman. A stupid move, but that’s men for you.”

  Trixie grinned. “Keep listening! The plot thickens!”

  August 4th Dear Diary, What a night! Jaremi said to hell with my tiny sailboat, and rented a huge motorboat for the two of us! He’s so sweet. Every single part of me wants Justin to come back, but Jaremi… he’s so good to me. I couldn’t help it. It was late, we were happy… one thing led to another…

  “DOT DOT DOT!” Kim screeched gleefully. “Get it, Sharon!”

  “Shh!” Trixie smacked her arm, paranoid that someone would overhear. As overjoyed as she had been at her new discoveries, she couldn’t risk her mom finding out.

  “Okay. So Jaremi is your dad, then. Easy peasy?” Naomi stated uncertainly.

  Trixie shook her head, clutching the book to her chest and beginning to make her way up the rest of the cliff. Left with no choice, the girls followed, calling at her to slow down as she read on, still grinning.

  Dear Diary, Jaremi’s gone. Without a trace. Supposedly he sailed off in the night and now he could be fucking miles away. So much for a good guy.

August 13th Dear Diary, What a night! Willam is the funniest guy I think I’ve ever met. He sings so well, and we had so much fun on the guitar he bought for me. Not to mention he’s pretty cute, and well…

  “So which is your dad?”

  Trixie stopped in the middle of the open hotel courtyard, deftly hiding the book behind a plant pot and smiling nervously. “I… I don’t know.”

  Kim frowned, peering round the freshly-laundered bed sheets that hung on the rows of washing lines to try and see the diary. “Read on, then! Doesn’t Sharon say later on?”

  She shook her head. “I already read ahead.” She admitted. “When I first found it. The last entry is just the word ‘Pregnant’ in shaky handwriting. No dates, no names. I’m sure she knows, but I can’t ask her. Especially not now.”

  It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Everything seemed like a good idea at that time of night. When the sky turned inky black, and the moonlight created idly glittering circles on the waves, it was peaceful and perfect. It was the kind of night, the kind of atmosphere where nothing could go wrong. With high hopes and a gentle song, she’d posted three envelopes.

  Justin Honard.

Jaremi Carey.

Willam Belli.

  One of them had to respond. All three, well - that would be amazing. Trixie would find her dad, she’d be able to be given away by him… everything would fall perfectly into place. The way it should be. The piece of her that had always been missing would finally be filled. She clung to that hope with all she had.

  “Wait… which one did you invite, then?” Naomi asked.

  Trixie waited for them to catch up, her beaming smile something of a giveaway. Slowly, recognition dawned in both of her best friend’s eyes.

  “ALL THREE?!”

  “All three what?”

  In unison, Trixie, Naomi and Kim all jumped out of their skin, scrambling to face Sharon and attempting to not look guilty - a feat which made them all look incredibly guilty.

  “All three of us, together again! How… how awesome!” Kim fumbled. It was a bad lie, but it was the best they could do.

  Nevertheless, Sharon’s face broke into a smile. “You’re all so big now… go back to being babies! Stop getting older, it’s awful! Still, I’m glad you’re having fun. I used to have fun.”

  Trixie put her hands on her hips, raising her eyebrows humorously at her mom. There were definitely many undeniable similarities between the mother and daughter. Both of them had shining golden hair and bright blue eyes, although at almost forty, Sharon’s hair was streaked with bits of silver and lines had begun to surround her eyes. They shared the same mischievous smile, the only difference yet again being that Sharon’s held a few more summers of laughter and stress in the lines around it. Whilst Trixie’s fashion sense was girlish and pink, Sharon had to settle for practical, work-appropriate clothing in order to be the one-woman hotel staff committee that she had devoted her life to being.

  “You sure did have fun,” Naomi mumbled, earning a sharp kick and a yelp from Trixie. “Me and Kim, we’re going to, uh… unpack in our rooms. Bye!”

  Before she could get suspicious, a familiar voice rang out.

  “USED TO HAVE FUN?! SO WHAT ARE WE HERE FOR, TO BE FUCKING STATUES?!”

  Sharon grinned. “With you two, you’d be gargoyles! Get out here, you old crows.”

  Jinkx came strutting forwards first, fully decked out and prepared for the island’s weather in an enormous floppy sun-hat. Her tufts of ginger hair were visible against her forehead, and she squeezed Trixie tightly in her arms as soon as she saw her.

  “Aunty Jinkxy!”

  “Trixie Needles, you need to stop being so beautiful right now! It’s so lovely to see you, all grown up and ready to be a bride. I’m hoping to meet the mystery man soon!” She trilled, squeezing hard once again before releasing Trixie from her grasp to press a kiss to both of her cheeks.

  Raja came strolling through a moment after Jinkx, with the leisurely supermodel walk she seemed to have perfected. Her long, shapely legs were exposed through her wraparound skirt, and she was decked out in lavish jewellery. Her dark eyes glittered behind designer sunglasses, and her lips curved upwards into something of a smize.

  “Aunty Raja!”

  As usual, Raja’s hugs were less warm and soft than Jinkx’s, but she smelt of expensive perfume and clung tightly to Trixie before surveying her up and down.

  “I definitely wasn’t this beautiful at my first wedding. He’s a lucky guy!” She beamed, ruffling Trixie’s hair.

  Together, the three of them were an odd pairing. Jinkx was short, pale and utterly hilarious, with her screechy laugh and generally odd taste. Raja was tall, statuesque even, and loved anything and everything expensive and fashionable. Sharon was the only one of them to have children. There shouldn’t have been any correlation, anything obvious to link the three together - but Trixie knew from the diary that their youth had been filled with days spent with one another. It felt nice, knowing that other side of the women she’d grown up around.

  “Mom, have you seen Brian around?” Trixie asked. “I want to talk to him about something but goodness knows where he’s got to.”

  Sharon laughed, somewhat sarcastically. “He was doing ‘important stag do prep’ last time I saw him - studying cocktail recipes with Karl and the rest of the boys. Maybe he’ll be stumbling to the aisle tomorrow.”

  “I’m hurt that you think of me that way, Sharon.” A pair of warm hands came snaking around Trixie’s waist from behind, Brian’s familiar cologne being the giveaway. He kissed her forehead gently. “Krasavitsa, tell her I’m nice.”

  Last summer, Brian had arrived in Greece for a lad’s holiday that had gone wrong. Half the group fell out, some of them had gone home, and Brian had decided to kiss all his asshole buddies goodbye and vacation on his own. By chance and local recommendation, he jumped onto the bi-weekly boat trip that led tourists to the island. There, Trixie met him on the beach and hit it off with him instantly. The following spring, he’d proposed.

  He made Trixie’s heart do all kinds of flips and somersaults. By no means was he traditionally handsome, with his buzzed blonde hair and high cheekbones, but when he smiled and laughed, he revealed a goofy, warm-hearted persona that she’d fallen head over heels for. He was strange, eclectic - every word under the sun. Trixie had spent months howling with laughter at his odd little thoughts, his off comments, his mismatched attempts at flirting. She was sure they were meant to be. Fate had brought them together.

  “My little girl…” Sharon smiled wistfully, reaching out to twirl a lock of Trixie’s hair around her finger. “Back in my day, we sure didn’t get married at twenty. Remember those t-shirts we used to wear?”

  Trixie grinned. She loved it when her mom started to talk about the past, even just a little bit. She was always so fixed and focused on the day-to-day that the rare moments of talking about how things had once been had always interested Trixie.

  Raja chuckled. “Marriage is an institution-”

  “-For people who belong in an institution!” Sharon finished.

  “Handmade, too,” Jinkx winked at Trixie and Brian. “Scribbled on with pen. Mind you, I suppose your old mom has had to change her tune nowadays, eh?”

  Sharon blew a raspberry at her friend. “Old! Bah, you’re right. Anyway, on the topic of weddings, I have work to do! And so do you, Mr McCook - not stag prep! Get those lazy friends of yours back on track, and whilst you’re at it, make sure my bar staff aren’t handing out free drinks to the ladies again!”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Brian saluted like an army recruit, and kissed Trixie’s hand. Raja, Jinkx and Sharon began to disperse.

  This was her chance.

