#it immediately put a huge grin on my face (which is rare for my art)

[theswedishpajas]

Getting back into the hang of things with a garfield comic redraw

OG under cut

[lefarte]

How would funger characters react to having a cocky and sarcastic eader who is a professional at anything? Like they are a professional at diving, magic, swinging swords, etc etc while they also do lots and lots of gymnastics and yoga which makes them very flexibal.

Btw i like ur fanfictions ♥︎

Omg I’m sorry this took so long I have a huge backlog of requests to get to from those days when I was out of it but thank you 🩷💕

Also idk if you wanted funger 1 or 2 so I just did 2, I hope that’s okay

Characters: O’saa, Olivia, Henryk, Tanaka (a little angst in Olivia’s part)

O’saa

Having traveled all across the world, there is a part of Osaa that is always genuinely excited to meet other magic users. It’s a remnant from his past, when he used to be so naïve and inexperience with no others to talk to about his passion.

Nowadays he is jaded. That said, he still enjoys having stimulating discussions with others, and the chance to meet a peer is extremely rare. Meeting someone he considers his better is maybe one in a million, or even one in a billion.

Having someone to keep up with him is refreshing, and in some ways agitating, but he never lets it show. Even if you’re undeniably a prodigy he’d claim “well, I have wisdom that you don’t 😒”

Hearing you brag is annoying, and Nas’rah taunting him doesn’t make it any better. If you show off too much, he will take any chance to tease you.

Think that you’re showing off to your other party members while your back is turned, and he does something petty like dropping an ice cube down your back. This kind of thing would happen regularly if you don’t learn to be humble. (Or at least, don’t brag in front of him).

Overall, he is not the MOST jealous character, but he would definitely be displeased that the spotlight is no longer on him and takes pot shots at you. This includes flirting with you brazenly in public with a completely serious face to fluster you.

Despite your attitude clashing with his, in some ways having a partner that can keep up with him is an ideal for Osaa that attracts him. He enjoys the little banter between you two very much. Having a partner that is docile and agrees with everything he says is good for his ego, but not his mind. And of the two he values his mind more.

Henryk

He’s just outright annoying about it.

If you’re better at cooking, he’d always find something to nitpick, like “these spices are off” or “the meat is not tender”. When people go for your food over his, he’d grit his teeth and try to bottle up his jealousy.

He denies it fervently. “Why would I be jealous of you? I’m perfectly capable on my own, thanks.” But it’s obvious to everyone around him.

Your artistic abilities compared to the shoddy little things he calls painting make him bawk in embarrassment. It makes him wonder why he even tried to get into art at all.

He critiques your form on just about everything, even things he knows nothing about like magic or sword fighting. The only time he’s quiet is when you’re doing yoga or gymnastics. He actually quite likes that…

It’s undeniable that you’re quite the looker, and he feels he has no chance with you, not after acting like such an ass. So he gives up on pursuing you as a lover almost immediately. You should probably be with someone who’s not such a lout.

The best and fastest way to bond is cooking together.

At first he is hesitant. He doesn’t like people ‘cramping his style’ per se, but since you’re basically a goddamn professional, he decides to give it a go. But he won’t take orders from you.

The resulting dish is a masterpiece. Even with such threadbare ingredients, it’s the best thing both you and him have ever made. It’s a huge hit with the other contestants, immediately putting everyone in a brighter mood. Even those who rarely smile (like Levi or Osaa) seem pleased. The atmosphere is lively and cheerful for once. It’s better than anything you two could have done alone.

So, when you look at him with such a big happy grin by the firelight, he realizes that you’re not so bad after all. And maybe you like him the way you like him too?

Tanaka

On the opposite end of the spectrum, Tanaka is completely supportive.

Your brash personality and his calm, polite demeanor make a great duo. He helps bridge the gap between you and the others, while you help him… not die.

It’s not like he never gets a little jealous, but he’s long since accepted that he’s a pretty ordinary guy. He never really had much motivation to step outside of the box. He never made real friends or thought about romance. He lived his whole life, thirty whole years, bored out of his mind. He never even knew how much his life meant to him until it was almost taken.

The funny thing is that he’s not as ordinary as he thinks. He’s an extremely fast learner and can match your wit. He admires you so much that he takes it upon himself to learn the things that you’re passionate about. It only takes a day until he’s able to wield a sword - not masterfully, but well.

There’s so many things he admires about you. Your bravery, your confidence, how you’re able to let loose and have fun in a way that he could never imagine doing. He’s never afraid to tell you how proud of you he is, in complete earnestness. It’s very sweet, but his enthusiasm can be a little embarassing.

He’s like your cheerleader sometimes.

Olivia

She would already be jealous of you from the beginning.

The way you move so freely and gracefully while she can’t even walk, the way you’re so proud and happy with yourself and she’s a lonely bookworm, it’s all enough to drive her nearly to tears. Seeing you just reminds her of everything she lost and the life she could have had, if her parents only cared enough to take care of her.

She is haunted by you and the memories she felt with Reila. On the outside, she would cheer and clap when you preform so elegantly, but on the inside she feels sick.

Your friendship would blossom by chatting about plants, of course. And she would like your company, truly. Chatting with you is fun. You make her laugh, you’re cute and silly. You’d pick edible mushrooms with her, and even some non-edible ones too, maybe go to the lakebed and just talk about dumb stuff.

In fact, she finds your confidence and your boisterous laughter attractive. But inside, she can’t help but feel like you’re only friends with her out of pity.

If you’re better at botany? She would despise you. And herself for hating you so much. You never really did anything wrong, so why does she have these awful thoughts?

I genuinely believe that as the festival goes on she would have thoughts about killing you. She’d be disgusted and ashamed, going into fits of chills and making herself nauseous with self-hatred. She shouldn’t think about this. It’s horrible.

In the end, she can’t keep her feeling bottled up anymore. She would confess everything to you - all the crying and the anger and how alone she feels.

Overall, she is probably either the worst or the best partner, depending on your actions. If you hold her and let her cry on your shoulder, you could reconciliate and be friends again, or even more. But if it descends into an argument, well, she will never want to talk to you again. Both for the sake of you and her…

[soulmate-game]

Not related to the other two Bio!mom Harley AUs that I did. Just... similar. I wrote this instead of sleeping, as per the usual.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I need your help.”

No accent, no threats of violence, no beating around the bush (figurative or otherwise). No fighting or unconscious bodies.

Just Harley Quinn with her hair down, no makeup, and completely serious, in the center of the Bat Cave. Even though her usual exaggerated Brooklynn accent (circa 1950s) had become a pretty inseparable part of her personality over the years, every now and then she forcibly stuffed it down and used her mostly unaccented voice. The one reminiscent of days with less colors on her face, a high bun, and a pristine white lab coat.

Every single one of the Bats and Birds present, fresh from an interrupted patrol thanks to her, could count the number of times they had seen Harley like this on one hand. Bruce would have the most recollections, but everyone else would have plenty of fingers left on said hand. So they all knew, especially when Bruce willingly pulled down his cowl so he could look Harley in the eye, that this was the start of something they were not likely to forget. And maybe their chances of survival were slim too.

“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was still gruff, seeing as he was still mostly Batman at the moment, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe you should tell us what you need help with first. And sit down. You look exhausted.”

Sure enough, there were dark circles under Harley’s eyes. She let Bruce-man lead her over to one of their debriefing tables and sit her down. She let out a huge sigh, her fingers tangling in her loose blond locks.

“I have a confession, and it isn’t gonna leave this cave, capiche?” The slight return of her accent relieved a little of the tension, but not much. Taking this as their cue, the rest of the bats spread out into their usual seats at the table. Bruce stayed near Harley, keeping a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Harley didn’t continue talking until he gave her a solemn nod in agreement. She gulped— an action that immediately returned the tension.

“... fifteen years ago, back when I was still with Joker, I disappeared off the Gotham scene for a few months. I’m sure a few of you remember,” she looked up, and a couple of the older vigilantes nodded. Really, Jason has still been Robin back then. But the memory stuck out in his head now that he was thinking about it.

“Yeah, you were breaking away from him a little bit, which was weird at the time,” Red Hood mused aloud, arms crossed. “I think you helped us out a couple times and did some of your first team ups with Ivy before you vanished. Then a few months go by and you were back in action with Joker, so we mostly ignored it as you just being you.”

Harley nodded. “Ah, my Ivy’s a lifesaver, even back then. She helped cover up the timeline by keeping me in action for longer than I should’a been without putting me at too much risk.”

“Timeline…” Red Robin spoke up, eyes huge even behind his mask. “You don’t mean—“

“Harley,” Bruce breathed, having also caught on. “You were pregnant?”

The air went still. Harley sniffed, eyes watering even as she smiled.

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t have been possible, ya know? Me ‘n Joker being dumped in that damn acid should have made us both more sterile than an operatin’ room. But I knew I couldn’t raise a kid, so after she was born—“

“You kept her?” Damian interrupted, earning a gentle cuff over the head from Dick. Harley just snorted.

“Yeah. Not gonna lie, I thought about abortion. But the baby didn’t do nothin’ wrong, and I was still in love with Joker back then so I was ecstatic that I was able to make something new with part ‘a him in it. Still, I knew a baby didn’t deserve to be raised in Gotham. Especially not my baby, not with my enemies and history. Not with who her father was. I knew he’d never want her, never let me keep her. So I spent the last five months of my pregnancy lookin’ around for the best possible family to take her in. And I found them in Paris, France. A sweet couple, both of them bakers. Sabine, she’s both adorably sweet and super kickass. Comes from a Chinese family that is crazy about teachin’ their women martial arts. But nothing shady about it, I triple checked. Just bonding through kicking people in the face. Which is perfect, I wanted my baby to know how to defend herself. I knew she’d need those skills eventually. And Tom, that’s Sabine’s wife, he’s a gentle giant. Same size as Bane, but as harmless as a puppy and makes the best croissants ever. Seriously, the best.”

“Harley,” Bruce gently prodded, but there was a tiny grin on his face. Seeing her behaving so… so normally, so proud and reminiscent, was a rare treat. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of how far the woman had come. How she had freed herself and become a better person, mostly on her own.

“Right, right. The point,” Harley took a breath, rubbing her forehead. “I came clean to Tom and Sabine, but apparently they knew who I was the whole time. They just didn’t care— did I mention they are perfect? Anyway, once I explained everything, they agreed immediately to adopting my baby. They’d been wanting kids, but it would’a been too risky for Sabine’s health. That’s how I found them anyway, they were in the market to adopt. We named her Marinette. She took Tom and Sabine’s last names, hyphenated. We decided Quinn would be her middle name. And after that, I came back to Gotham and told myself that she was in good hands and I needed to forget about her. Cuz I was no good for her. I knew that. I went back to my old tricks. And then…” Harley chuckled, but it was self-depreciating.

“Then a few years passed, and I started breaking away from Joker for real. Then we broke up, I blew up Ace Chemicals while you guys were outta town doing Justice League and Young Justice shit. I started dating Ivy. And—“ she smiled softly at the table, clearly seeing something the rest of them couldn’t. “Then Ivy convinced me to go see her. Visit my baby, see how she’s been. And I did. Marinette was seven years old, but damn it to hell she was gorgeous. And say whatever you want about me and Joker— most of it will even be true— but neither of us are stupid. And she inherited all of our intelligence. All of it. She got my blue eyes. But she got his hair, which meant Sabine teased me relentlessly about ‘are you sure she isn’t that Wayne’s kid?’ And don’t make that face Bruce, you’d be lucky to have a kid half as beautiful as my Mari-pie. No offense, Damian. Anyway. Anyway, this is the important part. Or part of it.

“She sat there and listened to everything I had to say. Everything. A little seven year old, who could barely understand English at the time, and she listened without interrupting once. She never threw a fit, she wasn’t angry or confused. I told her about the things I’d done in the past— well, G rated versions— and she didn’t care. She called me Momma Harley right away, said she wanted to meet Aunt Ivy sometime soon, and started telling me everything about her that I’d missed. From that day on, she became my sunshine. The light of my life, and I still call her at least once a week every week. When I disappear for a few days out of the city? I’m visiting her—“

“You’re banned from international travel, Harley,” Dick scolded, but he sounded way too amused for it to work. He knew she had her ways, anyway. Nobody could actually stop Harley damn Quinn from doing whatever she wanted.

“—Ugh, she tells me the same thing every time! Disappointed glare and everything. I don’t know how I gave birth to such a goodie goodie, but somehow I did. Not important though! The important thing is, I’m always the first to hear when something new happens in her life. And we had decided that she wouldn’t visit me in Gotham until she was at least eighteen, but apparently she disobeyed me— which I should have expected honestly— and entered you guys’ WE international scholastic competition.”

“Oh no,” Bruce pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The contest winner?” He finally pulled out a chair and sat down. “The winner gets an all-expense paid trip to Gotham for them and their whole class.”

“Exactly!” Harley threw up her hands. “Mari told me last week, and I’ve been trying to talk her out of coming ever since. But she’s inherited both of our stubbornness too, and she isn’t budgin’ a bit. ‘Momma Harley, I wanna see you and Auntie Ivy though!’ And ‘Momma, Gotham’s nothing I can’t handle,’ or my favorite, ‘Maybe you’ll finally get to see me dropkick someone three times my size then, and I’ll prove it.’”

“So that’s what you meant by you need our help,” Tim said as he leaned forward over the table. “Joker just broke out of Arkham yesterday. You want us to protect her.”

“I’d prefer if one of you was with her outside of the mask too, as often as possible,” Harley confirmed. “I can’t stop her from coming here anymore, but I also don’t trust Joker for a second. As soon as he sees her, I’m afraid he’ll make the connection.”

“She looks like him?” Damian asked, scrunching up his nose at the ugly mental image of Joker as a teenage girl. Harley shook her head, solemn.

“She looks like a dark-haired mini-me,” she corrected. “She even keeps her hair in pigtails as her way of showing support for me. And I know Marinette can kick ass, Sabine’s trained her well. But Marinette inherited more than I’d like from me,” Harley ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t notice it until she was thirteen. She got a crush on a classmate, and it was almost like watching videos of me back during the early days of— well, of Harley Quinn. Just without the crime and insanity. She didn’t even realize that she was almost stalking the poor kid until I pointed it out, and luckily I was able to put my doctorate to good use and we nipped that right in the bud ASAP. She never meant it that way, anyway. As soon as I explained things to her, she was horrified and immediately asked me to help her learn how to have a healthy relationship. That was a fun discussion,” Harley grimaced. “But she still gets attached to people really, really easily. Once she grew out of her crush on that boy, she adopted him as her unofficial brother. She already calls Selina “Auntie,” even though I’ve barely mentioned her to Marinette. She gets attached fast, and deeply. And I’m afraid that even after all the warning I’ve done, all the stories I’ve told her—“

“You’re afraid she’ll get attached to Joker just like you did,” Bruce finished for her, closing his eyes. “Because she knows he’s her father.”