  “Brian, wait.” Trixie spoke softly. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  Instantly, all of Brian’s attention was focused on Trixie. His blue eyes searched her face, concerned but gentle. “Everything okay?

  “Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Trixie muttered. “It’s not me, it’s -”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Trixie spotted a small sailing boat on the horizon. After years of living on the island, she was quite well versed in timings - she knew it would arrive at the shore very soon. Normally, she wouldn’t have cared, but this was no ordinary boat.

  The sailing boats weren’t for hire, so whoever was sailing it had to own it. Typically, locals used them to get to and from the mainland when they felt like it, but this one had only three passengers, dressed in everyday clothing and holding suitcases as though they didn’t live nearby.

  Three men.

  Suitcases.

  Had they been ordinary tourists, they would’ve been arriving on the bi-weekly boat which was scheduled for four days time. The only reason anyone would’ve sailed to the island was if they had a specific reason that couldn’t wait, such as a wedding invite for the following day…

  Trixie’s heart leapt into her mouth.

  “It’s - It’s nothing.” She rushed out, her eyes widening. “Mom will want you to go do your duties, you know what she’s like. We can talk later. Bye!”

  Before she could run off, Brian twisted her around, meeting their lips in a sweet kiss. Under normal circumstances, Trixie would’ve melted into him, leaning against his chest for another few moments of peace before the continued wedding chaos, but not now. She needed to make sure that nobody - especially not her mom - found these three familiar strangers arriving at the island. All hell would break loose if she wasn’t careful.

  —

  Thankfully, she got to the dock just in the nick of time. The three men were just stepping off the boat and talking quietly amongst one another when Trixie caught them. For a moment, she just stared. They were each attractive in different ways and all around the same age. One of these men was her dad. There was just no way of telling which.

  “Perhaps this young lady will be able to help us… Hello there! We three strangers have been invited to a wedding by Sharon, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about what’s going on, would you? I’m Jaremi.” The tanned man spoke first, offering his hand for Trixie to shake. He wore glasses and an adventurous look about him.

  When Trixie spoke, she sounded breathless. “Yes, yes… Yes, we’re expecting you. You two must be Justin and Willam.”

  She directed her attention towards the other two men, both who smiled and differentiated themselves. Willam was blond and well-off, judging by his clothes. Justin was lankier, with dark hair and a handsome face.

  “Come with me, we have rooms for you. Well… one room. We’re a little tied up for space at the moment, with this wedding that’s happening.”

  As she made her back up from the dock, the three men following, she started to feel uneasy. What angle should she play here? Should she admit that she was Sharon’s daughter, and risk them knowing that they could potentially be her dad? Should she say that she was the one getting married, again risking her secret being exposed, or act as though it was someone else?

  Still, beneath her panic, hope fluttered in her chest like a butterfly escaping a chrysalis. Despite not knowing which one yet, she was in the presence of her dad. He was here, on the island, and going to be attending her wedding. Even though there would be carnage in the long run, Trixie was excited. This was her dream, materialized. She just had to do what felt right.

  “We’ll, uh, have to go round the back of everything.” Trixie told them, steering them out of any paths that her mom might’ve been on. “Everything’s a little hectic, so it’s easier that way.”

  “Seems fair. Is Sharon around?” Justin spoke up.

  Trixie froze a little, but quickly recovered. She clambered over the remains of a broken door, discarded in a little alley, and beckoned the three men to follow her round the back of the hotel. Luckily for her, the room that she’d preplanned wasn’t too far, tucked away at the back of the hotel. Three beds were already waiting.

  “Not at the moment, but I’m sure she will be.”

  With a winning smile, she opened the door to the room she’d prepared, closing it behind her once everybody was inside. She took a moment to inspect each of them properly, noticing the three of them doing the same to her.

  “Sorry if this seemed a little rushed… I’m Trixie.” She smiled sweetly.

  “You’re the girl getting married?” Willam asked.

  Trixie grinned, pointing at the ring on her finger. “Now, about this door - it gets a little stuck sometimes because it’s old, but if you just shove against it real hard-”

  “You’re Sharon’s daughter.” Justin said. It wasn’t a question.

  Left without a choice, Trixie nodded. Stay calm, she told herself. There was a good chance that none of them would realize why they’d been invited, at least not yet. She had time to come clean, confess and settle everything before the big day.

  “I knew you looked familiar. God, I bet she hasn’t aged a day.” He sounded wistful. “I know she’s busy, but can I see her? I want to thank her for this invite-”

  “No!” Trixie panicked, internally cursing herself as soon as the outburst came. “I… shit. Mom didn’t send the invitations to you, I did. She doesn’t know you’re here.”

  Three pairs of eyes stared at her - concerned, confused, amused. The truth was coming out a little sooner than Trixie had anticipated, but that was fine. She was crafty. As long as her mom didn’t find out until the very last second, it would all turn out okay.

  “Listen.” She whispered, drawing closer. “She’s been so stressed constantly about my wedding, so I felt bad and invited you guys to cheer her up. She talks about her friends from the past all the time, I thought she’d like it.”

  All three of her guests reacted slightly at the word ‘friends’. Perhaps that wasn’t right; it was clear from her mom’s diary that they had been so much more than that.

  Trixie took a deep breath and continued. “Just… if she sees you, don’t tell her you’re here for my wedding. Make something up, a happy coincidence that you’re here. Please. She’ll freak out at having unexpected guests, I just know it, but once she gets past the stress she’ll be so happy.”

  Justin sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t be here, I should go. Trixie, your mom hates me.”

  “Maybe she did, twenty years ago.” Trixie countered. “No one can hold a grudge, or any kind of feeling, for that long. You can’t just go! I want you at my wedding, all of you!”

  Slowly, surely, Jaremi and Willam began to laugh, coaxing Justin to join them. It was totally absurd, it really was. Trixie herself could see the bizarreness of the situation, and giggled along with them. It felt nice. Laughing with her dad - or at present, dads.

  Jaremi took his hat off and grinned. “You’re a firecracker, like your mom. He’ll stay, won’t you Justin?”

  Justin shook his head, smiling. “I suppose I have to. Seems like your mom’s taught you all her old tricks. There’s no way of getting out of this, is there?”

  Trixie beamed. “Nope! Remember what I said - lie, lie, and lie again. She can’t know I invited you, or that you’re here for the wedding. She’ll go insane.”

  The worry in her chest started to settle. Justin, Jaremi and Willam were amazingly sweet, and had agreed to cooperate and go along with a few white lies. Trixie was sure that in no time, she’d find out which one was her dad, and be able to have the perfect wedding with her dad walking her down the aisle to give her away. In an ideal world, maybe her mom would even make peace with her old flings, and revive some old friendships - but she knew not to hope for too much.

  “I need to get going…” Trixie murmured, feeling slightly regretful. She wanted to stay, to learn more about each of them. “Thank you so much for accepting those invites.”

  Justin snorted, but there was no malice in it. “It was always impossible to say no to your mother. Twenty years, and nothing’s changed.”

[goffilolo]

Demise of Midoriya Izuku Part 8

God this was a long chapter. I hope you will enjoy it. you can read the full fanfic on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/776826

I’m currently on a christmas break, however i have a very long essay to write so im not sure if ill be able to write/draw any more demise!au stuff.

Izuku was tired.

It was nothing new per se, as for the last month the teenager has become very well acquainted with the feeling of exhaustion as a side effect of his medication. “It’s normal” said Shin during their last appointment “Your brain is still going through an adjustment period, and insomnia is a rather common side effect of a lot of antidepressants”. So yeah, it was all good.

Except it wasn’t.

Given that no one was willing to rid the boy of his sleepless turmoil, Izuku decided to take the matters into his own hands. Because fuck Shin. In the hindsight, all of this was a very bad idea.

It all started during one of his usual conversations with Mrs. Todoroki, only this time they were joined by her daughter Fuyumi. The first observation Izuku made upon her entrance, was that this young woman was almost a splitting image of Mrs. Todoroki, save for the hot red streaks in her hair, undoubtedly inherited from her asshole father. After talking to her for a bit, Izuku was quite pleased to learn that she has not in fact inherited her father’s god tier assholism. Izuku has never met the man, he doesn’t need to, at least not yet.

After brief introductions they have resumed to their previous conversation.

“So how did meeting with piece of shit go?” asked Mrs. Todoroki, her question quickly followed by Fuyumi’s scandalised expression at hearing her mother use such foul language.

“Meh, it was your typical melodrama bullshit. Some shouting and insults were thrown around, well mostly by me, and crying” replied Izuku in a rather nonchalant fashion, completely disregarding Fuyumi’s shock and confusion.

The word got round quickly in this ward, meaning that most of the patients and staff were in on Izuku’s personal drama and so they all came to a silent agreement to refer to Bakugou as ‘piece of shit’ and never call him by his actual name. And so over time Bakugou became the psychiatric ward’s very own Voldemort. But Fuyumi doesn’t know that yet, bless her soul.

“You actually cried?”

“Oh no, not me, piece of shit did. Honestly you should’ve been there, Shin was there for emotional support and kept staring daggers at him, it was hilarious” sneered the boy upon remembering the Bakugou shitshow with some sort of twisted fondness. His enthusiasm was however quickly disrupted by a long, loud yawn coming the boy’s mouth.

“Didn’t get a good night’s sleep?” asked Fuyumi.

“More like a good month’s sleep” snapped Izuku, rubbing his temples as much as the bandage around his head allowed him to. “And that bitch Shin won’t prescribe me anything cause it would clash with my antidepressants” scoffed the boy.

“You know that Dr. Iyashi cares about your wellbeing and wouldn’t want to give you anything with nasty side-effects” said Mrs. Todoroki as she stroked Izuku’s shoulders in a gentle, matherly manner.

“Wait a minute” chimed in Fuyumi “Prescription won’t do, but what about over the counter stuff? There must be some sleep relief that you could take”.

“Oh, really?” said Izuku, with a hint of amusement and sarcasm “What are gonna do? Smuggle some Quil into the hospital for me?”

The determined  smile on Fuyumi’s face told Izuku that indeed, she would. ‘Well then’ thought Izuku ‘This is going to be fun’.

The next day Izuku has found two bottles being dropped onto his lap, while the boy was busy filling up his notebook with sketches of Endeavour being eaten alive by crocodiles. If you looked closely enough you’d also notice that some of them contained an already half eaten Bakugou.

He raised his brow at the bottles, then looked up to see Fuyumi looking very smug.

“I got the Quil” she said, very proud of herself.

“I can see that” replied Izuku, looking back and forth between the two bottles “Why two?” he asked, confusion and curiosity seeping into his voice.

“I forgot whether you needed DayQuil or NyQuil so I got you both!”

Looking at very pleased Fuyumi, Izuku didn’t have it in him to grace the statement with a proper reply that wouldn’t point out the stupidity and irresponsibility of casually getting two substances that are meant to do the exact opposite, which then lead to a train thought of ‘what if you mix them?’.

“Thank you Fuyumi-neesan!”

And thus Izuku was left alone in his hospital room, the notebook long forgotten, staring at the content of the two bottles, as the nerdy part of his brain deciding to wake up and cause drama. ‘If you mix DayQuil and NyQuil, you end up with what, ForeverQuil? Or given that the substances are meant to do the opposite would they cancel each other out and have no effect when consumed simultaneously? No, that doesn’t seem right, it’s more likely that they would disturb a sleeping pattern, but given that mine is already fucked, how would I be able to tell...’

“SHIT, I’m mumbling again!”

So many questions that demand to be answered, a hypothesis that needs a confirmation and a curiosity waiting around the corner, ready to kill the metaphorical cat.

“Ugh, fuck it” said Izuku as he gulped down both substances in one go.

That’s when everything went to shit.

At first he didn’t feel any different. He spent a good portion of time looking out of the window, admiring the weather - it’s almost May so the days were getting brighter, warmer - waiting for something, anything to happen.

Things got a bit blurry after a while. Izuku could feel his BRAIN getting blurry, which he didn’t even know was possible. But apparently losing contact with reality does things to you.

As Izuku slowly regained clarity, the first thing he noticed was the sluggish feeling and the pounding in his head, reminding him of the first time he woke up in this god forsaken loony bin.

The second thing he noticed was the darkness. At first, he thought that one of the nurses has closed the curtains while he was out of it, but no, the curtains were open, and upon closer inspection Izuku came to realisation that it was in fact, night time. Which was strange...to say the least, since it was still sunny just a few seconds ago. ‘Is this some sort of a quirk? Probably not.’ he thought, which meant there was only one option left.

“FUCKIN HELL I TRAVELLED THROUGH TIME!”

His shout was followed by a tired groan, which definitely did not belong to him.

“Dr. Iyashi, he’s at it again!” shouted Mrs. Todoroki.

Wait a minute, Mrs. Todoroki? When did she get here?

Izuku whipped his head to the side, where the woman was sitting in a chair by his bedside, with Shin standing in the doorway, looking down at a clipboard.

“What the-shit did you get in here?” asked Izuku, his brain still sluggish and disoriented about the whole situation.

Shin chooses that moment to walk into the room “Do you remember what happened?” he asked.

“No? I was sitting here and it was day and suddenly it’s night, so obviously it was Quil induced time travel” said Izuku, as his lagging brain allowed for all the ridiculous bullshit to spill out of his mouth.

Shin does not look impressed.

“You absolute, fucking idiot!” shouted the doctor “Why in the world would you mix DayQuil and NyQuil together? Are you completely insane? What did you think would happen?!”

“First of all, if I was sane I wouldn’t even be here. Second of all, who told you about my Quil?” asked the boy, his eyes suddenly focused, full of suspicion.

At that moment Fuyumi poked her head through the entrance and waved at Izuku as she made her way through the room and stood by her mother’s side.

“Sorry, I had to tell him since it’s all my fault you went delirious in the first place” she said, her face portraying nothing but guilt.

“It was very irresponsible of you!” said the doctor, his gaze switching between Izuku and Fuyumi “Not only did you take medication against a doctor’s recommendation, you even roped others into smuggling unauthorised substance into the hospital…”

And Shin went into the ‘ranting dad’ mode. It was a perfect time to zone out.

While the doctor was busy lecturing everyone about the dangers of overdosing and mixing medications, Izuku picked up the discarded notebook in hopes of finishing that sketch of Endeavour being devoured by crocodiles. His drawing skills were improving, that’s for sure. Maybe once he’s finished he’d show it to Mrs. Todoroki.

‘I think she would like that’ thought Izuku.

Except when he opened his notebook on the most recent page, instead of Endeavour massacre, Izuku was met with lines upon lines of text, written in what can only be described as very rushed and frenzied handwriting, which undeniably belonged to Izuku. The pages were also adorned with big bold letters at the top stating ‘ENDEAVOUR THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL’.

‘When did I write that?!’ Izuku was rather astonished as he started to skim through his writing and came to a conclusion that what he was reading was in fact a conspiracy theory. A very detailed one at that.

“Izuku, are you listening?” asked the doctor.

“No” he replied absentmindedly.

But the writing in his notebook and the overall situation left Izuku very confused. The moonlight illuminated parts of the room, a reminder of a mysterious time slip, which apparently was not quil induced time travel. Izuku needed the answers, and he needed them NOW.

“Can anyone tell me what happened?”

His question was met with a long, awkward silence, as the other individuals in the room looked at one another, not knowing what to say.

“Alright…” Mrs. Todoroki broke the silence “...where do we start?”

………………………………………………………………………………

Iyashi Shin was finally having his well deserved lunch break. After starting his shift at 6 am, he felt exhausted and he was barely halfway through. And so Shin planned to have a short nap during his break to recharge. ‘What am I, an old man?’ he thought to himself ‘Probably, at least I’m on a good way to becoming one. Not getting any younger either, I’m turning forty next year.’

‘Ugh, this calls for a mid-life crisis nap’ he thought while lying on the couch in his office, being slowly lulled to sleep by the ticking of the clock.

Suddenly Shin was awakened by an obnoxiously loud laugh coming from the corridor. He was annoyed at having his nap interrupted, but the annoyance was outweighed by sheer curiosity, as one does not get a lot of laughing in this part of the hospital.

The doctor soon  got up and opened the door he was once again met with the obnoxious laugh, only this time louder as it came from a man who was currently walking out of Izuku’s room.