“Yes,” Tears were slowly dripping down her face already, her hands curled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “You know how he is. If he finds out she’s his biological daughter, he’ll immediately try to take advantage of that. And he’s far too good with his words for people like me and Mari. I’m worried outta my mind. Please. Help keep my baby safe from him.”

“We will,” Jason no longer had his helmet on, or the domino mask that he usually wore underneath it. All of them knew masks were merely formality with Harley nowadays. And he needed to look her directly in the eye so she could see how serious he was. “I can sign up as a bodyguard for the class. It won’t be weird, seeing as they’re tourists and this is Gotham. They also have several rich kids in their group if I remember right.”

Bruce nodded, agreeing with Jason. “That’s a good idea. I can lead the class on their tours of WE personally. That’ll serve the purpose of keeping an eye on her and shutting up the investors that keep begging me to make more public appearances for the sake of the company. Marinette’s name is already released to the news as the winner of the contest, so we can’t keep her out of the spotlight long. Tim, you’ll have to keep an eye on any and all pictures of the class. Try to erase or doctor the images with her in it well enough that connections between her and Harley can’t be easily made. Dick, you and Damian will be in charge of keeping an eye out for any activity from Joker. The slightest hint, and you notify all of us. We’ll decide on a case-by-case basis who is necessary to stick with the class and who goes after the clown.”

“She’s gonna sneak out of her hotel to stay with me and Ivy,” Harley admitted, bringing the (now slightly judgemental) attention back to her. She raised her hands up in surrender. “She didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t approve or suggest it! I just know my baby too well to not realize that that’s her plan. Could ya provide an escort?”

Bruce sighed. “This is gonna be an eventful month.”

[simply-trash5]

PuppetBoy

Okay Kankuro simps, got some more juice for ya! Seriously this was so fun to write. It is a college AU about Kankuro and a reader. I am pretty proud of it. I would love to write some things for you so PLEASE request. Seriously. I’ll even try smut (I’ve never written it before so we’ll see how it goes). Drop them in the ask box and if you like what you read you should totally tell me because i am a self conscious bean.

What the hell is that noise? You think to yourself as you look around. It sounded terrible. Whatever car was making that noise was definitely on it’s last leg. You nod your head realizing it was the same guy you see everyday parked across from the education building at your college. You could hear loud metal playing from the speakers and the windows shaking as he pulled into the lot. He jumped out,slammed the door and gave the tire a swift kick. Wow he’s kinda cute. He stood almost 6 ft. tall and had on a black hoodie that hung lightly over his brown hair. His black jeans had rips in the knees and you could see he was wearing scuffed black DocMartens. You continued to follow him with your eyes as he passed you walking toward the theatre building. He had an eyebrow ring and gauges. Oh shit, I think he caught me staring. He looked at you, scoffed and kept walking toward the theatre building. Is he a theatre major? You wondered to yourself. Maybe he just has to take a fine art credit. Letting your thoughts wander you pulled the straps on your bookbag tighter and walked to your class in the education building. 

The class seemed to drag on forever, and you knew after that you had to go to your nannying job which would take up most of the evening. You wished that you didn’t have to have a job, but unfortunately scholarships didn’t cover all of your tuition. You grabbed your keys from your pocket and headed toward the parking lot. Climbing into your car you started the engine and began making your way to your job. You loved kids, so nannying was a great gig for you. When you arrived at the home of a doctor in your area you were greeted by a small boy with a large grin. “Ms. Y/N, can we go to the children’s theater today? Mom said we could go if it was okay with you, she even left my booster seat so you can drive!” You giggled and shrunk down to his height. “Well if your mom says it's okay, it's fine by me. Let’s grab your jacket and booster seat and we will leave.” The small child ran into the house. His mother approached you. “Thank you so much for watching Trevor,I know he is a handful but i'm rather fond of him.” You gave her a huge smile and told her that it was no problem and explained that you were going to take him to the children's theatre. She said her goodbyes and you walked into the house to retrieve the boys booster seat so that you all could make the 4:00 production of the Three Little Pigs. 

The little boy sitting in front of you on the floor giggled wildly as a wolf puppet “ran” off stage. You smiled down at him. The curtains closed and the crowd gave them a round of applause. The stage hands and puppeteers began to disassemble the set so that they could get ready for the next show when you saw a familiar face. It's car boy. You smiled in his direction, and didn’t realize you may have looked at him a little too long. “Hey, take a picture, it will last longer.” The mysterious boy gave you an annoyed look and a blush began to creep up your face. He was wearing a tight black tshirt that showed off his muscular arms and his tattoo of a sandtimer on his forearm. “Come on Trevor, lets head home,” you said steering the young boy out of the theatre.

“Oh my god what did you say back?” your friend was screeching on the other side of the phone. “Well, see, I just kinda left.” you explained not wanting to relive the embarrassing moment. “Y/N, you have got to do something tomorrow. You’re going to see him in the parking lot and you don’t want it to be weird.” You were twirling your hair around your finger staring at your phone. “Y/N are you still there?” You snapped back to reality, “yeah, I think I will buy him a cup of coffee. I’m sure he never sleeps like the rest of us. He is a college student.” You both finished your conversation and you got ready for bed. You set your alarm early so that you could go to a coffee shop and grab him a coffee to make up for the awkward run-ins you had the last few days. 

“God its early” you whined to yourself but got ready anyway. You had to make a better impression on puppet boy. You gathered your things and headed out the door and made your way to a local coffee shop. You grabbed your latte and then decided it was best to just give him black coffee. You drove to your college thinking about the handsome stranger all the way there. His brown hair was shaggy and fell right into his eyes, which you melted at the thought of his hair being pushed out of his face. Your mind started to drift to what your next move would be as you pulled into the parking lot. Okay, it's 7:45 he should be here any minute. Shit what should I do? In a moment of extreme confidence you grabbed a pen out of your backpack and messily scribbled your phone number on the side of the paper cup. God I hope this works. You took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. You could hear him coming for at least a mile. Alright Y/N you cannot chicken out now. He rolled in and slammed his car door as he had every morning for the earlier part of the semester. It's now or never, you've got this shit. You beelined toward his car. He realized you were approaching and looked at you with a strange face. You immediately got nervous. You just sat the coffee cup on the hood of his car, turned on your heel, and quickly walked to the education building. “HEY! HEY COME BACK!” You heard him calling after you as you continued on your way to class cursing yourself the entire time.

Buzz

You grabbed your phone from your pocket. An unknown number had sent you a text. “How do I know you didn’t drug this coffee so you can turn my corpse into a puppet?” you laughed at the text and a blush spread over your cheeks. “Now why would I do that?” you replied. You typed “Also that is oddly specific” “What can I say, I like puppets?” The conversation continued for the next few days. You saw him a few times on campus but you never spoke in person. He would send you funny memes and videos at all hours of the night. Apparently puppetboy is a night owl. “Um btw, we’ve been talking for days and I still don’t know your name. What should I call you.” “My name is Kankuro.” “Well Kankuro, my name is Y/N. Its nice to put a name with a face.”

Shit I’m never gonna finish this run. You thought to yourself as you continued to run on the treadmill. You had your headphones in and music blaring. You loved to run and hadn’t been to the gym in a few days due to all of your nannying obligations. Okay, only a half mile more to go, you thought to yourself as you pushed your body to keep running. Out of nowhere you felt a large calloused hand on your shoulder. You snapped your head “Hey listen creep I-” before you knew it you were falling only to be caught by Kankuro. “Y/N you falling for me already?” Kankuro flirted giving you a tight smirk. You were shocked, not only by the fall, but by the arms around you. They were strong and helped steady you with ease. He was wearing a dark grey tank top which showed his muscles and tattoo off wonderfully. His legs were muscular too and looked amazing in the black shorts he was wearing. In his other hand he had a pair of boxing gloves. You began to blush and he realized you were staring at him, imagining what he looked like under that tank top. Your hand crept up to your neck where you fiddled with your necklace. He gave you a small chuckle. “I’ve got to go spar with my buddy, but if you want to you can meet me out front in an hour.” You smiled and shook your head and he turned and walked away. The shorts hugged his bottom perfectly and the tank top showed his shoulder muscles. You could see another tattoo on his back. Was it puppet strings? You pursed your lips and began to blush. I would love to see those strings up close. 

The hour wait seemed like the longest hour of your life. You waited out in front of the gym as he came bounding out the door. He was sweating and his shaggy hair was sticking to his forehead. He walked over to his car and opened the door. It made a horrendous screech as it opened and you stifled a laugh. “Whats so funny princess? Just for that we gotta walk to get food.” You blushed. Did he just call me princess? Why was that so hot? “Come on, I’m starving,” he said and began walking down the sidewalk. You walked hurriedly to match his long strides. Damn my short legs. “So Kankuro, where are we going?” he gave you a crooked grin. “Its a surprise.” You giggled and retorted “well how do I know you’re not trying to get me alone and turn my corpse into a puppet?” He gave you a devilish grin, “Well sweetheart lets find out.” Another pet name. Your face turned bright red and you stared at the sidewalk. You approach a deli that you frequent with your friends. “I love this place,” you exclaimed. “Well don’t be weird and actually order some food. I like a girl with an appetite.” You laughed and smiled. You ordered your usual and he ordered grabbing your food and heading outside to a table. You both began eating and chatting casually about your lives. You found out he loves horror movies, especially ones that feature creepy dolls or puppets. You also learned that he has a lot of horror memorabilia in his apartment and that he rarely sleeps. He boxes to keep himself busy when hes not working as a children’s puppeteer. He is studying theatre with concentrations in stage management and special effects makeup. “Kankuro, thats really fucking cool,” you said and began to tell him about yourself. You were studying to be a teacher and nannying as a job to make money for college. You lived in an apartment around the corner from the deli with a friend. “So Kankuro I noticed the sand timer on your arm, do you have any other tattoos?” He gave you another devilish grin.”Yeah I have a back piece that is marionette strings. I’ve loved puppets since I was little so I thought it would be cool. Do you have any tattoos?” You blushed. You stood and pulled up your athletic top to show a tattoo of your family's crest on your hip. You had to pull your shorts down ever so slightly revealing your black lacy underwear. He looked at the tattoo and then back to your face. “Thats a nice one,” he said and rubbed the back of his neck. The conversation continued and you all talked more about your semester and your family. You laughed and told him about how you liked to run and also about how you thought it was cool he was a boxer. “Maybe one day we can spar angel,” he flashed a smile in your direction and you smiled back at the thought. You both got up from the table and threw your trash away. It was dark and cool. You pulled your jacked tighter around your shoulders. “I guess I am going to walk home and let you get back to the gym.” Kankuro shook his head “absolutely not doll, its dark and I’m walking you home.” You blushed. Another pet name, this boy is gonna be the death of me. 

You began walking toward your apartment and your hands brushed several times by accident. “Damn Y/N if you wanted to hold my hand that bad all you had to do was ask. I aim to please.” You blushed and then punched Kankuro. “Still want to spar?” you said cheekily. You both walked in silence but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if you had known him your whole life. The comfort of him walking beside you felt so nice. “Well this is my apartment.” You sighed and reached for the door. 

BAM

The door slammed shut and you noticed a strong arm beside your face. Kankuro looked down at your lips and smirked. You began to blush. The tension was so thick. I swear im going to pass out. Your heart began racing as he leaned into you. Your back was pressed against the glass of the door with a strong arm beside your head. His other hand made its way to your tattooed hip, he drew circles over your ink with his calloused thumb. His hands were so large that you could feel his fingertips on your back. The heat rose to your cheeks. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your lips. He pulled back, his hand still burning a hole into your hip bone. You opened your eyes to see a smirked Kankuro. You were in shock when he reached his other hand to brush a stray piece of hair out of your face. Your thoughts raced, you wanted nothing more to bring him up to your apartment and let him give you that devilish grin some more. 

“Guess I’m not a killer princess. Text me.” He chuckled, turned on his heel and walked back toward the gym. You watched him until he walked out of sight. You were ready to see him again and maybe see more of that back tattoo.

[bosspigeon]

the idealistic things i believed

Pairing: M!Detective/Adam du Mortain

Words:  2723

Summary: After misplacing their detective on one of his rare days off, Unit Bravo track him down to the local park, where they find him engaging in an unexpected activity.

And Adam just finds him engaging ;3c

I will not apologize for that dumb joke. TL;DR I just wanted to write about my big sad goth boy and also Adam’s Intense Denial. EXTREMELY last minute title from “No Sunlight” by Death Cab For Cutie

(Note: in my first post, tumblr seems to have shuffled some paragraphs, so i’m reposting to fix it!!! Love this Fully Functional Website!!!)

“You know, Adam, if you ever leave the Agency, you could probably get a job as a private investigator. Maybe even a bloodhound! Just something to think about.”

When Adam actually deigns to look at him, Felix is grinning, hands tucked into his pockets and chin tipped up. Adam rolls his eyes and sighs heavily.

Nate stifles a chuckle under his humming along to the music drifting from the nearby pavilion, where they now know Detective Priestley to be, thanks to Adam tracking him down.

After‌ ‌working with Arlo (the detective, he forcefully amends) ‌for‌ ‌so‌ ‌many‌ ‌months,‌ ‌Adam‌ ‌is‌ ‌deeply‌ ‌attuned‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌scent‌ ‌of‌ ‌him.‌ ‌It‌ ‌is‌ ‌easy‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌find‌ ‌his‌ ‌trail‌ ‌and‌ ‌follow‌ ‌it,‌ ‌which,‌ ‌contrary‌ ‌to‌ ‌Felix’s‌ ‌snide‌ ‌comment,‌ ‌is‌ ‌not‌ ‌unusual‌ ‌in‌ ‌their‌ ‌line‌ ‌of‌ ‌work.‌ ‌Relying‌ ‌on‌ ‌their‌ ‌senses‌ ‌has‌ ‌helped‌ ‌them‌ ‌track‌ ‌down‌ ‌many‌ ‌targets‌ ‌in‌ ‌their‌ ‌time‌ ‌as‌ ‌a‌ ‌unit, so Adam does not see the need for Felix to single him out. If anything, Mason would have fared better, seeing as his senses were the strongest of them all. But Mason’s aversion to sunlight, as well as the sounds and smells of a busy weekend at Wayhaven’s Municipal Gardens had proven to be difficult to manage, so Adam took over.

This all could have been avoided had Detective Priestley simply told them he wouldn’t be at home today. Even Agent Priestley had been confused, as her son tended to prefer staying at home on his rare off days.

But, no, he left without telling anyone, and with the recent increase in trapper activity, his mother was keen for at least one of them to keep an eye on him. As the rest of them were unoccupied, Nate was happy to turn it into a “day out.”

At least he seems pleased.