“Haha...it was nice talking to you Midoriya. I’m glad you’re in a good mood” called out the man “I’ll be back tomorrow to check your homework!”

‘Homework? Ah, it must be Izuku’s teacher’ thought Shin with a bit of suspicion as he remembered his patient talking about his homeroom teacher in a … less than friendly manner.

‘So why would the laugh? I thought Izuku hated the guy.’

As the teacher walked away from Izuku’s room he bumped into Shin, who was standing in the middle of the corridor, lost in thought.

“Ah, Dr. Iyashi didn’t see you there!” exclaimed the teacher. He sure was in a good mood, a stark contrast to his usual visits.

“Good afternoon, how was your visit?” asked Shin, trying to squeeze out some details out of the man.

The teacher laughed again trying to get a hold of himself “Oh it was great, I haven’t laughed so much in ages. Whatever meds you put him on, they’re doing god’s work!”

“Really? What did Izuku say?”

“You know Bakugou-kun, right?”

“Of course, the one responsible for the shitstorm that is Izuku’s depression” stated the doctor as a matter of fact.

The teacher stilled his movement, unprepared for the blatant statement. Trying to dissolved the tension, he continued “Yeah, him. Anyways, Midoriya was asking about him and he seemed stuck on on his name so he said…” he stopped for a bit, trying to mimic his student’s voice and speaking manner “ ‘you know the angry, shouty one, what was his name...Fuckugou?’ and I just lost it right there! Buahaha!” sneered the teacher, waiting for Shin to have a similar reaction.

And boy was he not disappointed.

“Fuckugou!” exclaimed Shin “That’s a good one, gotta tell it to the nurses, it will spread like wildfire!”

………………………………………………………………………………

“Fuckugou?” asked Izuku.

“Fuckugou” confirmed Shin.

“That...is funny as hell, but it doesn’t really sound like me.”

“I know, which is why I was concerned. Mind you I still needed my nap, so I asked Mrs. Todoroki to keep an eye on you in the meanwhile” explained the doctor as both him and Izuku turned their heads in the direction of the white haired woman.

………………………………………………………………………………

Mrs. Todoroki was having a good day. And by good she meant boring. In all honesty there’s only so much a person can do in this place before being driven further into insanity. She was currently sitting in the common room in the company of her daughter who has dropped in earlier to give Izuku the sleeping medication they talked about yesterday.

Which is why she was more than a little surprised when Dr. Iyashi approached her, asking to keep an eye on Izuku, who right now should be sleeping like a baby from the medication.

Nevertheless she agreed, as the doctor seemed deeply concerned about the boy who has managed to settle himself nice and cosy in a particular place in her heart; reserved exclusively for her children. ‘Well then’ thought the woman as she came to a realisation ‘Looks like I now have five children.’

Just as Mrs. Todoroki considered brushing off Dr. Iyashi’s concerns, her train of thought was disrupted by a maniacal laugh that belonged to no other than Izuku himself.

The teenager in question wheeled himself into the common room at a speed that should not be achievable for a wheelchair, his hair wilder than usual, eyes wide open, pupils dilated. The boy’s face was devoid of any sanity.

“HOLY SHIT MRS. TODOROKI!” he screamed.

“Are you high?” she asked, full of disbelief at the state the boy was in.

“I got the answers” announced Izuku, completely disregarding the woman’s question.

“What answers?”

“All the answers! To everything! I CAN FEEL THE UNIVERSE EXPANDING IN MY BONES!” shouted Izuku, further disturbing and scaring other occupants of the room.

‘Oh, is this why Dr. Iyashi was concerned? What do I do with him?’

“Right…” said Mrs. Todoroki, hoping to distract the boy for a bit “...why don’t you sit with me and Fuyumi and tell us all the answers? Just remember to keep your voice down” she added in her motherly tone.

Although Izuku seemed quite out of contact with reality, he did as he was told. After wheeling himself next to Fuyumi he whipped out one of his notebooks seemingly out of nowhere and began to speak.

“From the evolutionary standpoint my existence is a liability to human advancement. Every year the number of people born quirkless decreases as our gener are to be replaced with the superior ones of those with quirks. I’m going extinct! Both my parents have quirks, yet I was born without one, I’m an anomaly I SHOULD CEASE TO EXIST!” screeched Izuku as he seemed to be having an existential crisis that was accompanied by what he thought were diagrams from his notebook, which to everyone besides him looked like a bunch of gibberish and nonsense.

“WHY DO I EXIST?” screamed the boy in agony as once again he began to wheel himself at an impossible speed out of the room.

The Todoroki women were left stunned, looking at one another and then back at the spot previously occupied by the insane teenager.

“What did you give him?” asked the mother.

“The Quil”

“What Quil?”

“All the Quil.”

“Go and get Dr. Iyashi. I’ll stay here in case Izuku comes back” she said while rubbing her temples out of frustration.

………………………………………………………………………………

“Oh, fuck, what happened after that?” asked Izuku, no longer in disbelief, but amusement. While he had no recollection of any of this happening he felt like he was listening to a rundown of an episode from ‘it’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia’.

He seemed to be the only one enjoying himself though. The adults in the room on the other hand were very much tired of his shit after having to deal with Quil induced Izuku the whole day.

“You wheeled yourself around the ward while screaming ‘I challenged God to a knife fight’. What actually happened was you stole a scalpel from a surgeon, don’t know how, and started stabbing one of the All Might sketches in your notebook” relayed Mrs. Todoroki in the most flat and no-bullshit tone she could manage.

“Haha, yeah that sounds like me!”

“Now then…” announced Shin as he stood up addressing everyone at once“...it’s been a long day for everyone. Mrs. Todoroki please go back to your room for today. Ms. Fuyumi, thank you for everything. I will see you again. Izuku, you little shit, we’re going to have a talk.”

As the two women got up and left the room, Izuku was left alone with his psychiatrist. While he knew that Shin was only concerned about his well being he didn’t look forward to being nagged by the doctor again.

Instead of talking, Shin just ripped of a piece of paper from his clipboard and handed it to Izuku without any explanation.

“Any what is this?” asked Izuku, eyeing the piece of paper suspiciously.

“ A prescription for Ramelteon” says Shin “It’s most commonly used as antidepressant, but it also works as a sleeping drug. It’s also one of very few that does not lead to a dependence. Take this to the dispensary now, they will sort everything out and you will be getting your dose from tomorrow evening onwards.”

“I know I was very reluctant to give you anything besides antidepressants…” he continues “...but I’d rather do this than have you going batshit crazy with whatever alternatives you’re willing to try. Please be careful in the future Izuku, I mean it” he finishes with a warning tone.

“Can’t promise anything” said Izuku, his voice full of mischief.

“In that case I can’t promise that I won’t smack you on the head next time you pull of shit like this” replied the doctor, as he walked out of his patient’s room, hiding his smile behind the clipboard.

[youseethingsandyouknow]

Dream AU Where Percy is Never a Demigod

-It happens after a horrible day at school where Percy is completely overwhelmed trying to catch up with what he missed when he was gone and his stress and anger are through the roof. 

-He tries to call Annabeth but remembers that she is still up in Boston dealing with everything and doesn’t want to bug her. His mom and Paul are at a baby doctor appointment and so Percy is all by himself trying to deal with everything coming at him at once. 

-Between the homework and flashbacks and exhaustion, in a fit of rage, Percy slaps his textbooks off his desk and they slam on the ground as he groans in anger and looks up at his apartment ceiling, looking to pick a fight with the gods.

-”You know if I wasn’t constantly cleaning up your shit I might actually be doing something with my life instead of trying not to fail out of school and continually falling behind. I mean wasn’t it enough that you took eight months away from me and threw Annabeth and I into Tarturus! Gods!” He shouts angrily and goes to retrieve his books from the ground. 

-Once he is done cleaning up and sits back down at his desk, he is still frustrated and distracted and glances out his window where he can see people walking on the sidewalk, completely unaware that there are such things as gods and monsters among them. 

-Percy shakes his head and mutters, “Sometimes I wish I was never a demigod. I mean they have it so easy.”

-Later that night after finally finishing his reading and past-due assignments, Percy flops on his bed and immediately, his eyes get heavy and he drifts off to sleep. 