The pavilion is partially screened by a line of tall, tidy, flowering hedges, and the scent of them is thick on the gentle breeze that carries the detective’s low, gentle voice, accompanied by airy instrumental music, as well as a chorus of smaller voices, high-pitched with youthful enthusiasm. The four of them skirt the hedges to find the pavilion’s entrance, and stop to take in the odd sight.

Detective Priestley stands tall and proud at the front of a staggered group of small children, none of whom reach higher than his waist. He is simply dressed in a loose tank top and joggers, his hair braided back to keep it out of his face and a pair of thick-framed glasses perched on his strong nose. The children mimic his posture to varying degrees of success, most of them dressed in similar loose athletic clothing, some in frilly tutus. On a table behind him, his phone is hooked up to a set of speakers that play light, upbeat classical music that Nate obviously not only recognizes, but approves of, as he hums happily and waggles his fingers as if he is directing the symphony.

“Alright,” the detective says, his voice clear and strong, but endlessly gentle, “is everyone ready?”

A chorus of little voices call out an enthusiastic “Yes!”

“Good! First position?” Arlo waits, watching the children quickly position their feet, some of them looking down to make very sure they’re correctly placed. Once the majority of them are in position, he takes the position himself, easily and confidently. The few of them who struggled at first quickly mimic him, and he beams, a strange expression to see on the normally reserved man. “Perfect! Now… second position?”

He repeats the process, waiting for most of them to take the position before he does himself, and allows the rest of them to adjust.

As he guides them through the next, and the next, Nate swats at Mason’s arm and hisses at him to put out his cigarette, which he does with a hearty eye roll. Felix has begun attempting the positions himself, grinning all the while, and Adam is watching the spectacle with his head cocked.

The detective puts them through their paces with a quiet, confident patience, and the children are not only delighted, but clearly well-practiced, even as young as they are. They are also all clearly familiar and comfortable with Detective Priestley, which indicates they are used to being in his care. Once he’s finished with the warm-up routine, he takes a few long steps back, and squares his broad shoulders, falling almost instinctively into what he displayed for the children as third position.

“Alright, so we’re going to go over some things that I taught you last time. I’m going to show you the moves, and we’re going to see if you can tell me what they’re called. Does that sound good?”

There is an exuberant cry of agreement that makes Mason wince, and he stalks away to stand in the shade of a copse of trees, re-lighting the cigarette Nate had him put out.

The detective rises easily onto his toes on one foot, lifting the opposite leg and raising one arm skyward. The motion is effortlessly graceful in a way that is surprising of a man so tall. Adam is entirely entranced, frozen until Arlo drops the pose and smiles at his little class. “Alright, who can tell me what that was?”

The children clamor to answer, hands shooting into the air and waving furiously, with little shouts of “Oh, me! Pick me, Arlo!”

He points to one little girl with her bright ginger hair in braids. “Maisie?” he asks.

“An arabesque!” she practically shouts, loud enough to make Felix grin. The detective laughs warmly, and something strange settles deep into Adam’s gut.

“Good!” the detective says. “Alright, we’ll try a harder one this time, since you’re all so sharp.”

A few of the little ones giggle delightedly and cover their faces, murmuring together and beaming.

He falls into position again, breathing deeply, walking across the pavilion. As he passes the entrance, his eyes catch Adam’s over the heads of his class, and they widen briefly. He pauses, almost stumbling, for just a split second, his ears going faintly red. Adam can hear the sound of his heart, the rush of his blood, even from several feet away. But he breaks eye contact, shakes his head, straightens his posture, and spins to face the far railing, standing parallel to the group of children watching him with rapt attention. And then he rushes forward and leaps into the air, arms raised and long legs outstretched, practically floating across the pavilion, and when he lands, it is on one foot with an assured lightness that hardly makes a sound on the hardwood floor. He spins to face the children, and pointedly does not look at the three vampires blinking at him in stunned silence. His chest is rising and falling a bit more quickly than it was before, his freckled cheeks flushed, but otherwise he looks at ease.

“How about that one?” he asks, smiling.

The children seem less assured of this one, whispering amongst themselves before a little boy with his spiraling curls held out of his face with a colorful strip of cloth calls, “A real big jump!”

A tiny girl with huge dark eyes raises her hand and tremulously asks, “Mister Arlo, are you an angel? ‘Cause you just flew!”

He laughs, sharp and startled and louder than Adam’s ever heard him, beaming so wide his cheeks must surely ache with it. “No, I’m not, but thank you for the compliment,” he chuckles, pale eyes twinkling. “And, actually, Jacobe, you’re not far off. That was called a grand jeté. It means big throw.”

“‘Cause you throw yourself into the air?” the dark-eyed girl asks, still gawking at him like she doesn’t quite believe his not being an angel. Adam thinks, quite without his permission, that he is not entirely convinced himself.

Arlo smiles wider. “Not quite. It’s because you throw one leg out in a certain direction while keeping the other in a particular position when you land.” He does a smaller leap as an example, one that he easily segues into another leg of the lesson, and he leads them all in a quick practice run of several beginner’s forms and moves, letting them prance and bounce and spin across the pavilion, all the while guiding them with the same moves, but on a wider, more sweeping scale with his much larger frame. He looks rather like a lean, graceful bird followed by an eager flock of awkward, but enthusiastic, fledglings, and he effusively praises and gently corrects them, occasionally taking one aside to ease them through moves they struggle with. Each and every one looks up at him as if he hung the moon and stars, sweetly awed by this gentle giant of a human, and when he finally pulls away from them, he leaves an older boy who looks to be around ten to oversee their practice.

He hurries towards Unit Bravo, and his posture immediately changes when he is out of line of sight of his little class, from strong and tall and carefully poised, to hunching, sheepish, and fidgety. “What are you all doing here?” he hisses, glancing over Adam’s head to, presumably, catch sight of Mason lurking under the trees a ways away.

“You’re a ballerina?” Felix blurts, and a vivid red crawls up the detective’s chest and neck to stain his ears and cheeks. The warm rush of it almost makes Adam dizzy.

“No,” he blurts, casting a quick look over his shoulder to make sure he hasn’t interrupted his students. “I was a dancer. A long time ago.”

“Since when?” Felix presses, practically bouncing with the excitement of discovery.

“I went to art school!” he blurts, dragging a hand down his face. “It wasn’t my major or anything, but...” He twitches under the attention, and the flush to his skin clings stubbornly. Prettily.

“Well, you’re clearly very talented,” Nate offers, smiling reassuringly.

“You did not tell Agent Priestley you wouldn’t be home,” Adam finally manages to interject, finding his voice and almost instantly regretting it when the man flinches at his sharp tone. “You should not have left without letting one of us know.”

Arlo rubs anxiously at one arm, the dark band of black ink twisting around his bicep, looking away and down towards his feet. Adam follows his gaze, down to his clearly worn but well taken care of black leather flats. “I’m sorry, I forgot. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to hold a lesson, and the kids were starting to get antsy about it. I was getting a lot of calls, and I figured since things had settled down a bit, I could get back to it.”

Nate quickly interjects before Adam can say anything, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop whatever words (almost certain to be abrasive, even Adam can admit) are about to come. “Of course, perfectly understandable! We wouldn’t want to get in the way of your plans, we just need to know where you are with things still so,” he pinches his lips shut, glancing towards the dancing children, “precarious.”

“It’s usually Sundays, if I can swing it,” Arlo offers sheepishly. “They have a regular teacher, Mrs. Golightly, but sometimes she asks me to fill in because the kids like me. They’ve missed me.” He smiles, tense and strained. “And, I mean, I’ve missed them a lot too. It’s nice to focus on something that’s not, y’know…” He rubs at the side of his neck, thumbing habitually over faint, raised white lines.

Adam clenches his jaw, remembering Arlo, weak and bleeding, dropping to his knees like a hanged man after the rope’s been cut, Murphy biting into his neck and tearing it open--

Nate’s hand squeezes his shoulder just this side of too hard to ground him, and he lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in one tremulous exhale.

“I just wanted some of my old normal back,” Arlo says softly. “I like working with you all, I want to protect this town, but sometimes I just… I really don’t want to think about the fact that there are people out there who want to sell me to the highest bidder so they can bleed me dry. Just want to think about teaching some little ones to pirouette.” He huffs out a weak little laugh, and looks back towards the class, who are following along with their substitute’s instructions like a tiny, well-oiled machine. “That’s Marco,” he explains, gesturing to the older boy confidently leading the lesson. “He’s really good. Thinking about going pro someday.”

“Did you ever think about going pro?” Felix asks.

Arlo squirms and hesitates to answer, though he does still look relieved by the subject change. “Sort of? When I was younger.” He sighs. “It was never going to happen, though. So I mostly just stuck to the hobbyist side of it. Small time school shows and the like.”

“Why wouldn’t it happen?” Adam asks, brows furrowing. Arlo looks up at him, as if surprised it was Adam to speak.

“I’m too bloody tall,” he laughs weakly. “The professional dance world is really competitive, yeah, but it’s also very, ah, particular. You’ve got to look a certain way, fit a certain mold. I could practice all day every day, perfect every technique, but I’m still not going to have a chance when I’m seven inches taller than the tallest guy in any company. There’s technique arguments, too, about what sort of things you can’t do as well as someone smaller, but it usually comes down to looks.” He shrugs his broad shoulders, shoving his hands into the loose pockets of his joggers. “It’s not a big deal. There’s a one in a million chance I’d have made it professionally anyway. And it’s tough on the body, too. Pro careers run short. I like doing it on the side without worrying how long I’ve got left.” He smiles thinly.

Adam’s not sure what he’s going to say to that, lips parting to offer something, but he doesn’t get the chance, because the music suddenly changes from some sweet and tinkling piano to a harsh battery of electric guitar, bass, and drums. Arlo flinches away from him, turning towards the group of children now jumping up and down around the speakers and squealing along to the harsh, growling vocals. He laughs breathlessly.

“Guess the dance playlist ran out,” he says, before hurrying back to tend to the children. Several of them have taken out their ribbons and headbands and are tossing their hair around and miming playing guitar, sticking out their tongues and making odd hand gestures.

Felix cackles, and then runs over to join the fun, leaving Adam and Nate looking on, Nate chortling softly to himself.

“He’s full of surprises, our Arlo,” he says. Adam pulls his gaze away from the detective, bending over to pull off one of his shoes at the insistence of that dark-eyed little girl, to see him smiling that gently knowing smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Quiet,” Adam growls.

“I didn’t say anything,” Nate protests, but he turns back to watch the spectacle that is the detective sitting on the floor while the children pass around his ballet flat so they can compare it to their own. The size difference is comical, and sends the group into paroxysms of laughter. Even Felix, who seems to have ingratiated himself to the class easily enough, offers up his own shoe, and sticks it into the flat. Even Arlo laughs at that, a husky rumble that has Adam pressing a hand to his chest as if to stop the way his heart reacts. Nate raises his eyebrows, and Adam glowers at him, dropping the hand to his side and clenching his fingers hard. “I didn’t say anything,” Nate repeats, “but I do think it’s nice to know something about the detective’s day-to-day life, when he’s not with us, don’t you? Becoming more familiar with his habits. As a friend and not just an obligation?”

“It is useful to know his daily comings and goings to continue to protect him,” Adam allows.

Nate sighs. “It’s a start, certainly,” he says, and Adam refuses to ask what he means by that.

[merryfortune]

Gachaplum

Written for 100ships Challenge on Dreamwidth

Prompt #77 Plum

Ship: Rocksaltshipping | Kureha/Spectre

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Word Count: 2,143

Rating: G

Warnings: No Warnings Apply

Tags: Fluff, Self Indulgen, Inspired by a Tweet

   “Are you enjoying your drink?” Spectre asked conversationally.

   “Yep.” Kureha chirped around her straw.

   The drink in question was a tropical iced tea with strawberry bursties as the bottom. It was sharply sweet, right to the core of her teeth, and that’s exactly how Kureha liked it. However it, in combination with the empty tote bag Spectre was carting around, was a horrible omen to Kureha. Her boba tea had been the only non-necessary treat that Spectre had bought for either of them and clearly he meant for impulse purchases, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought a bag.

   But Kureha, with a little bit of dread and unuttered complaint, supposed that’s the kind of guy Spectre was. He was very mission oriented and put his organisation above himself. Today’s mission was grocery shopping, as mundane as that sounded but since Spectre and the others could be at sea for weeks on end, grocery shopping was huge and important. So, even though Spectre was empty handed right now, he had already spent big at the restaurant they had visited earlier and before that, at the luxury grocery shop they went to where they bought in bulk and would have it delivered to the docks for the Lieutenants to unpack.

   And Kureha had been lucky enough to tag along since this was a somewhat rare opportunity for her and Spectre to hang out in real life. But what was the point of hanging out if they weren’t doing anything special? Kureha agaonised, maybe it was her fault for assuming it would be a date. Then again, they also had a fancy lunch together so maybe it was a date. This was too confusing, Kureha scolded herself. Besides, it's not like she wasn’t enjoying herself. She really was and that was probably the main thing but she wanted Spectre to enjoy himself too.

   They had a delicious lunch at a Thai restaurant that had excellent decor and a wide range of food. They ordered a plate of their favourites each yet somehow ended up sharing their meals and soft drinks anyway. It had been wonderful, even if Kureha got a runny nose afterwards and that was a little bit embarrassing but Spectre didn’t bring it up, thankfully - except to rib her that even how she blew her nose was cute. Then, once they had had their lunch, it was time to get to business and Spectre had a very long shopping list.

   He took her to a grocery shop inside of a mall with a celebrity level atmosphere. It was stocked with items and brands that Kureha had never heard of because they were so, so, so expensive and yet, he handpicked what he needed from them without so much as a blink at the price tag. Though, he did assure her that he and the other Knights had already budgeted to a tee so there was nothing to worry about. He was in and out rather swiftly, hardly looking at all the things that Kureha was certainly dawdling out and once he was done, he had his things whisked off and taken to be shipped off within the hour by truck.

   With the shopping done, they had begun to exit the mall where Kureha had gotten thirsty and she had a keen eye for spotting cute and quirky shops that sold even cuter and quirkier drinks. Spectre had been more than happy to pay for her boba tea, even though she offered and it was very sweet of him but did make Kureha feel a little guilty since, again, that one drink had been the only splurge Spectre had allowed himself and it wasn’t even for him.

   Now they were just sort of wandering along, making light conversation whilst Kureha finished her drink. They were sort of on the look out for a tram line or bus that would put them on a route where Spectre could drop off Kureha close to home and then continue back to the mariner but it was difficult since their homes were such polar opposites to another. Though, given that Kureha wasn’t quite ready to end this not quite and maybe it actually was a date-date, it was something of a blessing in disguise so they got to take in the sights of this precinct.

   There were all sorts of pretty and intriguing buildings, the paths were lovely and well kempt without a nary crack or dip. The road was fairly busy with cars, taxis, and buses but it was the sidewalks which were busier with people coming to and fro. It was almost overwhelming with all the interesting things to see and do but even so, Kureha kept her eyes peeled for something - anything - that might just serve to prolong the inevitable and then she saw it: a bookshop.

   Out of nowhere, to Spectre at least, Kureha grabbed his arm and tugged on it. He pulled back and twisted round to scold Kureha, a scowl on his face but Kureha was already prepared with the best puppy dog eyes she could plead with.

   “I want to check out that bookshop, please.” she begged.

   Spectre’s scowl softed, “That sounds fine.”

   “Yay.” Kureha smiled.

   Kureha pointed out the bookshop that she had spotted and Spectre escorted her there. Although, once inside the pristinely white doors, they sort of split off. Not that Kureha minded, that was sort of her plan. Spectre was a bookworm, albeit an incredibly fussy one, so maybe he would find something in here to read and even buy for himself whilst Kureha was mostly killing time. Mainly by trying to covertly stalk Spectre from the manga section whilst he investigated the language arts section a few rows of books over.

   She held her breath, whilst trying her best not to get distracted by the latest volumes of a few series of manga that she had been keeping up with, as Spectre pulled out various books… only to all but immediately put them back once he was done looking at their backs. It was a little bit disappointing. Kureha sighed and her eyes downcast to a shiny new volume of her favourite manga but if Spectre refused to buy things for himself, so would she so she scuttled in closer to Spectre again across the floor of the bookshelf.

   “See anything interesting?” Kureha asked.

   “I’m considering learning French or Spanish as a hobby but I’m not sure which would best extend my current literacy skills so I think I’ll do more research before branching out from bilingualism to multilingualism.” Spectre replied.

   “Fair enough.” Kureha murmured.

   “Are you ready to go?” Spectre asked. “You seem equally empty handed as me.”

   “I saw a few things but nah.” Kureha shrugged.

   “Understandable,” Spectre said, “well, would you like to keep going on our way home?”

   Kureha fidgetted, “Yeah, that’s fine.” she murmured.

   Spectre made an odd expression but it was only the briefest flicker, Kureha was lucky to have caught it. Regardless, they did move on and left the book shop, unsuccessful on all fronts. Maybe their date had just run its course in the most uneventful way possible.

   As they walked, Spectre checked his phone and noticed that they should be getting close to a good spot where it would be easy for them to find public transport to suit both their needs. At least according to the maps app that he was looking at, anyway so he had his fingers crossed that it ought to be somewhat helpful even if it wasn’t entirely accurate or true to life. Kureha smiled and agreed. At least she would have part of a bus trip left to spend with Spectre before woosh. 

   Back to video calls and texts as their only form of contact. It was nice, Kureha didn’t mean to complain, she did genuinely enjoy getting photographs of how Spectre’s plants were going and sending him back the homework she was struggling with but quality time was nicer. At the very least, Kureha wanted a memento of what little quality time they did get and a receipt from a Thai restaurant hardly counted.

   Then, once more, in a complete stroke of luck, Kureha’s eye was caught by something that she saw. Not the building - it was just a generic convenience store - but by what adorned it: gachapon machines. Her face split into a huge grin and once more, Kureha grabbed Spectre’s arm and tugged on it.

   “Yes?” Spectre said through gritted teeth at Kureha’s prompt.

   “I want to use the lucky dip machines. Please, please, please: look, this one has plushies for that virtual pet game I like.” Kureha begged, clutching Spectre’s arm desperately, and her hazelly-green eyes were sparkling so how on Earth was Spectre meant to resist all of that?

   The answer, of course, was that he couldn’t. Though, he did give a long suffering sigh, he did let Kureha pull him aside as she used the gachapon machine that she saw outside the convenience store that they had been passing by.

   “Would you like me to give you some loose change?” Spectre asked as he stood next to it, trying to look like a mature adult whilst his girlfriend was very much happy to enjoy her childish side.

   “No, I’m right, I’ve got it covered.” Kureha said as she dug out her wallet from her handbag. She put in more than enough coins for herself and for Spectre, too. If he refused to treat himself then Kureha was going to force whatever thing she got from it.

   She turned the crank a handful of times and heard the plastic balls rattle inside deep within the machine. Kureha smiled as she waited for the internal mechaninations to stop and then she opened up the flap. She grinned as she held onto both lucky dips that she had bought.

   “Here you go, you can have this one.” Kureha said as she forced Spectre to take one of them.

   Spectre made an unamused expression as he let Kureha put an orange-coloured plastic ball in his hand, “And what am I meant to do with this?”

   “Open it and let’s see.” Kureha replied and she demonstrated, as though Spectre didn’t already know how to open a gachapon.

   She struggled, a little bit, but eventually got the two halves of her purple plastic ball to split open. She squealed in joy as she unveiled her mystery toy. It had a keyring so she threaded her finger through it and swirled the toy itself off her finger. The little plushie that she had won took the form of a felt, anthropomorphic plum with American style cartoon features adorned with a stitched on ribbon bow.

   “This is Plum and she’s my favourite of the virtual fruit pets.” Kureha said.

   Somewhere in the back of Spectre’s mind, that did ring a bell. Kureha might have sent screenshots to him of her virtual pet habit and an animated cartoon plum may have been one of them. So, his expression of bemusement faded and turned to surrender. He opened up his gachapon too but Kureha was way more excited than him regarding it.

   “I got…” Spectre idly commentated and was mildly surprised by his lucky dip. “I got Plum, too.”

   “Wow, what’re the odds?” Kureha laughed.

   Spectre’s eyes flicked to the poster plastered to the inside of the gachapon machine that displayed which possible toy was possible to win, “Well, it looks like there are seven characters and we got two, so it was likely a one in fourteen chance assuming all the characters are present in equal measure inside the machine.” he said.

   “I didn’t mean it literally.” Kureha laughed even harder.

   Spectre smiled a small smile and began to inspect his plush Plum. He thought it was kind of ugly, to be honest, but if Kureha liked it then he could perhaps entertain some fondness for it. The felt was a bit too coarse for his liking.

   “I’ll be sure to look after this.” Spectre murmured.

   Kureha blinked and her heart fluttered, “Really?” she exclaimed softly.

   “Of course,” Spectre said, “it's a precious gift from my precious Kureha. I will treasure it.” He put his own finger through the keyring at the top of the small toy’s head and then put his hand on Kureha’s shoulder, the toy bumping between them. Spectre leaned in and kissed Kureha’s forehead. “I promise to treasure it.” His words brushed over Kureha’s skin like a flower’s petal.

   Kureha’s face went bright red upon being kissed, “I’ll treasure mine too.” she eked out in a tiny voice.

   “That goes without saying, my silly darling.” Spectre replied and he pulled back. “Come on, we’ve had a long date already, don’t you think? Aren’t you ready to go home yet?”

   “I’m ready now.” Kureha said, smiling huge and holding onto her little toy.

[uwua3]

Your writing is amazing! Like honestly! ✨ Can I request some yuki dating headcanons like with an s/o. If not I understand have a great day! 😊

thank you so much ♡ can i just say i love your support and enthusiasm for my writing 🥺 i always see you liking/replying to my posts and i am In Love With You i swear *thousands of hearts* thank you for everything~ but yes, of course! one super soft yuki hc coming up right away!!!

summary: yuki was yours and only yours, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew

author’s note: this was so sweet, it gave me multiple cavities! i’m sorry if it’s awkward, i’m not too experienced in the art of ~ love ~ even though i’m such a hopeless romantic! hope this was cute enough :D

i hope everyone knows relationships don’t make you whole, you are your own person. your s/o can help you improve to be the best version possible, but you are just as unique and interesting as an individual, never forget that ♡

word count: 1,803

music: Q&A – seventeen ft. ailee, hold your hand – lee hi

couple outfits.

🌻👘 rurikawa yuki

yuki didn’t just date anybody, let’s make that clear. in fact, yuki never dated anyone before you!

yuki liked you, so, so much. before he said anything, it physically hurt him to be so distracted by your presence when he had so many responsibilities

(it also hurt tenma when backstage, yuki forgot what he was doing and didn’t look where the needle was going when he became too entranced)

(“you idiot! stop staring at them for one second!” tenma yelped, not seeing yuki’s embarrassed blush before the two got caught in a petty argument once again. obviously, you had to play peacemaker)

but yuki was scared every time you looked at him and saw your stupid smile. you seemed so happy around him, and yuki could tell the signs before you even knew

you had to like him romantically, your hugs lingered and personality was made of sugar only around him

you were so obvious, you liked him and he was scared of messing everything up. it was so rare to find a good friend like you, was it worth it to risk everything?

before he even knew it, yuki was preparing a rejection because no person could come between him and his work (at least, that’s what he tried to reason it with)

but every time you looked at yuki, with all the affection in the world, he didn’t have the heart to say it

maybe, yuki didn’t want to say something he didn’t believe in

so the best solution was if he avoided the topic, you guys would be friends forever and nothing would have to go wrong

so when he confessed out of no where, yuki slapped his hands over his own mouth because he was such an idiot (for once)

you two were buying fabrics for the next mankai production, yuki happily browsing the store with the increased budget

yuki practically pulled you to the secluded corner, convincing you the store’s hidden gems were always in the piles of boxes about to be donated

when you found a discarded silk scarf hidden amongst the mixture, you looped it around your own neck and pretended like you were ali–baba, reciting the lines from water me! to get his attention

(you helped yuki practice his lines in the script so you were practically an understudy)

yuki already started ignoring your ridiculous tactics, about to tell you to shut up and help him find the perfect material when he turned around—you had it!

yuki rushed forward, unintentionally pulling you in close as he inspected the fabric’s qualities, not realizing how you were invading his personal space

“how did you even find this, you must be my...” yuki stumbled on his words, looking up to see you staring at him with such unmasked fondness, it made him become flustered

“your what?” you questioned, playfully smiling as you leaned forward, causing yuki to automatically pull back

(silly yuki! he forget he still had a death grip on the scarf as you followed him forward, holding out your arm on the wall nearby to prevent you two from falling)

yuki flinched, expecting the impact of the ground but opened his eyes to see you were leaning over him and was trapped between your arms

a beat of silence passed. yuki was about to let go before you moved in closer, innocently tilting your head as you had a cat–like cheshire grin

“tell me i’m yours, yuki~” you giggled, watching the way his face immediately turned red. any other person, he’d push off without a doubt. but he liked that you teased him so much, that you were so affectionate and open to him

yuki wish he didn’t like you so much

he knew you were joking, but,

yuki really did like you so much

“you’re mine. i want you to be mine.” yuki admitted, his expression forming one of shock as if he couldn’t believe what he said. how could he just confess that?! yuki shut his mouth, still against the wall as you blinked once. twice.

it didn’t take long before you fell back from laughter, bruising yuki’s ego as he crossed his arms and looked away, embarrassed

this is what he got for trying to be spontaneous and “in the moment”. yuki didn’t know what to expect, was he ready for this?

wait... what if he’s been reading all the signs wrong? oh my god, what if you didn’t even see him that way?!

“aish... don’t laugh... you’re so—” yuki felt the scarf get yanked around his wrist like a lasso and before he could react, it was you who pulled him in close this time

his hands landed on your shoulders, trying to balance himself but you kept him steady, putting your arms around his waist as you grinned like a little kid

“i like you, too.” you confessed, overwhelmed with happiness as yuki felt the same

yuki smiled and closed the distance, feeling like you two were in your own world

the fabric store was forever his favorite now, because it was the place he 1. found the perfect silk material for a costume (every time), 2. kissed you for the first time, and 3. had his first relationship start

from that point forward, you two entered a relationship full of mutual respect, care, and even love later on

(yuki said it first, surprisingly enough. but this time, it was on purpose)

yuki fantasized about being the dream couples he saw online in his pinterest board, reblogging couples outfits and creating a private folder he gazed at every once in a while

when you discovered this, you intentionally showed up wearing the same color scheme as yuki and the rest was history

once yuki saw you were just as excited and giddy to appear as a couple, yuki put his sewing skills to work as he made custom pieces he knew you’d love

you name it, you probably got it: matching berets with your signature color, pretty hair ribbons and bows, and for anniversaries/special events, yuki would work day and night to craft the outfit of your dreams

yuki loved expressing his affection through gifts because it was personally difficult to say he liked you without sounding like his default sarcastic state

every day was valentine’s day, by the way

so showing up with a huge, perfectly wrapped box or bag with colorful tissue paper that always correlated with the gift wasn’t out of the norm, yuki loved spoiling you~ (lucky you!)

if yuki saw something in the window on his way home that reminded him of you, he bought it without a second thought and watched your eyes lit up (so worth his empty wallet)

if yuki found a teddy bear that was the embodiment of all things soft and lovely, it was already at your door step with a handwritten letter he would never admit to writing

everything that made him happy started reminding yuki of you (you had to directly tell him to stop to prevent him from going broke)

any time yuki went out shopping, he took you because he liked seeing what your interests and dislikes were

yuki was very thoughtful and considerate, always paying attention to how you reacted to certain things outside of the fashion world as well

but you also watched him closely as well, and it allowed yuki to reveal his more vulnerable, insecure side when he found out you didn’t judge him and even, understood him

you also practiced doing couple’s PDA with him when you noticed how scared he got

you would initiate hand–holding, hugging, and doing small things like bending down to tie his shoes or any ribbon he had on his outfit; just casual contact to get him used to gentle touches that were more than just friendly now

it took a while, but yuki started returning the favor by fixing the accessories in your hair and even wore this tacky tenma bracelet you bought for him as a gag gift

(he hated it and the way tenma looked like some egotistical maniac, but it made you laugh every time. it was worth it) (maybe tenma’s dumb face was good for something)

it was also nice to hear genuine, real compliments everyday. you make it your goal to remind yuki of the small details you loved on his outfit, or how soft his hair was, and the way he presented himself just to show your attention was all his when you two were together

yuki would grow to trust you with his whole heart, feeling his own heart become candy because you were just so sweet

you stole his heart and never gave it back, and it was lovely to know you were taking great care of it and truly treasured him for him

between the two of you, you taught yuki how to trust and rely on other people despite his independent complex as he often put on a strong front

yuki would go to you first if he had a problem, which was hard at first but he got into the habit because he wanted to show you he cared

yuki would text you frequently asking about your day (newsflash, he actually does want to know) and would send you updates of any piece he was working on

you understood yuki prioritized his seamstress career and always proudly spammed his social media posts with heart emojis and adoring compliments

(he always had to hide and cover his face with his hands because he was so grateful you were so proud) (he never told you that, though)

even though he’d instantly get flustered and tried to deny them, you helped him believe them more and more everyday until he could confidently take anything on in the world

(“if my partner thinks it’s cute, i’m cute!” yuki loudly said to the mirror, hearing your laugh the next room over. oops)

you guys didn’t have to talk every single day, though, don’t get me wrong. you two always wanted the best for each other and defined healthy boundaries to allow both of you to flourish and prosper!

yuki, at first, always apologized for spending time on certain projects but you never accepted them, instead encouraging him even more and praising his work ethic

yuki still sent you links throughout the day of things to try and cute outfits he’d love to see you in

it was so thoughtful that throughout the day, you were always on his mind even if he was busy

but no matter what, you two always supported one another through your endeavors and did everything 100% with each other’s best interests at heart

you really liked yuki, and he liked you back just as much, maybe even a little more

(okay, definitely a lot more)

[taxicabinmemphis]

So idk how to makeup so we doin just nails haha also i haven’t gotten a manicure in years and even then it was rare so forgive the time skip

(cw making out i think idk how kissing works)

A door opening loudly gained Logan’s undivided attention. Roman had swung his door open and was holding onto the door frame like he was a man lamenting love at a lamppost. He gave Logan a huge smile.