-And he dreams like most demigods too but tonight it’s not flashbacks or what Grover is doing with his satyr friends. It’s something completely new and very realisitic. 

-The sunlight peaks through his windows and forces him awake and he is met with the NYC traffic and noise. He groans and rolls over not wanting to start his day.

- “Percy! Come on, time to get up you don’t want to be late for school.” His mom calls to him. Defeated, Percy gets out of bed and walks out of his bedroom and sees his mom running around in the kitchen with her old bakery outfit on. 

-”Mom, what are you doing with your old uniform on?” Percy asks. She hasn’t worked at the bakery for years so it was weird to see her wearing it again.

-”Percy, I don’t have time for your jokes this morning I’m already late as it is. Breakfast is on the counter and your lunch is in the fridge. And please remember I have to close up tonight so you and your father are on your own for dinner.”

-Confused Percy asks, “My father?”

-Sally rolls her eyes and wipes her hands on a dish towel before grabbing her purse and kissing Percy’s cheek. “Someone must be very tired this morning. I’ll see you after work honey.”

-Still confused, Percy nods and goes to get ready for school. He goes and throws on the rest of his clothes and goes to brush his teeth when he sees a new prescription bottle and his mother’s handwriting. Remember to take your pills today :).

-Percy picks up the bottle and looks at the description. The name sounds familiar and he remembers It’s the same ADHD pills his mom refused to give him when he was younger because his teachers thought they would help with his energy and lack of attention. His mom refused because she knew if something were to happen and she wasn’t there those hyperactive impulses could save his life. 

-He puts it back down on the table and rubs his eyes, rationalizing that maybe he is just seeing things or something. After getting everything and grabbing his breakfast and lunch, Percy heads out to school.

-Everything seems about right until kids who he has never talked to before come up to him and slap him on his back. He furrows his brows and ask, “Um do I know you?”

-”Ah Perce! Always joking around man. We’ll see you at the swim meet tonight right?”

-Fear grips his chest and Percy combs through his memory trying to remember if he has a meet tonight. His schedule and workload has been so hectic that it’s perfectly possible that he could have forgotten he had a meet.

-”Uh yah. Of course.” He answers and the group of guys smile and walk away. Percy shakes his head still really confused at what is happening and goes to his classes. Everything seems about right, his dyslexia and attention issues are perfectly intune. Between periods, he sneeks to his usual hideout to Iris message Annabeth like they usually do.

-When he goes for his drachma though, he can’t find any and he could have sworn he had some in his backpack. Without any luck finding it, he sighs and hopes Annabeth isn’t too pissed at him for not calling her. 

-Percy goes about the rest of his day normally, school and his school work are still as boring as ever. But, it seems his workload has eased up a lot which makes him happy and that stress seems to be relieved. 

-Finally, the day is over and Percy goes to his swim locker to get ready for his meet. On the pool deck for warmups, his coach approaches him and says, “Ok Jackson, I put you in the 50 free tonight so hopefully between that and the 100 free they will be easy points to beat these guys. Even if you come dead last in these we will get something out of it.”

-Percy is shocked and a little peeved because he usually does all the relays, the 200 IM and the 500m, all events that he is able to show off but not completely with his powers. He is the best on the team and he doesn’t understand why he is being treated like a liability.

-”Um Coach, I usually do the relays and the 500m at least.” Percy contests.

-”What world are you living in Jackson? Get your ass in the pool.” His coach yells and rattled, Percy listens and dives into the water.

-Usually, the temperature of the water doesn’t affect him because he can choose to feel or or not but as soon as he hits the water, the cold shocks his body and its something he hasn’t really felt before. Once again, Percy is puzzled but takes his first stroke anyway, just expecting that shock as just Percy being tired and forgetting to use his powers when he jumped in.

-But instead of gliding through the water easily and with minimum effort, he feels like he is stuck in syrup and can’t move. The tension in the water is horrible and if that wasn’t the worse part, Percy’s lungs are on fire from not being able to breathe underwater. 

-As he comes up and gasps for air, Percy comes to the startlingly discovery that his powers aren’t working and he doesn’t understand what is happening to him. Once he gets to the other side of the pool, he immediately jumps out and races to the locker room.

-”Jackson get back in the water!” His coach screams and Percy ignores him, sprinting to the lockers to catch his breath. 

-What is happening to me? Percy wonders and decides that even though Paul doesn’t know too much about being a demigod and everything, he is the only one closest to Percy to help him out and try to figure out what the hell is happening.

- He spots Paul down the hallway and runs to catch up to him. 

-”Paul! Paul!” Percy shouts down the hall as he runs towards him.

-Paul quickly turns and looks shocked to see him, “Percy? Are you alright?”

-Percy shakes his head and says quickly, “Paul, I don’t know what’s going on. My powers aren’t working and I don’t know what to do. I’m freaking out.”

-Paul looks absolutely confused for a second and then finally he gets serious and says, “Mr. Jackson, are you high right now?

-Stunned, Percy stutters and answers, “What! Paul, I’m being dead serious. This isn’t funny.”

-Paul’s expression doesn’t change and he just says simply, “Well first of all, I would like to remind you that my name is Mr. Blofis not Paul. And, if you were on some drug right now Mr. Jackson, it would be against school rules and its illegal.”

-Annoyed now, Percy shouts, “Paul, you know I don’t do drugs. Hell, you live with me! My mom and you can check my room if you want. I just need help right now I don’t know why my powers aren’t working.”

-Paul is still emotionless and just says, “Percy, I’ve only met your mother at student teacher conferences. Alright, I know your a good kid so I’ll let this little drug incident go but if I catch you again there will be consequences.” And with that warning he walks away, leaving Percy alone and completely confused and frightened. 

-Angry and puzzled, he walks home to the apartment, hoping to see Paul there so he can give him a piece of his mind for the shit he pulled back there. As he is walking past an alley, he hears some noises. Very familiar ones of shouts and growls and as he comes around the corner, he sees a young demigod and a hell-hound going head to head. 

-”Hey!” Percy shouts expecting the kid to be grateful that he has backup and-not to toot his own horn- but some pretty good backup. Even though his powers are gone or whatever, Percy still knows how to use a sword. He goes to his jean pocket for Riptide but feels nothing. Panic seizes Percy and he pats around for his familiar pen but he can’t find it.

-The demigod turns around and says “Great, I got a hellhound and some mortal who can see through the fucking Mist. My lucky night. Just stay out of my way or you’ll get both of us killed.”

-Completely bewildered and stunned Percy stays back as the demigod fights the hellhound, trying to figure out what the hell is happening. Maybe this was the god’s way of getting back at him for his little outburst yesterday? But that would be ridiculous, he barely even said anything.

-Finally, the hellhound is dead and the demigod comes over to Percy and says, “Alright what do you want to know. Are you shocked that there’s monsters and shit out there?”

-Percy shakes his head and says, “No I know all of that I’ve killed those things tons of times. Hey listen, I don’t if you’re new to camp or whatever but I’m Percy Jackson.”

-The demigod isn’t impressed and says, “I’ve never heard of you before. And I don’t know how you know about camp. Are you a demigod?”

-Annoyed, Percy answers, “Like I just said I’m Percy Jackson. You know, son of Poseidon.”

-The demigod is still blank faced and Percy rolls his eyes and continues to see if this kid knows anything about who he is. “You know the Percy Jackson who saved Olympus and defeated Kronos. Stopped Gaea a little bit too. Uh Annabeth Chase is my girlfriend? Aw c’mon man seriously?”

-The demigod just shakes his head and says, “ Look I don’t know how you know all of that but I’ve never heard of Percy Jackson. And for your information, Luke Castellan defeated Kronos and Gaea, and he is Annabeth Chase’s boyfriend.”

- A mixed emotion of anger, confusion, fear overwhelms Percy all at once and it’s almost too much to handle. Annabeth is with Luke? No one has heard of me? Luke is still alive? What is happening! All these emotions and questions float around Percy’s head and finally he just says, “I got to go.”

-Ignoring the demigod, Percy sprints home for answers. Thankfully, his apartment’s location hasn’t changed and is the only constant in this insane day. Is he in some alternate reality? Is this a dream or the god’s way at a good laugh?