“Logan! Are you busy?”

“A little. I am currently working on Thomas’ schedule for the Tuesday after next.”

“Wonderful! You needn’t do that right now, as that is almost two weeks away! Come with me.”

“Roman, I’d really rather-”

Roman shook his head no, walking over to the logical side. He pulled Logan up from where he was sitting by the tie and started to drag him out of the room.

Logan swatted Roman’s hands away and walked next to the princely side.

“Where are we going?”

“My room,” Roman replied, dragging out the last word.

“For what purpose?”

“Does everything need to have a purpose, Logan? Can we not spend time together as fellow sides?” Roman asked, sounding exasperated.

“If there is no discernible purpose to visiting your room then I request you allow me return to mine and continue working on the schedule.”

“Two weeks, Logan. We have two weeks till you have to be done with that. You’ve been working for a few hours, you should take a break to spend time with me!” Roman stopped at the door to his room.

Logan sighed. “And what will we do?”

Roman opened the door to his room dramatically. “Manicures!”

Logan’s eyes widened and he turned around, starting to walk away. “No.”

Roman immediately reached out and grabbed Logan by the shirt collar, dragging him into his room. Roman then closed and locked the door.

“You could have choked me!” Logan exclaimed, rubbing at his neck. “Why would you do that?!”

Roman shrugged. “I wanna paint nails with you.”

“I assure you that any other side would be more tolerant of this activity than me.”

“Yeah, but I wanna paint nails with you. You. Not Janus or Patton or whatever. Wouldn’t my company make it more bearable?”

“Trust me when I say it would only make it worse.”

Roman walked over to the middle of his room where he had set up everything needed for a manicure.

“Too bad.” He flopped onto a beanbag. “We’re doing it.”

“I could sink out right-”

“Please,” Roman begged, giving him puppy-dog eyes.

Logan stared into Roman’s eyes for a minute. While Patton’s puppy-dog eyes were the hardest to resist, Roman’s were easy to fall for too and Logan might have had an itsy-bitsy, totally-not-huge-at-all crush on him. So, he sighed in defeat. He walked over to Roman and sat on the beanbag across from him.

“I have no idea how this works,” Logan stated.

Roman smiled. “I thought so. I’m gonna admit that I might have painted my nails before I came and got you because I figured you wouldn’t know how to do my nails. So, give me your left hand, please.”

---time skip cuz idk how manicures work---

Logan rested his hands on the short table they were at and watched as Roman retrieved the colored nail polish.

“Do I get to choose what color?” Logan asked, only half-sarcastic.

Roman shook his head. “No.”

Logan sighed. “I swear if you give me every color of the rainbow and sparkle it with glitter I will-”

Roman slammed the indigo nail polish onto the table in front of Logan. Logan tilted his head, looking at Roman sheepishly.

“Indigo is fine.”

“Even if it wasn’t, you’d be getting it anyway.”

Logan snorted. He watched as Roman delicately took his hand, the creative side unnecessarily running his thumb over the back of Logan’s hand. Logan resisted the urge to physically shudder, fixating his gaze on Roman’s face instead. It was screwed into focus as he applied the indigo to Logan’s hand. His gaze was squinted, his tongue was out to the side, and his eyebrows were furrowed.

“Roman?” Logan asked quietly.

“Mm hmm?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“To paint your nails.”

“Yeah, but why?”

Roman paused for a quick second, taking a half-second glance up at Logan. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Logan stopped a blush from appearing on his face even though Roman likely wouldn’t see it. “Why nail-painting?”

Roman didn’t answer, only moving to the next hand.

Logan settled on watching Roman’s practiced movements; it was clear he had done this many times. Logan noticed Roman’s nails, which were were red except for the index fingers which had the outline of an indigo heart drawn on them. Roman's nails had been done with near perfection and Logan, despite his estrangement to the art of the manicure, couldn’t help but admire them.

“Your nail-painting skills are admirable, Roman,” Logan complimented. “I suspect you have done this many times before?”

Roman smiled slightly. “I have, Specs. And thank you.”

Logan nodded, frowning as he noticed how Roman was quick to end conversation. “Are you alright, Roman? You are rarely this silent.” Roman all but flinched, and Logan backtracked. “Not that it’s a bad thing, and I would likely relish your quiet state in any other situation, but you expressed the desire to spend time together so-”

“I’m quite alright, Logan,” Roman interrupted. “Just lost in thought as well as focused. How has your day been?”

The corners of Logan’s lips twitched. “Fairly average, except for this. I was looking over the script you gave me last night a couple hours before you brought me here. I think I will finish edits and suggestions by afternoon tomorrow.”

“And do you have an objection to every other sentence?” Roman asked jokingly.

“No, I have found it to be of high quality so far.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Roman said, the compliment making him smile.

“How about your day? I hope it has treated you well.”

“Well enough,” Roman stated. “I woke up a bit late, started brainstorming a short video, and then painted my nails, and now I’m here with you. So, each activity better than the last, I guess.”

“I am pleased my company has proved to be adequate by your standards.”

Roman laughed. “’Adequate’, oh, Logan. Your company is enjoyable and a privilege to be graced with, not adequate.”

Logan blushed.

“There! Now, for the red,” Roman said excitedly, putting away the indigo nail polish.

“The red?”

Roman got out the red nail polish and set it on the table. “The red.”

“You’ve done indigo already.”

“Observant,” Roman remarked sarcastically.

Roman snapped his fingers over Logan’s hands, and the nail polish immediately appeared to have dried. Logan then admired his right hand while Roman picked up his left.

After a moment, Roman set Logan’s hand down. “Alright, give me your right.”

Logan held out his right hand to Roman and looked at his left. Roman had drawn an outline of a red heart on his index finger. Logan’s lips parted, wanting to gasp but also not wanting to disturb Roman.

“Alright, time for the top coat.”

Logan drew his hand back and saw that Roman had put an outline of a red heart on his right index finger as well.

Roman snapped his fingers over Logan’s hands, drying the red hearts. He got out what Logan figured was used for a top coating, and started to apply it to Logan’s nails.

As he did so, he noticed the similarities between his and Roman’s nails. Roman’s nails were the same red used for the hearts on Logan’s index fingers, and the hearts on Roman’s indexes were the same indigo on Logan’s nails.

Logan ducked his head to blush. Indigo was his color and red was Roman’s. An indigo heart on Roman’s nails could be symbolic in some form. And the red heart on Logan’s fingers—well, Logan could only dream it meant Roman felt for him romantically. He watched as Roman finished with the top coat.

Roman closed the bottle and set it down. He snapped his fingers over Logan’s hands, effectively drying them.

“At last, I have finished!” He grinned triumphantly.

Logan looked at his nails with admiration. Indigo was his color, and red was the color of his love, so he couldn’t complain.

“You have,” Logan agreed.

Roman looked at Logan hopefully. “Do you like them?”

Logan met Roman’s gaze. “You have done an impressive job on them, Roman.”

Roman squealed in glee, promptly covering his mouth when he realized how childish his action was.

But Logan just laughed fondly, covering his smile with his hands.

Roman looked at Logan with adoration, leaning over to table to get closer to the logical side. He took Logan’s hands from his mouth, prompting Logan to freeze, biting his lip.

“Don’t cover your smile, Logan.”

“Laughter is illogical.”

“But it’s normal,” Roman contradicted, and planted a kiss on his nose. “Anyway, my dear nerd, I suppose I have gotten my Logan fix for today, so I guess—” Roman seemed to have distaste for what he was suggesting “—I shall permit your leave, if you so desire.”

Logan’s face had reddened significantly from the kiss Roman had placed on his nose, and he couldn’t process anything for a moment.

“Roman?” he inquired shyly.

“Yes?”

“Why did you choose the colors you did?” Logan asked.

Roman didn’t respond for a second.

“I mean, I’d imagine you have a great deal at your disposal, and considering your over-the-top nature I would guess you would use as many as possible. However, you have only put two to use this entire day. Why is this?”

“Uh, Logan...”

“They’re our colors as well.” He looked at his nails again. “And while red is an appealing color, especially when it is used in relation to yourself, I don’t see how it relates to me like indigo does. Same with the indigo on your nails. Are we supposed to match? And if so, why?”

Logan could have been less direct, but he wanted to know why Roman had matched their nails. A heart could mean the most intimate of things and he didn’t want to figuratively live out his days in the dark.

Roman scratched the back of his neck nervously. “I thought it would be fun if we matched?” Roman offered, his voice sounding unsure. “I thought it would be cool and look nice?”

“And the hearts...”

Roman groaned and tugged at his hair. “I don’t know how...”

His eyes rested on Logan’s hands for a moment, an idea seeming to cross his mind. He took Logan’s right hand as a prince would a fair maiden and kissed the back of Logan’s hand. He then placed a kiss on the nail with the heart outline on it. Then, he pulled Logan up gently so the logical side was standing and took his other hand. Logan was flushing a deep red, but that would not deter Roman. He lifted Logan’s left hand to his lips and placed a kiss on the heart on his left index finger. He then slowly lowered Logan’s hand and stared Logan in the eyes.

Logan gulped, but said nothing.

“I hope that explains things for you,” Roman said softly, letting go of Logan’s hands and starting to walk out of the room.

Logan was still for a moment, still in shock, before he regained his senses and went after Roman. He stopped the prince as he approached his door.

“Roman.”

The prince turned.

Logan stood himself in front of Roman and took his hands. He raised Roman’s right hand to his lips and kissed the heart on his index finger. He brought Roman’s left to his lips and did the same. He lowered Roman’s hands slowly before meeting his eyes, anxious he did something wrong.

Roman stared at him for a few moments. His face was pink and his eyes were wide. They kept eye contact, before Roman decided to make a move.

He put his left hand on Logan’s shoulder and backed him into a wall beside the door. He placed the hand previously on Logan’s shoulder on the wall beside the intellectual’s head.

“May I kiss you?”

Logan nodded.

Roman wrapped his right arm around Logan’s waist immediately, pulling the logical side flush against him. He connected their lips in a searing kiss. Logan then wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck.

Roman took a step forward, pressing Logan harder against the wall but still having his body close to his. He took the hand that was on the wall and ran it through Logan’s hair as Logan wrapped a leg around Roman’s waist.

The two parted for air.

“You used nail polish to tell me you love me?”

“I don’t see you complaining.”

“Hmm, no.”

Logan reconnected their lips.

~

Yeah heh they love each other. This is for my friend who texted me the prompt. I hope y’all liked it!

[cutesilyo]

if music be the food of love (play on) — a fruk fanfic

But he wasn't France right now, not in the soft morning light of Calais. Far from the bustling city life of Paris and his obligations as a nation, he was only a young man in love.

A day in the life of Francis Bonnefoy, featuring his piano and his soppy affection for Arthur Kirkland. Domestic fluff.

Also available on AO3 and FF.net

---

Arthur was used to living alone, so Francis often found his lover singing to himself.

To lead a better life I need my love to be here, he heard from the garden. Arthur had always sung his most tender when he was taking care of the roses, he knew; he'd wax poetic over any flower, of course, but he could go on for hours and hours about the one he loved most.

He could see Arthur through the windows, meticulously inspecting each and every bloom for the slightest hints of tear. He was wearing one of those ridiculously huge gardening hats that, at this angle, was covering most of his face. Together with horrible posture and his frumpy sweater, he cut quite the awkward figure. Yet still, Francis could picture his piercing green eyes, the slight flush of his face, that odd little upturn of his too-long mouth during those rare times that he felt relaxed and at peace.

They've had more than a millennia to get acquainted with each other, more than long enough for them to recognize the things that stayed constant: bright eyes, sorrow, and the empty promises of immortality; England and France fighting with each other, and Arthur and Francis simply having to live through it. There was a loneliness there that he couldn't put into words, not on his own.

Each one believing that love never dies, Arthur sang. Each note hung in the air a little too long.

Expecting him to come in soon, Francis quickly boiled a kettle for the Englishman's morning tea before leaving the kitchen. He could spend the whole morning looking through the windows, but the ambience demanded he partake a more active role than just sitting around. He was the country of love, after all. And today, he was so full of that confusing, exhilarating emotion that he simply had to do something about it.

He scarcely used it these days, but he certainly hadn't lost any of his skill with the piano. Playing some scales for warm-up, he let himself get re-acquainted with an old friend. It was not too long ago that his musicians were praised worldwide, not too long ago that those same legendary maestros had been invited into his own home and asked to play. Those memories shine golden to him, lazy afternoons of nothing but song and delight and knowing with all the instinct of a nation that these men were going to be remembered one day. He carried them, and their music, with him always.

Francis was lost in the melodious trills of one of their century-old songs when Arthur entered, with his tea and a small plate of the biscuits they had made the night before. He settled into a nice sofa chair beside him with a contented sigh.

"No need to stop on my account," said Arthur, when the piece ended and Francis didn't immediately transition to another one. "Are you taking requests? You know I don't know shit about the classics."

"Yes, you're very artful like that," Francis teased. "Truth be told, you're distracting me."

Arthur huffed, and it was the exact reaction Francis wanted to see from him. He looked adorable with cheeks puffed like that. "Well, if you're going to be like that, I could stop paying for my half of this house and leave. Maybe invest in something actually worthwhile."

"Invest in some sense then, would you? You're being ridiculous and dramatic."

"This, coming from you?"

"I have a certain style of doing such that makes me charming and irresistible, but when you do it, you are like a pitiful donkey."

He thought he really had a good one there, but Arthur only looked faintly amused. "You're losing your touch, if that's all you could think of."

Francis smiled back. "If I lack any bite today, it's not any fault of mine. You are a distraction, like I said."

The other man rolled his eyes. "Oh, of course it's my fault, is it?"

And it was.