-When he bursts through his apartment door, he shouts, “Mom!”

-”She’s at work still. About time you got home.” a familiar voice calls from the kitchen and its a voice Percy thought he would never hear again and it almost makes him stop dead in his tracks. But instead, he timidly goes to the kitchen and is shocked to find who is there waiting for him.

-Gabe is standing over the stove with a cooked cheese pizza ready to eat. But he isn’t anything like the Gabe Percy grew up with. Instead of the disgusting smell, strong cologne surrounds Gabe along with a nice suit. He still is pretty big and has a receding hairline but he seems like he actually has a job at a decent business unlike the other Gabe.

-”What are you doing here?” Percy mutters through a clenched jaw and Gabe looks at him like Percy is an idiot, an expression that hasn’t changed.

-”Uh, I live here.” Gabe answers and starts to cut the pizza.

-”Uh no you don’t, where’s Paul?” 

-”Who the fuck is Paul?” Gabe questions and Percy responds, “My mom’s husband?”

-”Alright kid, I don’t know what high you’re on today but I’ve been married to your mom since you were one so I’d think I know if she was married to someone else.”

-“What?” Percy’s head spins and he looks for something to explain what is happening right now. His eye catches a picture of him when he was younger and he is in his mom’s arms. Around him are his mom and Gabe in a white dress and suit, looking somewhat happy on their wedding day. This must have been the “father” his mom was telling him his morning.

-”Please don’t tell me your my dad.” Percy pleads while he massages the brim of his nose, trying to relieve this massive headache he has. Everything is completely turned upside down and Gabe is the last person he wants to see. If anything all he wants to do is be tucked up into Annabeth’s warm embrace but apparently in this universe or whatever, she is with Luke, which makes Percy want to gag or punch a wall. He hasn’t decided which one first. 

-“Biological no but I have raised you the best I could. Even though you are a selfish brat but your mom makes it better. Her cooking and body are too good to leave.”

-And there’s the Gabe that Percy grew up with and hates. 

-Percy glares at Gabe and mutters, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

-Gabe shoots back an intimidating look and if Percy was younger, he might have ran away. But Percy has seen far worse than Gabe, which is something to say considering for years Gabe was the worst monster Percy could thing of.

-”Didn’t I already beat you enough last week to teach you a lesson? Or are you too stoned right now to remember punk?” Gabe threatens as he slowly walks over to Percy. 

-Percy also wants to know why everyone thinks he is on something but that’s not really important.

-”Well you obviously are losing your hearing then old man because you didn’t hear me the first time. Get the fuck out.”

-Gabe smiles and throws a punch, a punch Percy was anticipating but he is surprised to see that his demigod reflexes are much slower. As he ducks and misses another punch, Percy swings his arm and lands a punch, hitting Gabe square in the jaw.

-Gabe stutters back and holds his face and mutters, “You’re going to get it now punk.”

-But just as Percy dodges another punch from Gabe, his slow reflexes get the best out of him and Gabe punches his nose, hard. He feels his bones break and blood sprays out of his newly broken nose. He also his nose as blood soaks his hand and Gabe punches him again in his side, causing Percy to collapse on the ground.

-Just like he did in his childhood, Gabe kicks Percy hard in his ribs as Percy curls up into a ball, trying to defend himself. He is disappointed in his lack of skills and when the blows stop, he slowly lifts his head to see Gabe standing over him.

-”I’m going to make sure you’re going to remember this.” Gabe hammers down another blow and suddenly, Percy is startled awake.

-Panting heavily, he looks around his room and tries to get his bearings. It’s his room that’s for sure but what world he is in, he is less sure of. 

-He looks to his nightstand and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the picture of him, his mom and Paul at the beach last summer before he went missing. Next to it, Riptide is capped and in pen form just like it always is when he goes to bed.

-After realizing it was just a very realistic dream, he lays his head back down on the pillow and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

-”I know you hate this life sometimes, but it could be worse Percy.” a voice speaks from the shadows and Percy jumps and goes for Riptide on his nightstand. He presses the pen and the sword bursts to life.

-When the figure emerges from the shadows, Percy realizes it’s his dad and caps Riptide again.

-“Gods you scared the shit out of me, Dad.” Percy calms down and looks at his father who he hasn’t seen since the battle with Gaea and hasn’t really spoken to since he went missing.

-”I apologize for the startle. I felt like it was time we talked since I know we haven’t in a while with everything going on.” Poseidon says and walks over to Percy’s dresser and leans against it. 

-“Well I’ve been busy trying to catch up around here. Haven’t really had time for a chat.” Percy answers and sighs.

-”I know you’re mad at the gods, Percy. You have been through more than any demigod has been through and I am sorry for that, son. And I know readjusting here hasn’t been the easiest either.”

-Percy nods and stays silent, unsure about what to say to his father. Sure, he is mad at the gods but he is still confused and a little unsettled about the dream he had. He also isn’t sure if he is mad at his father for just being a god or mad because he is Percy’s father and Percy hasn’t been feeling like his father appreciates his son’s sacrifices.

-”I know you are hurting and angry. Your outburst was just a fraction of the pain you must be going through and although I obviously can understand and am empathetic to your grievances, the other gods want to make sure you understand that although being a demigod, especially a demigod like yourself, is hard, it could be worse. You could have never met the love of your life, make your life-long friends, been able to get rid of Gabe or even have met Paul for your mother if you were never a demigod. Everything that has happened to you Percy has happened for a reason that only the Fates know.”

-Poseidon continues, “I also just want you to know Percy that I am proud of you. Truly, I am. I could've asked for a more heroic and strong son. And I am sorry if you feel like I wasn’t worried or upset. The pain of not knowing where you were those eight months was something that I can’t even describe to you. But I want you to know that through all of these trials, you have made me very proud.”

-Percy smiles a little and says, “Thanks Dad.”

[kate-writes-fluff]

If you're still doing dialogue prompts? 160? For whatever you want?

160.  [text] Who says no to sex and donuts?!

When I saw this, I thought of Jean, so @tiggeryumyumm I decided to work in your Valentine’s day themed jeanmarco in the same prompt.

Sorry for the wait!  I’ve been fighting some real writer’s block.

Jean: Who says no to sex and donuts?!

Eren: just bc i work at a bakery doesn’t mean u can take advantage of it

Jean: I just thought it would sweeten the deal ;)

Eren: obviously it didn’t work

Jean: T-T

Eren: considering how thin the walls are in our apartment, i’m grateful for ur lackluster flirting skills

Jean: …. Rude

Jean locks his phone and sighs as lets himself into their apartment.  It’s only 5 a.m., about a half hour after the Wings of Freedom closes for the night and therefore way too early in the morning to deal with Eren’s teasing.  Jean drags his feet as he makes his way to his cluttered bedroom, exhausted from both his most recent rejection and a long night of wiping down tables at the bar.  He simply throws his uniform–which chronically reeks of alcohol–into a corner of the room as he strips, not even bothering to throw on pajamas before he flops into bed and promptly falls asleep.

Hours later he’s ripped away from a pleasant dream about a handsome stranger with plump kissable lips and warm, welcoming arms by an annoying buzzing noise uncomfortably close to his ear.  Jean groans as he fumbles, finally finding his phone underneath his pillow with the display lit up with a new message.  Part of him wants to ignore it, but he knows that if Eren pities him enough he might offer to bring him food–but only if he replies before he changes his mind.

Turns out, the text is from Eren, but it’s a picture of a flyer with no words attached.  He can’t help but groan as he taps the image to enlarge it and squint at the tiny, pixelated words his brain isn’t awake enough to comprehend yet.

“Valentine’s Meet Up,” it says in a curly romantic font.  “Hang out with other singles and donate your time to brighten someone’s day.  Make friends and meet someone new.”

Before Jean can think of a coherent response, though “what the fuck” would probably be a decent enough answer, Eren texts him again.

Eren:  i signed u up

Jean: whyyyyy?

Eren: bc ur single +whiney + u have a day off on 2/14

         also ur a romantic loser so i know ur gonna be extra whiney on V day

Jean: ….