He loved seeing Arthur anywhere, but he especially loved seeing Arthur here, in this house that they had quietly bought together without the interference of their respective governments. He loved seeing Arthur now, in this time of peace and normalcy that they had never been given in their youth. He loved seeing Arthur like this, warm and content and alive and close enough to hold without fear, without anger, without hate. It was always a game of play-pretend when they stayed here, and Francis was enamored with domestic bliss every single time. The intimacy, the privacy, the romance — how could he possibly pay attention to anything else but Arthur in this moment? They were not nations here, in their sleepy, cozy abode in Calais. They were only Arthur and Francis, and they were in love.

"You will be less of a distraction if you sit with me," Francis said, instead of I am so much happier now that you are here.

He patted the space beside him, watching Arthur set his cup and biscuits down as he took his seat. Francis turned back to the piano to take position, while Arthur shifted closer so he could lean his head on his shoulder. It made movement a bit more difficult, and he knew that Arthur knew this. The both of them also knew that Francis wouldn't tell Arthur to move away for the world.

"You're always making things so hard for me, aren't you?" he said, affectionately.

"The course of true love never did run smooth, as they say," quipped Arthur. "And you knew I was a handful when you met me. It's not my fault you have bad judgment."

"You must think so lowly of the both of us to say that. My judgment, along with everything else about me, is impeccable." Francis started playing a light ditty, just to give his hands something to do. "And you are the light of my life, fire of my loins—"

"Your sin, your soul?" Arthur finished, dryly. He looked up at him in vague annoyance. "Francis, please. You can do better than that."

"Aussi longtemps que tu voudras, nous dormirons ensemble," he recited, then he laughed when Arthur lightly slapped his arm. "No, you cannot be angry at me for it! It's a line from one of my respected poets, it's not my fault that he phrased it like that—lapin, it was an easy shot to take. I do not know what you expected of me."

"Certainly not bad, perverted poetry," grumbled Arthur. He stared at the ivory keys, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "You know, if you wanted me to play with you, I should've brought my guitar. I can never remember where my fingers are supposed to be on this thing."

"You and your guitars!" The piano made a dissonant noise as Francis slammed his hands on it in surprise, barely holding back his helplessly, helplessly besotted grin. "No, my love. You would've had to go upstairs, discover it has been misplaced, and then spend hours searching for it. You would've surely placed a curse on the entire house for hiding your beloved instrument before you remembered that it was still back in London. By that point, I would've retired to our bedroom, long past the mood for musicmaking."

Arthur's ears were flushed red.

Recognizing his lover's embarrassment, Francis reached out, held his face by the cheek, and gently guided Arthur into looking at him. "But I am still here, yes? Stay with me, Arthur. Sing with me."

He would never tell him this, of course, but he had grown strangely fond of the Englishman's nasal, sardonic voice over the years. Harsh as though it sounded when it was used for his constant, indignant screaming, in the quieter moments it was rhythmic, melodic — as though he never grew out of Shakespeare's characteristic rhyming scheme. It was one out of the many proofs Francis had collected to support his theory of Arthur being a closet romantic at heart, and it was by far his favorite.

Who could dare think of his little England, savage little bunny that he was, the feisty, imperious island nation who grew up shooting arrows and sailing the seas and conquering the world's hegemony in the palm of his hand, doing something as humanly mundane as song? Certainly not France, who had spent centuries at war with his neighbor and still sniped at him countlessly at every single meeting they attended together.

But he wasn't France right now, not in the soft morning light of Calais. Far from the bustling city life of Paris and his obligations as a nation, he was only a young man in love.

Arthur's eyes were so wide, and so green. It felt like eternity before he covered Francis' hand with his own.

Then, softly: "Play me a nice song then, would you, dear?"

Francis only smiled, and set his hands to the keys.

---

Notes:

Title comes from Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.

The song Arthur keeps singing at the start is The Beatles' Here, There, and Everywhere, which is a sweet and short tune about wanting to be around your lover all the time because it makes you so happy. Paul McCartney wrote it while he was waiting for John Lennon to wake up, which is very sweet in a way. I was going to make Francis play it at the end, but I couldn't figure out how to write it in, so now it's up to you! I really love Sangah Noona's piano cover of the song, so if you have the time, I really recommend you give it a listen. It's so classy.

The piano song that Francis is playing when Arthur walks in is Jeux d'eau, a 1901 piece by French composer Maurice Ravel. It often gets translated into English as Playing Water, and it's inspired by the sound of (you guessed it) water! I feel like the piece reminds Francis of Arthur a lot.

The course of true love never did run smooth is another Shakespeare quote, this time from A Midsummer Night's Dream. I originally wanted Arthur to say something like: "Well, that's why the Bard titled it Love's Labour's Lost," after another Shakespeare play, meaning that love is something difficult so Francis will just have to put up with him, but I couldn't find a way to make it flow smoothly. So I went with the quote instead, because it's simpler and its intention is the same, and I like it better! I like that Arthur implies that Francis is his true love. Aww.

Light of my life, fire of my loins; my sin, my soul is from the opening lines of Lolita. Yeah, you can see why Arthur was a bit disturbed. Fun fact: Lolita was first published in Paris!

Aussi longtemps que tu voudras, nous dormirons ensemble is the last line of French poet Louis Aragon's Nous dormirons ensemble. It translates to As long as you want, we will sleep together. It's a short (and yes, slightly perverted) poem, but it's actually pretty sweet.

[darklymelanatedstories]

I really recommend you listening to Lady Zamar - Sharp Shooter as you read this.

Sharp Shooter (ft Beerus)

A sharp shooter

My hearts ruler

Sniper on the roof

I'll make love to you

_________________________________________

Its Valentines Day, the day every planet celebrates. The day for love, revealing your feelings, making single people feel bad, putting pressure on people in relationships and wasting money on things your partner will probably never use again.

Whis' left for planet Earth to go to the Love festival. I rejected the invite, I hated this holiday and Whis knew why though still tried to get me to go with him but he eventually gave up.

I sat on the stump of a purple tree with my legs crossed, eating some Valentines chocolates carved in my liking that Bulma had the top chocolatiers make. I hated the holiday but I loved the gifts. If only I could rub these chocolates in Champa's face. I bet no one got him something like this.

In the middle of my snacking I felt a presence. My eyes scanned the area, nothing but flowers, trees and a river.

I shrugged it off and resumed snacking. Thank you Bulma for the huge box.

I felt it again. Something was coming towards me. Without even a blink, my quick reflexes caught a golden arrow.

"There's a note."

"A sharp shooter

Your hearts ruler♡♡♡ "

"What?",I questioned to myself. I immediately had no idea what to think of it.

I closed the large, heart-shaped box of chocolates and placed the arrow under the red bow on the box. I jumped off the stump then scanned my surroundings once again. Thanks to my adorable, big ears. I heard someone from behind.

"I know you're there, I can hear you breathing. Show yourself."

For some reason I couldn't sense their energy. Unlike mortals, Gods can sense energy and power even if they hide it. I glanced at the box in my hand and noticed the arrow was no longer there. It vanished.

"Alright, I haven't got the time nor the patience for this. Get out here now!"

I felt a huge gush of wind and saw a blur speed past me. My hands felt empty. I glanced down again to find my box gone, that aggravated me. You can shoot arrows at me but no ones steals Lord Beerus' food and gets away with it.

"All right enough!!" I yelled as a dark purple aura surrounded me. "That's it, it's bad enough you're trespassing but now you've stolen a delicacy from my bare hands."

I suddenly felt someone's energy, not far from where I am. I toothy grin appeared on my face.

"Oh, I'm gonna enjoy watching you bleed after what you've done."

I flew in the direction of that...strangely familiar energy. I was so aggravated that I didn't even think logically that it could be a trap.

I ended up at my palace. I searched all the rooms till I came to mine. The door was open, which was weird because I never leave it open.

I opened the door as the creak echoed in the giant room. I entered and as soon my tail made it in, the door slammed closed. I quickly turned around and saw an arrow on the door with another note attached.

"This isn't what I pictured, hey

You're in the dark with me eh..."

As soon as I read that, the lights went out. The golden arrow started glowing and bright, golden ink appeared on the paper.

"And I can't see clearly they

Say you have nothing else to offer me babe

As the lighting beams

My heart goes dim"

I formed a small ball of light in the palm of my hand.

"Who the hell is this...and why the f**k does all this feel familiar!?",I questioned, feeling frustrated as I tried to think of who this trespasser could be.

I felt something warm. I touched my face but there was nothing on it. I opened my eyes to see a small beam of light shining from the top of the room. I made a bigger ball to shine more light into the dark room before finding and climbing the transparent steps that lead to my bed. I couldn't risk flying and hitting one of my atomic hourglasses. To be honest this chase was getting interesting.

Once I made it I saw a some red and white petals on my bed forming a heart. This isn't creepy at all. I felt something brush up on my shoulder. I glanced up to see some sort of fabric hanging from the wall as something blew making it gracefully flutter in the air.

Grabbing the fabric, I quickly realized it was my giant curtains and pulled them apart, letting the sunlight hit my face and bring light to the once dark room.

"As the lighting beams, my heart goes dim."I said to myself, thinking about what was written in the golden ink.

As I flew out the open window and heard something snap, I quickly turned around to see another arrow coming towards me. I caught it effortlessly. If only my reflexes could react that way whenever Bulma was about to hit me on the head.

I sighed at the number of times that woman has hit me on the head. Shaking the thoughts of the Saiyans wife I took another note from the arrow. On it read,

"A sharp shooter

Your hearts ruler

Sniper on the roof

I'll make love to you."

"Sniper on the roof? Oh great, a psycho hitman wants to rape me on my roof.",I sighed before chuckling at my statement.

I flew to the top of my tree like mansion. Once my feet touched the surface I stood still and tried to listen for anyone.

Nothing.

There's no one here. I can't believe that pervert stood me up. The sound of light, sweet chirps brough me from my thoughts. I beautiful white bird landed on one of the giant branches. Wait...a dove!? I thought I killed all of them on this planet. They're rare to find but apparently on Earth they're everywhere.

It flew away and I decided to follow it because of my annoying cat instincts, plus I was hungry as fxck and I'd eat anything right then. Sure we had food in the kitchen but who has time to cook at that time with a perverted Sniper on the loose.

That dove was surprisingly fast but I managed to follow it to a large tree. To my surprise there was a golden dagger lodged in the tree that pinned another note to it. I took a closer look and saw that it was a Wanted Poster with my face on it.

"Now I'm concerned."I said as I slid it off the dagger, forming a rip in the paper.

At the bottom corner was written:

"Turn page."

I did what the mysterious ink told me, at the back of the Wanted Poster was more weird writing.

"There's a sniper on the loose

A head hunter on the move

There's a bounty out on you

I'm certain of that move

They catch me

I will lose

Can't go back there"

"There's a bounty out on me? Wait, maybe Champa and the other God's are plotting to kill me again.",I contemplated. "No probably not but if Champa is in on it then it's highly possible."

Plus this person is witty, sly, poetic and artistic. I feel like I need to remember something but it was completely wiped from my brain. I grabbed the dagger from the tree and felt it in my hands, feeling the carved design against my fingers. I figured I'd need it for something.

"Hmm, all this mystery is making me hungry, I'm gonna eat. Can't kill trespassers on an empty stomach."

I strolled into my kitchen and made myself a bowl instant Ramen. I sat at the island and enjoyed my food while trying to think about what that last note meant.

"They catch me, I will lose. Can't go back there. Can't go back where?"

Luckily I was stress eating so I didn't get frustrated and blow something up. After eating I kinda felt sleepy but I didn't wanna sleep in that creeps heart trap until I killed them and used their lifeless body as a pillow.

I mean come on, the jerk stole my chocolate.

I decided to go to the Oracle Fish to find out more about this trespasser but when I reached his pool room he was no where to be found.

"Hey Oracle!"I yelled but nothing except silence answered.

"They took the fish. This person is clever. Definitely not Champa."

I saw something glowing in the water, I assumed it was another one of their notes so jumped in. The Oracle's pool was beautifully designed and decorated by Whis. It had a real ocean vibe. I swam till I found a small gold and white chest with a heart-shaped lock.

I took it before swimming back up to the surface. I swam to the edge of the pool and placed the chest on the tiling. I tried to zap the chest open with my finger but it didn't budge. Next I tried using my strength to break it open but it stayed intact. It's like it was made by a God. Nothing can survive a destroyers attack.

"Hmm, so it is really another God. For a second I thought it was Whis and Goku playing a stupid game."

I got out of the water and decided to try something. I took the golden pocket dagger from my pocket and  placed it in the slot of the lock. Guess what...it didn't work. I was about to give up and lose it till I realised that maybe I need to turn it. So I did. I turned it to the left and surprise, surprise. It worked.

"Good job, me."

I opened it to find one of Whis' paint brushes. He found painting interesting ever since Bulma introduced him to dead artists like Picasso and Da Vinci. Those are the only two I bothered to hear before I took a bite of pancakes and transported to another dimension.

"I got myself wet for a paintbrush."

Then I realised...the garden. Whis loved to practice there. I rushed over to the garden and found a canvas and a isle in the middle of the garden which wasn't weird since Whis always leaves his art there.

I saw the same dove from before land on top of the canvas. I crept over there, trying not to chase the bird away...not because I wanted to eat it but because I wanted answers.

I was just about to pounce on it when it vanished, just like that.

"What the?"I questioned before viewing the other side of the canvas. A beautiful painting of me bending over and kissing a woman with light skin, though I couldn't see her face properly but I knew I've seen her before. We both had blindfolds on for some reason and her golden hair covered her naked breasts. Wow. So beautiful.

There was something written on the top, left corner.

"This isn't what I pictured babe

I didn't bring myself to wander alone

It should have been you all along

But in our age

People don't understand

Unconditional love"

I reached out to touch the painting and once I did, the painting changed. It showed the woman again but this time she hung her head so I couldn't see her face. She wore a crown of thorns and dark red roses and a beautiful wedding dress. She held out what appeared to be a real heart in her hands.

I don't know why but I found it attractive.

I jumped when I saw the heart move, it started beating three times before writing appeared on it.

"For better or worse

Or until one decides

It's the bittersweet end

Of the days of you and I

This thinking there's no way out."

I sighed,"Oh, Cupid, you're playing games with my heart." I gasped at my statement, it hit me, I realised that I've seen all this before.

"A sharp shooter

My heart's ruler

Sniper on the roof

I'll make love to you."I said aloud. That's when I decided to go back to the roof.

I grabbed a black rose from the garden. I don't know why but I felt like should, that it'd be appropriate.

I landed at on the purple surface covered in white, yellow and lavender flowers. I saw a figure sitting on the edge. As I crept closer to the figure, I heard a tune.

"A sharp shooter

My heart's ruler

Sniper on the roof

I'll make love to you."

"Sniper on the roof

I'll make love to you"

"Sniper on the roof

I'll make love to you."

"A sharp shooter

My heart's ruler

Sniper on the roof

I'll make love to you"

I found myself singing along until I spotted her with her back facing me. She had the same golden hair as the woman in the painting, wearing a crown of roses on her head, a white and gold dress with what appeared to be almost the same chest piece as mine. I immediately recognised her.

I placed the black rose behind her ear then leaned over, moving one of her golden streaks behind the other ear with the dagger.

"Hello, Aphrodite."

"Lord Beerus. Did you miss me?" She glanced over at me and grinned. Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, the reason for Valentines, the only reason I love the holiday. Would've loved it more if mortals dedicated it to her and not a false image of love.

"Yes but I miss my chocolates more."I said. She got up and turned to me with her hands behind her back. I stared at the beauty in front of me. Her long skirt, slit in the side showed off her firm thighs. A red floral belt matched the roses in her hair. Her chest piece red, with gold roses that matched her golden heels. She loved this look. But don't let her looks fool you. She may look like delicate flower but she can be dark and cut you like a thorn. Cupid is the nickname I gave her but as usual, mortals ruined that too. So I refrain from using it and only do to merely annoy the angelic devil.

She tilted her head and stared at me with her emerald eyes before handing me a heart shaped box.

"Oh, speaking of which, I got this for you."

I took it from her as my eyes slit. "This is the chocolate that was stolen from me. The ones I wanted."

A short cold, laugh escaped her pink lips. "Well I do give the best gifts."

I rolled my eyes before opening it and taking a bite of one.

"What, nothing for me?",she pouted. I chuckled and before she knew it, I had stuffed a chocolate in her mouth.

"I don't usually like to share but you, I can make an exception." I smirked. She slowly licked her lips, wiping away any melted chocolate from those soft, sweet, plum things.

"Mmm, delicious."

"Well it is me, after all."

She came closer and wrapped one arm around me. One of her hands trailed down to mine and snatched the dagger before I even reakised it was in my hand. She slowly placed it on the side of my neck with her free hand and gave me a wink. "Did you like my little game?"

"Yes because love playing your games.",I replied in a sarcastic tone. She moved her head closer to mine, our lips almost touching. "And I don't even get a little smooch for my hard work?"

"So you trespassed on my private property, stole my chocolate, waltzed into my home without any permission, kidnapped the Oracle plus you're holding a knife to my throat and you still expect me to kiss you?"

She giggled. "Oh, Beerus, you make it sound so bad but yes it's the least you could do."she said before licking my bottom lip. "I know you get bored easily, so I decided to keep you busy."

I dropped the box on the floor, not really caring if some chocolate landed on the floor at the moment. I placed my hand on her cheeks and pressed my lips against hers. Her lips parted slightly allowing me to slip my tongue in and taste her very godly being. My hands trailed down to her waist as I felt her tongue glide against my fangs. My hands got hold of her ass as I pulled her closer to my body forcefully resulting a soft moan escaping her lips. God, how I loved it. My claws got hold of her skirt, almost ripping it off as she deepened the kiss and our tongues pressed together in an intense open mouth kiss only we could manoeuvre in such a way.

I broke the kiss but that didn't mean I was done with her. No. I was going to make her pay by having her at my mercy, begging for more. The look in her eyes told me that she wasn't done with her little game either.

"Though next time if you want my attention don't make me go on mysterious chases.",I said with a smirk.

She gave me a playful glare. "No promises."she said circling my chest with her finger. "It was nice seeing your body all wet like that when you got out of the pool."

"What a pervert."

________________________________________

As spider survives

You'll lay your hand on mine

Heartbeat in golden chime

True love can stand the test of time

_________________________________________

Inspired by the song:

Sharp Shooter

By

Lady Zamar♡♡♡

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

The Steinbeck Agreement

PART TWENTY-THREE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of familial physical/emotional abuse please read with caution, serious angst, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Ella makes some major changes in her life, and Jess reluctantly returns to town for his mother’s wedding.

The afternoon light streamed golden through the diner windows as Liz and Luke came in, Ella leaning on the counter with her sketchbook in front of her. Too enveloped in the drawing of a field of murderous daisies, Ella didn’t even register what they were talking about until she heard them mention her name.

“...maybe Ella could do it,” Liz said, tilting her head at the young woman with dark eye makeup and EAT ME printed across her shirt.

“Hm?” Ella asked, looking up from her sketch with furrowed brows.

Luke rolled his eyes at her distracted nature. Ever since she’d moved out of her childhood home, she’d been in a worse mood, focused almost solely on her terrifying drawings. He’d had to tell her a couple times to make sure to keep the sketchbook off the counter when there were children present.

“Be a flower girl,” Liz said, a big, dreamy smile on her face. She was dressed in a long, floral red dress. “Most of the Renaissance fair crowd doesn’t have small children. But if we’re gonna have a wedding, we’re gonna have a real wedding. Can’t be a wedding without a flower girl.”

“Sorry, whose wedding?” Ella asked, straightening up and raising an eyebrow.

“Mine, sweetie.” Liz had a high, wispy voice that reminded Ella of the fairies she used to imagine playing in her mother’s garden. “We’re having it right out in the square next week. It’s gonna be beautiful, all our Renaissance fair friends will be there, and it’ll have this great medieval theme! And you could be the flower girl!”

“Oh, I don’t…” Ella began with a shy smile, but Liz only waved a dismissive hand at her, continuing.

“I can loan you one of my fair dresses,” she said excitedly, not picking up on Ella’s doubtful expression.

“Yeah, Ella. You can finally perfect your whole Bride of Frankenstein look,” Luke teased. His expression was far more pleasant than Ella could have predicted. Happy. Happy, in its simplest form, looked so strange on Luke. The past few months had seen the true finalization of his divorce and his having to watch Lorelai date some rich snob from her father’s company. But the news seemed to brighten his mood inexplicably. She was sure the laughter at her expense wasn’t exactly a drag on the day either.

Rolling her eyes, Ella shot him a pointed glance. “Y’know, you would be lost without your best waitress.”

“I’m quaking in my boots. Besides, I’ve got Lane working for me now, anyway.”

Though she narrowed her eyes at him, she could think of nothing more to say. He was right. She would never quit on him. The diner was more of a home to her than anywhere else in the world. Hell, it had almost single-handedly fed her during the worst few months of her life. Along with Lorelai’s frequent feasts of junk food.

“I can just see it, Ella! It’ll be so much fun and you’d look so beautiful!” Liz exclaimed, grabbing one of Ella’s hands in a pleading gesture.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella did her best to protest. She still wasn’t Liz’s biggest fan, despite wherever it was that she stood with Jess. The alcohol, the neglect. But Luke seemed not entirely angry about the match, especially considering his view on TJ when the two had first been introduced back in February. And Liz’s smile was so large, so radiant. Her eyes were desperate and almost kind. Heaving a huge sigh, Ella nodded. Luke was much more than her boss. And he gave a smile so rare when she agreed. She would do it for Luke, she decided. In fact, it was the least she could do.

.   .   .

Sat on the lumpy couch in Lane’s living room, Ella found herself smiling just a touch. The band, finally named Hep Alien, was getting better with every practice. Though the room was piled high with dirty clothes and video game equipment, and it remained cluttered no matter how many times Ella tried to clean it up, she was beginning to get more comfortable. Her king mattress was so old anyway, and sleeping on the plaid couch wasn’t much different. As she had run from the only house she had ever known, she’d packed as much as she could into her station wagon, which had once been her aunt Julie’s. It wasn’t like her old room fit much anyway. Mostly, the backseat was filled with her records, books, clothes.

Loud music making her ears ring, she sketched Lane behind the drums, living the way she had always wanted. As fun as it was watching band practice nearly every night, Ella was eager for her summer classes to start. If she played her cards right, she could graduate a year early with art as a minor. Ella’s mind drifted to the night she left, the day after she finally finished her first year of college. And, over a modest celebratory dinner, the conversation had drifted, as it always did, to the future.

.   .   .

two and a half weeks earlier

Tugging with one hand at the ends of her hair, Ella felt an odd mixture of distasteful nostalgia and happiness in her stomach. The lasagna tasted exactly as her mother’s had, and Ella knew Fiona had followed the recipe, scribbled in the back of the ancient cookbook, exactly. But she would keep quiet. Fiona truly seemed proud of her, beaming and giving her a hug the moment she walked through the door after work. Slowly, very slowly, Ella was beginning to accept it, the motherly love. Though occasionally it still rubbed her the wrong way, it didn’t send her spiralling into anger and melancholy as it once had.

And it wasn’t as though Fiona was a bad person. She had a sunny disposition, glossy hair, expressive eyes. Ella could understand how her father would want to marry her. But she was just too unlike her mother. Would never understand Ella the way her mother had. It still felt like bizarro-world when Fiona tried to give her advice or compliment her on her piano skills. But she could manage dinner every once and a while, and accept pride in her academic accomplishments. She was on the Dean’s List, after all.

Adam pushed his food around his plate as he spoke. From the glances they’d shared, Ella could tell he tasted the same memories from childhood she did.

“We’ve still got about a month, but I really think we can get first place,” Adam said of his mathlete competition. His voice had gotten deeper, and he was finally growing taller. Ella could tell he would end up looking a lot like Noah.

“That’s great,” Jake said, nodding with a half-smile.

“Really is,” Fiona echoed, grinning widely.

As silence fell on the four of them, forks scraped on the Corelle plates and throats were cleared. Awkward silences had quickly become staples of family dinners. Eventually, Jake began twisting his wedding ring and looked straight at Ella, who sat at his left side. The light in the peach kitchen was bright despite the cloudy darkness outside. The May evening was humid and buzzing with cicadas.

“And what about you, Ellie?” Jake asked.

Looking up carefully, Ella put down her fork and faced him. “What about me?”

“Do you have any prospects for the summer? Besides the diner?”

She shook her head. “No. Unless Patty needs me to fill in. Might start painting more. I’m thinking a small easel would fit pretty well near the window in my room.”

Narrowing his eyes doubtfully, Jake tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know. Seems like a waste of money.”

“Why?” she asked instantly.

“We don’t have to discuss this now,” Fiona interjected patiently.

Adam looked down at his plate as he ate.

Jake breathed a frustrated sigh through his nose. “You’re majoring in history. You’re living with us for at least three more years. I don’t think now’s the time for pipe dreams.”

“Hm,” Ella nodded, giving a thin, vicious smile. “It’s funny you say that. When mom was alive, you always thought I should put as much time into my art as she put into her music.”

“You were a kid. Things change. The best you can hope for is being a history teacher at Stars Hollow High, and you have to be happy with it,” Jake explained with cold logic in his voice. His eyebrows were raised in condescension.

Ella’s cheeks heated up. “Oh, so all this time you’ve just been humoring me? Telling me I had talent?”

“Not exactly. But you’re not O’Keefe, either.”

“Never said I was,” Ella snapped, standing up from her seat. “I can't do this right now. I’m buying my fucking paint, dad.”

“Hey!” he shouted, rising from his own seat and following her as she stormed into the living room towards the hall entrance. “Don’t you use that language with me, young lady!”

“Why not?! Might as well let you know how I actually talk if you’re gonna let me know how you actually feel!” she yelled back, gesturing wildly with her hands.

Jake rolled his eyes at his only daughter. “Toughen up, Ellie! You’ve only got so much time on this earth and I’m not gonna watch you waste it on your doodles!”

“Oh, and lecturing about the revolutionary war in the town where I’ve always lived wouldn’t be a waste?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“At least you’ll make a living! You’ll still be around people who love you, who take care of you. You’ll always be near us,” he argued.

Ella let out a bitter, humorless bark of laughter. “People who take care of me?! I’ve been taking care of you for almost five years! All of you! Especially you! When mom died, I was the one who fed us, I was the one who cleaned and tried to cook! And you did fuck-all except drink and lie around crying!”

Eyes darkening, Jake took a step closer to her and she immediately recoiled. “I lost my wife. You will never understand that!”

“I lost my mother!” she screamed, hands clenched at her sides, so hard her knuckles turned white. Angry tears snuck up on her eyes but she swallowed them back to the best of her ability.

“If I’d have known how much you’d bitch about helping out, doing what a daughter should, I never would’ve let you take that job at Luke’s!”

“Doing what a daughter should?” she asked immediately, eyebrows shooting up. Her jaw was set firm with tension.

Fiona appeared from the kitchen behind her husband, putting a hand to his shoulder. “Baby, let’s just all take a minute to cool down.”

“You brother and I needed you and all you could do was complain!” he roared.

Ella scoffed. “You needed me? You needed me to keep you alive long enough for you to find a new wife to coddle you and baby you and cry with you when you told her about your tragic high school sweetheart! Why do you think she hates you, huh?”

Her stomach did a flip when she saw the hurt on Fiona’s face from the corner of her eye, but a fire burned so hot inside her, and she couldn’t keep her words contained any longer. She’d tried to play the dutiful woman of the house long enough.

“Do not talk about my marriage!” Jake warned. “It’s none of your business!”

“Of course it’s my business! It’ll be my business when I have to pick up the pieces once she leaves you!”

“You have always been such a little brat! You were a nightmare to raise for me and for Sophia!” A vein had popped out in his forehead, and he shrugged Fiona’s touch from his shoulder.

“Fuck you!”

Crack! Ella seemed to hear it before she felt it: a sharp, searing pain as his open palm struck her cheek. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in so long, not since she was ten and had mouthed off at the dinner table. A sinking feeling struck her stomach as silence filled the room. Because she suddenly discovered she had always been expecting it. Always knew it would happen again, someday, somehow. And she’d been almost surprised he hadn’t smacked her in the months following her mother’s death. But, the levee had to break. It always did.

She brought a hand to her stinging flesh, and her father stopped in his tracks. Remorse washed over his features and he went to reach out for her. Flinching away from him, Ella felt her fingers grip at her necklace.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry, baby. I told you not to use that language with me. And you know how my old man was about-”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. “No.”

.   .   .

The final, strong bass note of the White Stripes song Hep Alien played broke her from her memories. She could see the dull sky as she packed up her car the best she could, the night crossing over into morning as she offered Adam a quick goodbye. He’d been upset, but also somewhat calm. And when he’d come to visit her a week later during one of her shifts at the diner, he told her he had always known Ella would leave. From the first night after their mother had died, he’d known. Though he knew it was fruitless to try and convince her not to feel guilty, Adam had told her not to worry. He could handle home on his own, he was confident. He’d never been slapped. And they were both smart enough to understand why.