Eren:  u kno im right. Accept it

Jean:  i only read this text b/c i thought you were offering me food

Eren:  if i bring u a donut will u stop complaining

Jean: its a start

Eren: i hate u

Jean puts his phone on his dresser and sighs happily as he relaxes back into his pillow, looking forward to the treat his roommate will inevitably bring him.

Jean makes good on his promise and doesn’t complain about the singles anonymous meeting Eren has signed him up for.  Though he makes sure to give his roommate the stink eye when he finds out that he has holiday plans of his own.

“If you’re hanging out with Mikasa and Armin, then why couldn’t you just let me tag along?”  Jean whines, turning to give his roommate the most pitiful expression he can muster from beside him on their lumpy clearance-sale couch.

Eren doesn’t bother to look up from his phone as he promptly answers, “Because you would spend the whole day complaining and flirting with my sister.”

“Not true!  I might flirt with Armin too,” Jean flutters his eyelashes as Eren groans, turning away from him to finish texting his sister about their plans.

“Yeah, like I want to make my sister and my best friend uncomfortable all day.”

“But you’ll let your sister crash your date with your crush.”

“It’s not a date!”  Eren exclaims despite his bright pink cheeks.

“But Armin is your crush?”  Jean laughs as he reaches out to playfully ruffle his roommate’s hair, an attempt that costs him an elbow in the side.

“I hate you,” Eren groans.

“Then get your own Netflix,” Jean suggests, switching windows on his computer away from the website in question to check his email.  He makes a point to delete his junk mail as slowly as possible, just to rile up his roommate even more.  After about ten excruciatingly long minutes he’s about to give in and start the episode of Stranger Things when a new email pops up in his inbox.

“It’s for that Valentine’s thing,” Jean remarks, catching Eren’s attention.  He crowds over Jean’s shoulder to watch as he opens the message.

Dear Mr. Kirstein,

Thank you for expressing interest in helping to set up and organize the Valentines Meet Up event.  Would you mind meeting me at the bakery to discuss planning details?

Thanks,

Marco Bodt

There’s a moment of silence as they stare blankly at the polite message before Jean pointedly glares over his shoulder.  “Eren!  I thought you signed me up for the event, not the planning committee!!”

“Whoops,” Eren shrugs and leans back into his own spot on the couch, giving his roommate the space he needs to properly fume.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Jean accuses, narrowing his eyes into an even harsher glare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Eren turns his attention back to his phone, pointedly avoiding further eye-contact as he resumes texting.  Jean puffs his cheeks angrily, unsure whether the avoidance is a sign of guilt or exactly how little Eren cares about the situation.

“… That’s it, we’re watching Hart of Dixie.”

“No!” Eren exclaims, dropping his phone in his lap as he finally returns eye contact.

“If you signed me up to be a romantic sap for the full week until Valentine’s day, well then I’m going to start now.”

Eren groans but shifts in his seat to see the screen better.  “It’s not even romantic, they’re just idiots for the sake of drama.”

Though Jean agrees with him there, he can’t help but roll his eyes at the remark.  “You can complain when you have an actual love-life, Mr. I’m-in-love-with-my-bff-but-I’m-too-scared-to-say-anything.”

“Says the chronic single,” Eren bites back, digging his elbow into a ticklish spot in Jean’s side, making the other man squirm.  “I hope you meet someone at the stupid event so you’re too busy being stupid and in love to bother me anymore.”

“You and me both.  Watching you guys flirt is more excruciating than watching Zoe and Wade go back and forth.”

Eren grumbles profanities under his breath for several minutes before he angrily remarks, “Are you going to start the show or not?”

Jean sighs as his alarm goes off at 11 a.m. the next day.  Working nights means that on a normal day, he tends to sleep through the afternoon.  But thanks to Eren, he has plans to meet the event guy at the bakery that cut his much-needed sleep short.

The night before had been a long, tiring day and even as he wakes up he still feels tired and listless, barely able to keep his eyes open.  Maybe if he was more awake, he would have put the effort into dressing for a first impression.  But the fact is, he’s simply too tired to care.  So he slips into a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt, not even bothering to comb his hair before he shoves his shoes onto his feet and stumbles out the door.

Eren’s wiping down the counter when he arrives at the Braus’ bakery.  As Jean slumps against the customer side of the counter, Eren shoots him a distasteful look.  “Really, not even an effort?”  

Jean finds enough effort to roll his eyes.  “Give me the sugar I need to get through this.”

Eren grunts an affirmative as he reaches into the display case to pull out a raspberry filled donut.  As Jean pulls out his wallet to begrudgingly pay–though this is all his roommate’s fault, he knows better than asking him to pay too often–Eren nods toward one of the front tables.  “Marco’s here already.”

As Jean turns to find the person he’s meeting, he suddenly wishes he had bothered to look in a mirror before he left the apartment.  Dressed in a spotless lilac button-down and steam-pressed gray slacks, the man looks as put together as Jean isn’t.  But by this point, Jean is just too tired to even think about running back to his apartment to scrounge up an outfit that looks half decent.  Though he does quickly finger-comb his hair before he slides into the chair opposite the man.

“Hi!  Are you Jean?”  The man smiles brightly at his approach, making Jean regret his clothing choices all over again.  Because that dimpled smile single-handedly makes his heart clench and his hands start to sweat.  Though the freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose certainly make the expression far more endearing than anything larger than a baby animal should ever be.  In contrast, Jean can almost feel the bags under his eyes and wonders what the stranger thinks about the hot mess he regrettably is.

“Yeah.” Jean does his best to smile politely, though it falls short.  His cheeks feel stiff and his flirting muscles are not quite awake enough to throw out his usual charms.  “Are we waiting for anyone else?”  He takes a moment to look around the shop and though there are few people getting breakfast to go, there aren’t many people milling around.

“No… you’re the only volunteer.”  Marco threads his fingers around his coffee cup and looks crestfallen for a moment before he smiles again.  “Let’s start brainstorming, shall we?” he suggests as he pulls out a small spiral notebook and a pen.

“Um, sure.  What do you have in mind?”

Marco eagerly flips the page in his notebook, revealing rows upon rows of neat handwriting and messy doodles and diagrams.  “I’m so glad you asked.”

The following week is the busiest Jean’s had in years.  Whenever he turns around, he’s making bright colored paper chains or folding squares of paper and cutting out paper shapes, filling his and Eren’s apartment with boxes upon boxes of decorations.  Whenever Jean gets ready for work, he can hear Eren stumbling and cursing over the new boxes that appear while he’s out of the apartment.  It would be funnier if Jean didn’t trip over the damn things himself, too.

The highlight of all the paper toil is that Marco is loathe to make him work alone.  During the week, they meet up at the bakery at noon, where Marco spends his lunch break away from the library decorating the place with him.  (Jean makes a mental note to pay the local library a visit someday soon.)

Even after spending so much time together, Jean doesn’t find himself tiring of Marco.  In fact, with each day he looks forward to every time he leaves to return to work, Jean finds himself actually looking forward to the next day even more.  Marco is just as charming as he was the first day they met, cheerful, creative, and fun.  

Unwilling to repeat the embarrassment of their first meeting, Jean’s careful to pick the best outfits in his closet for their afternoon meetings.  He can’t help but blush the day Marco compliments a shirt ornamented with an iron-on transfer of one of his own art prints.

Jean has always been one to preen over compliments, but the sheer sincerity in Marco’s voice and smile as he gives them is enough to fluster him every time.  Halfway through the week, Jean realizes that his attraction for Marco is slowly growing more than skin-deep.  That day, Marco laughs cheerfully at even the shittiest of his puns–a quip about Eren being the real breadwinner in their roommate relationship because bussing tables doesn’t exactly set the bar high–and Jean softens.

By the weekend, Jean finally finds the guts to invite Marco over, so they can watch movies while they create card supplies.  Marco brings takeout and they eat together on his lumpy couch.  When Jean watches tv with Eren, they have no qualms about personal space, throwing arms and legs into the lap of the other at a whim because they’ve learned not to care about boundaries after years of living together.  Here, with Marco, Jean is fully aware of just how small the sofa is and just the barest brushing of skin against skin is enough to make him jittery.  

Marco doesn’t seem to mind his nervousness, too busy laughing at the antics of the characters of The Grand Budapest Hotel and flashing smiles Jean’s way when a particularly funny line is spoken.  Jean confides that he’s an aspiring artist working at the bar only to make money in the meantime, so Marco makes an effort to point out the parts he finds visually inspiring.  He enjoys the pastel color palettes–strikingly similar to the colors of his dress shirts– and cheerfully taps Jean’s knee to point out the most brightly colorful scenes.  (He likes the pinks of the Mendl’s boxes the most.)

At nine o’ clock, Marco needs to leave and Jean has to get dressed for another night working the bar.  As Jean locks the door behind them, Marco hesitates for a moment, twisting his fingers together.  “I’ve heard that In the Mood for Love is a really visually interesting movie too.  And I’ve been dying to see it,” he remarks off-handedly, looking down the hall at the flickering lights instead of at Jean.

“Sounds cool,” he says, words that seem like the understatement of the century.  

For the first time ever, he smiles through his whole shift at work.

“Do you guys have to come flirt at my workplace every day?”  Eren asks on February 13th.  “It’s sorta gross.”

Jean’s ears warm but he scoffs at the question, “We are not flirting.  He just happens to actually appreciate my jokes.  Unlike some people.”  

Eren snorts.  “The only way he’d find you funny is if he has a crush.”  He leans against the oven door casually, enjoying watching Jean squirm with embarrassment for once.

Jean huffs in retaliation, “Less talking, more baking.  If we’re doing to decorate cookies tomorrow, we need cookies.”

Finally it’s the night of Valentine’s day and Jean’s nervous.  All their hard work is on display, hung up around the bakery, decorating it with reds and pinks from head to toe.  Trays of fresh cookies are ready to decorate and paper pieces are prepared for cards.

The cheerfully colored donation boxes are set up in the front of the room, listing the names of local hospitals and orphanages that are accepting cards.  The slogan “Give a card, give a smile,” hangs on a banner directly behind the boxes.

Sugary sweet pop music starts playing as Marco returns from the sound system, setting up a themed playlist from his phone.  Jean tries not to stare at the pink tie the man has on–the same color as the Mendl’s boxes in the movie they had seen together.

“It’s almost time,” Marco smiles, threading his fingers together restlessly.  “People should start arriving anytime now.”  The air between them seems charged with anxious restlessness.  Suddenly, in their last moments alone together it hits Jean that once the day is over, once they clean up the bakery, they’ll lose their excuses to see each other.

It doesn’t really matter that over the course of the week, Jean has learned that Marco’s favorite color is teal and that Persuasion is his favorite Jane Austen novel.  That Marco didn’t tease him when Jean confided that his favorite childhood movie was The Princess Bride.  It doesn’t matter that Jean showed Marco his art portfolio and the other man enthusiastically admired it, saying that if he ever finished writing his book he’d love to commission him to design the cover.

Once the event is done, they no longer have a reason to spend so much time together.

The shop bell rings and people start arriving, forcing the two men to separate and socialize, doing their best to keep the mingling running as smoothly as possible.  (Honestly, Jean hates this sort of thing, but after all the work they had done, he can’t weasel his way out of chaperoning a bunch of adults for a night.)

Regardless of how busy Jean finds himself throughout the night, his eyes always wander to the other side of the room where Marco is cheerfully chatting with other cute single people.  

He’s busy staring instead of paying attention to the card making tables when a young woman with wavy auburn hair whistles at him.  “Yo loverboy.  This is the wrong place to stand around being lovesick,” she chides, carelessly wiping cookie crumbs off her fingers.  “Sit down, make a card.  You’ll fit in with all the unhappy singles that way.”  She grabs a sheet of cardstock out of the pile and quickly scribbles something on it before handing it over.

It messily reads “Ur hot freckleface” above a hand-drawn heart that looks remarkably like a butt.

“See, it’s half done now.”

Jean sighs but sits down to work on fix the card she started.  He grabs a pink paper heart that’s just barely large enough to cover her unromantic words.  As he glues it down, he can’t help but notice that it’s the same shade as Marco’s tie and that thought convinces him to hazard a glance over at him.  The tall man is busy chatting and working on decorating his own cookies, even as he oversees others.

It wouldn’t hurt to make my own, I guess, he muses, searching through the box of children’s markers to find a color he likes.  It’s been years since he’s made anyone a hand-made valentine.  The only friend that might appreciate one would be Armin–the most sentimental out of the group–, though Eren would definitely change the wifi passwords for that sort of “personal offence.”

After an hour, Jean and Marco switch stations; Jean overseeing the decorations of the last batch of cookies while Marco helps with the cards.  Jean slides his own card into the back pocket of his jeans, unwilling to let his newfound friend even guess toward his intentions yet.

Finally, two hours after it started, people begin to leave, many of them in small groups as they chat and exchange phone numbers.  Even the woman who “helped” Jean with his card is cheekily hanging off the arm of a stern-faced young man.  She whispers something in his ear and his cheeks flare red before she turns back to wink at Jean as they leave the building.

The floor is covered in cookie crumbs, sprinkles, and paper scraps that will be a pain to clean-up, but even so Marco still smiles.  “Looks like a success.  People walked in alone, but they’re leaving with friends.”

Jean’s card feels like a weight in his pocket and he has to concede that yeah, it really seems like a success.  

They take their time cleaning, taking away all the little sugary clues that they’d been there, that they’d prepared for a whole week over it.  Jean’s smile falls as he returns to his earlier train in thought:  that their reason for spending time together is quickly falling away as they sweep up the mess.

“Cheer up, Jean.  The night’s still young,” Marco laughs, taking a moment to turn up the speakers.  Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch” blares, bringing back memories of youtube videos Jean forgot watching.

“Where’d you find this?  What year do you think it is?  2007?”  

The music becomes a palpable presence in the room, especially as Marco begins singing along, dancing with his broom as he sweeps.  Jean cracks a smile as he laughs, leaning into the table he was in the midst of cleaning for support.  He’s laughing so hard that he doesn’t notice Marco’s approach until he leans the broom against his table.

“Mind dancing with me?  That broom is just too stiff and wooden.”  Marco holds his palm upwards, like a prince asking for a dance in the ball of a fairytale, not in an empty bakery that looks like it was ransacked by preschoolers on a sugar-high.

“I can’t dance.”  Jean waves his hands in refusal, but Marco’s grin only widens.

“Neither can I.”

Finally, Jean gives in and reaches out to hold onto Marco’s shoulders as the other man leads him around the room.  They trip and stumble on chairs they hadn’t put away yet, but they only laugh in the face of their own clumsiness, each mistake bringing their bodies even closer together.

The song ends and something slower and mellower replaces it.  Jean can feel his pulse pounding but it’s hard to be embarrassed about it when he can feel the beat of Marco’s own heart from where their chests are touching.  

“I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.  Some superhero, some fairytale bliss.

Just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss.”

Marco smiles breathlessly, his lips barely inches from Jean’s, and suddenly it feels a little too close and intimate, so Jean takes a step back to pull the card out of his pocket.  It’s more than a little crumpled around the edges from their romp around the shop, but Jean finds himself passing it over anyway.  It just seems… fitting.

The card is brightly colored and framed with paper hearts, but on the front it simply reads “Thanks” in Jean’s best penmanship.  Marco’s face falls a little as he looks at it, so Jean hurries to explain himself as he opens it.  “I wanted to thank you for setting this all up, because it really turned out to be a lot of fun.  And mostly because I got to meet you.  And I hope you don’t mind if I ask, but I’d really like to keep hanging out, even though Valentine’s day is over….”

Marco cuts him off with a gentle hand on his own.  “I’d really like that…  But you know, Valentine’s day isn’t over quite yet….  And there’s no one I’d rather spend it with than you.”

Jean’s cheeks burn brightly as Marco retrieves a small plastic bag from where it’s lying forgotten on the counter:  a cookie decorated with a heart and Jean spelled in pretty cursive.

They have a whole lot of cleanup left to do, but Jean really can’t bring himself to mind.  Even if he had to stay there all night, picking up each and every crumb individually with his bare fingers, he’d willingly do it if Marco would keep looking at him the way he is now, like he’s been the highlight of the night.

But the night’s still young, of course.  And if they want to watch In the Mood for Love and kiss on Jean’s couch, then they need to finish cleaning.