And when she’d come to Lane in the early hours of the morning, still painfully holding back her tears with the entire contents of her life parked out on the street in the station wagon, she knew everything would change. Lane had welcomed her with open arms, of course. Had seen Ella cry for only the third time in all their years knowing each other. There was something so sweet about her new freedom, but a heaviness still sat in Ella’s heart. Constant guilt and fear for Adam, heartache over her mother, who she still missed everyday. And she felt so lost, it was all-consuming. She didn’t know what the next step was. Would she still be able to pay for college? Would she ever speak to her stepmother again? Would she even stay a history major, if she was lucky enough to continue her education? She had never been more glad for Luke’s, and for her friends. There were few comforts in her life, continued existence as a waitress, or knowing Adam was only a few blocks away in case something ever happened. She clung to the only constants left for dear life. She’d been dreaming of leaving the house for so long, but it managed to be even harder than she thought it would be. A gloomy cloud had been hanging over her for a few weeks, as she walked through her existence with an aimlessness she had never known before.

Clapping some, Ella offered a big smile and watched as Zach, Gil, and Bryan began to talk amongst themselves about the new tattoo Gil had shown up to practice with. Lane excused herself from the conversation only because of the temptation. She wanted a tattoo, really did, but didn’t want to increase the chances of her mother disowning her any more than she already had. Instead, she came to join Ella on the couch, plopping down and putting an arm around her friend. Ella kept her smile and rested her head against Lane’s shoulder. Since moving in, Ella was reminded every day of what a wonderful person Lane was. They came from such different worlds, but never judged each other, always took care of each other, helped each other with their respective escapes. Working together at Luke’s had been even more fun than Ella could have ever imagined. It was a welcome end to the long, lonely year after Jess’s departure, just she and Luke sulking around together. There was a place for sulking, but the time for it seemed to be coming to an end.

“You guys were fucking great,” Ella said, then gestured down to the picture she had just drawn. “You’re a regular Meg White up there. Really.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Lane chirped, beaming with pride.

Snorting a laugh, Ella put the sketchbook aside and bit back a yawn. “Don’t I know it.”

“Hey, are you okay?” Lane asked, brows furrowing.

It almost made her want to laugh. Over the past two weeks, Lane had asked her that question more than had once seemed humanly possible. “Yeah, Lane. I’m fine. Just a long day. Got roped into being a flower girl.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Luke’s sister. Liz. Have you met her before? You weren’t working at the diner yet the last time she was in town,” she said tiredly.

“No, I haven’t,” Lane replied. “Jess’s mom, right?”

“She is indeed.”

“And why exactly are you filling what is traditionally a role for a girl in pigtails and Mary Janes?”

Blowing out a sigh, Ella shook her head slightly. “I don’t even know. She just sort of told me...didn’t exactly ask. It’s next week in town square, so there’s not enough time. And Luke really seemed like he wanted me to and I just...I don’t know. Maybe she’s a witch.”

“Always a possibility,” Lane nodded, going along with the bit as she always did. “And have you heard from Jess lately?”

Again, Ella shook her head. “He still doesn’t have an actual phone number, and now I don’t either. Not optimum communication conditions.”

“Yeah, that’s not ideal,” Lane said, commiserating.

“I wish it had crossed my mind, but I moved out in about forty-five minutes,” Ella said, fiddling with her necklace.

A guilty look painted her features. But she’d only been out of the house a little while, maybe he hadn’t called.

“Do you think he’ll come for the wedding?”

Ella scoffed. “Not a chance in hell.”

.   .   .

“Are you sure I can’t help with anything else?” Ella asked, arms crossed over her chest.

Her chewed pencil sat behind her ear, and her hair fell in a loose, hasty braid over her shoulder. One of her booted feet tapped constantly against the tiled floor, and she smoothed over her blue skirt every few minutes. And she only looked half as stressed as Luke. The wedding was in two days, and nearly everything had been dumped on him. As a consequence, Ella had been dealing with the diner business while Luke argued on the phone with vendors who could give him the proper medieval food and decor.

The midday lull had finally come, and Lorelai stopping in was sure to bring a little sunshine. Though she had been pretty overwhelmed herself, lately. The new Dragonfly Inn opening was only weeks away.

Luke shook his head at Ella when he’d finished giving Lorelai the rundown of the week’s events. “Not right now, kid. That was the last call I had to make. At least for the time being.”

“Just say the word,” Ella shrugged, finally letting herself relax a touch, leaning her forearms onto the counter.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So, am I caught up on everything, then?” Lorelai chimed in, brows raised and eyes expectant.

“Yeah, I’d say so…” Luke began, but the bell over the door jingled.

A familiar scowl appeared in the diner’s entrance, and Jess trudged up to the counter with a finger pointed at Luke. “I’m not paying for a motel, so I’m stayin’ with you!”

Lorelai gasped dramatically and narrowed her eyes at Luke. “Liar!”

As he passed on his way to the stairs, Jess gave Ella a curt nod. She reciprocated, but felt unnerved by his demeanor. Was it shy? Was it angry? It certainly didn’t seem pleasant. They hadn’t spoken in nearly three weeks, the longest time since he had first run away to California.

“I didn’t think he was coming,” Luke muttered, watching Jess disappear up the stairs. A wistful, fond smile crossed Luke’s lips. “I went to see him in New York.”

“You did?” Ella asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah. It was a total pig sty and he may or may not be a drug dealer. But, hey, at least he came,” Luke said, shaking his head in a mixture of amusement and wonder.

Sighing through her nose, Ella looked down at her feet and bit at the inside of her cheek. Her gaze focused on nothing in particular, thoughts swimming around and colliding with each other inside her already crowded mind. “Yeah. At least. I’m gonna take my ten minutes. That alright?”

Luke was busy, back to his banter with Lorelai, and only gave a half nod her way. She snickered at how enveloped in each other the two of them were. Without much effort, she slipped behind the curtain and climbed up the stairs unnoticed. Nerves coursed through her, and her heart sped up in her chest. She gave two short, harsh knocks on the window of the shabby apartment door.

After waiting a moment and receiving no response, she rolled her eyes to herself. Who was she to be nervous? He was pretty much her best friend, besides Lane. And she hadn’t done anything wrong. With a new, determined quality to her steps, she walked through the front door and found him just where she expected, on his old bed, nose already buried in a book.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she plastered on a confident smirk and sat down on the end of the bed. She recognized the book instantly, her own copy buried in the pile of belongings in her car: Sweet Thursday by John Steinbeck.

“The only author we could ever agree on,” she said, eyeing the book though Jess still hadn’t lifted his head.

“Pretty much,” he replied flatly, biting at his bottom lip as he focused on the words in front of him.

Sighing shortly through her nose, Ella turned to face him fully, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the familiar brown afghan. Jess unconsciously brought his feet in closer to make room for her, his knees up in the air, blocking her view of his face slightly. But she could see his hair, longer still and without any gel.

“See you’ve completely ditched the pompadour look,” she muttered. “Couldn’t handle being mistaken for an Elvis impersonator any longer, huh?”

“My God, you should do stand-up,” Jess said dryly, eyes widening in feigned amazement as he kept reading.

Shaking her head slightly, Ella let a harsh chuckle escape her lips and furrowed her brows at him. “Out with it, jackass.”

“Hm?” he asked dismissively, taking a pencil from his pocket to underline a phrase.

Ella pursed her lips in frustration. “Well, it’s obvious you’re pissed. I say we skip the passive-aggressive theatrics and you just spill it. But, hey, this is a democracy. You also get a vote.”

Rolling his eyes, Jess finally shot a glance over his knees. Heaving a sigh, he shut his book and tossed it into the open duffel bag on the floor next to the bed. In one swift movement, he mirrored her sitting position and tilted his head at her in askance.

“Have you been doing a lot of hard partying lately? Really taking advantage of this college thing? Or have you been avoiding my calls?” he asked, though he wasn’t angry, despite the sarcasm. There was a defeated tone in his voice which surprised her; almost disappointed.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she gave another small shake of her head, and she spoke firmly. “Well, first of all, I’m not required to take your calls. I asked you to call me because you fucked off to California without telling me and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t been serial-killed.”

Jess gave a begrudging nod, almost preparing for a dressing down.

“But, no, I haven’t been avoiding your calls, alright? Paranoid much?”

He scoffed, but she cut him off before he could retort.

“I moved out.”

Immediately, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did?”

She nodded. “Yeah. About two weeks ago. Wasn’t exactly seamless, and I bet my dad will disconnect my old line at some point. I’ve been staying at Lane’s with her and the band. They don’t have a phone yet. And you change your number pretty much every week, so it’s not like I could let you know.”

A smile crossed his features. “I’m...that’s great, Eleanor.”

She snorted a laugh of disbelief. “Yeah, it’s so great living out of my car and sleeping on Lane’s forty-year-old couch.”

Jess shrugged. “Gotta start somewhere.”

“I guess.”

He looked flabbergasted. “I’m so proud of you.”

A blush heated her cheeks and she chuckled breathily in confusion. “What?”

“For moving out. I mean, I can’t imagine it was a quiet affair,” he said, face falling slightly.

Again, she shook her head, glancing down at the space between them on the comforter and clutching her necklace. “No. It wasn’t.”

“What happened?” he ventured without hesitation, searching her face and exposed arms for any yellowed bruises or healing cuts. Sometimes, he could give even Ella a run for her money when assuming the worst.

Ella shrugged noncommittally, throwing a glance down at her watch, then facing him again with a small smile. “Long story. I’ve only got a couple minutes left on break. You gonna be in town for a little while?”

“Until the minute the wedding ends.”

“Okay, we’ll find some time to catch up,” she said, smirking. “Luke tells me you’re a drug dealer now. You’ve gotta let me in on all your behind-the-scenes Scarface facts.”

Jess rolled his eyes. “God, Luke is such a drama queen. I’m a messenger.”

“Nice cover. Very convincing.”

“Don’t you have coffee to pour?” he shot back, defensive.

Snickering, Ella rose from the bed, smoothing down her skirt and apron. “Whatever keeps the guilt at bay, tough guy.”

“G’bye,” he muttered, grumpy, as he settled back against the wall and picked up his book again. But, just before Ella reached the door: “What time are you off, Eleanor?”

“Six-thirty. Luke’s closing up early to play wedding planner,” she said, hand poised over the doorknob.

Jess chuckled. “Pizza at Antonioli’s tonight?”

“Sure. I even promise not to wear a wire.”

The pillow Jess had thrown barely missed her as she exited the apartment, laughing under her breath.

.   .   .

Sighing softly, Ella ran the key along the chain of her necklace and looked down at the half-eaten pizza crusts on her paper plate. The old wooden table in the pizza place was slightly sticky, and carved with the names of various people and couples who had shared a pie there before. But, they could watch the Stars Hollow evening turn from golden to blue as the sun went down, sitting by the front window. Jess had to leave by eight, and it was half past seven by the time the stars came out. Summer had almost come, and the days were long and bright with sunshine. Chilly breezes swept past at night, but it was getting warmer still.

“So...yeah. It only took me about forty-five minutes to pack everything up. Didn’t realize how little stuff I had until I could fit almost everything in my trunk and back seat,” she said, a small, humorless smile on her face.

Jess nodded, rolling a balled-up napkin absently in his hand as he listened, his face stony. “Was it just yelling? Or did he hit you?”

Breathing another long sigh through her nose, Ella bit the inside of her cheek. “Just once. He just slapped me once. He told me not to swear at him, but I-”

“Eleanor,” he interjected, voice firm but gentle. “Once is way too much. Even a slap. It’s way, way too many times.”

She only shrugged. “I know. I mean, of course I know that. It’s just…”

Again, he nodded wordlessly. Jess knew what it was like to have a parent, or a step-parent, who used hurt as a tool. And he knew the confusion. Sometimes monsters wore masks. She didn’t have to say anything more.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Ella shook her head. “It’s not your fault. And I’m moved out now, Jess.”

“Right...and I meant what I said. I’m so proud of you, Stevens.” Jess reached hesitantly across the table, and took her free hand in his. Gave it one squeeze.

She flashed him a tiny smile, squeezed it back. Then she disentangled their fingers and tucked her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat and straightening her back. The severity left her features, a new, mischievous twinkle lighting up her hazel eyes. Her chest was less heavy, and she was glad he knew. Glad he could understand with so few words.

“Proud of you too, Mariano. This time, I didn’t have to watch you step out of a sheriff’s car when you got to town,” she smirked, picking up one of the crusts and taking another bite out of it.

He frowned. “Ugh, please don’t mention Andy Griffith. That car is my property. The only reason I even called Luke after I got to Venice was to ask about the car and he-”

Still chuckling, Ella raised her hands in surrender, cutting him off. “White flag.”

Jess offered a sardonic, lop-sided smirk. “And, believe or not, Luke will be the sanest person at the bachelor party tonight.”

“Why are you even going?” she asked, brows furrowed as she took a sip of her water, ice melty from time and the May heat seeping through the splintered wood of the front door.

Shaking his head, Jess glanced down at his watch and noticed he had only ten minutes before he and Luke would have to hop in Luke’s ancient green truck. “I don’t know. Luke mentioned me not wanting to go to Liz, and then she spent thirty minutes babbling until she finally wore me down.”

Pursing her lips, Ella nodded. “Yeah, she’s very persuasive.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re looking at the flower girl,” she admitted, gesturing to herself.

He laughed breathily. “No way.”

“Yep. I’ll be there in the renaissance dress and all. Though, Lorelai said she would make some alterations for me. I’m going over to her house in a little while to sort out the whole corset situation.”

Jess snorted another chuckle. “Good luck.”

“Right back at ya, Mariano,” she teased. “Where on earth would TJ want to go for his bachelor party?”

“It’s a cliché I’m sure you’ll be able to guess on the first try,” Jess said with a dejected frown.

After only a moment with brows furrowed, realization flashed across Ella’s eyes and her expression turned to one of disgust. “Ugh, Jesus. A strip club?”

“I know,” he grumbled. “Believe me, I’ll be there in silent protest.”

“Mouth off to one of the owners if you get the chance, would you? For me?” she asked.

“Will do.”

.   .   .

“I don’t hate my mother,” Jess grumbled to Luke, rolling his eyes slightly.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, crossing his leather-clad arms. Maybe he should’ve known he would get into a fight with TJ at some point, considering his history with Liz’s past boyfriends and husbands. All it had taken was TJ hitting the Austen novel out of his hands, as he read begrudgingly in the low-lit strip club. And they’d come to blows. And Luke was pissed. They were sat down at a table in Luke’s, the diner completely dark glowing only from the streetlamps and twinkle lights in the square. All the chairs, save for the two they sat in, were stacked up on the red tables. Luke was interrogating Jess about why he’d come for the wedding anyway, if he was so mad about it. As if he hadn’t stormed into Jess’s apartment trying to convince him to come only a few days earlier.

“You don’t?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Then why did you come, anyway, if you’re so against your mother finding happiness? And it’s pretty clear you hate me.”

Jess sighed heavily at Luke’s dramatics. “I don’t hate you. I came here because of you.”

“Stop that,” Luke scolded in disbelief.

“You said it was important to you. Remember?” Jess asked, voice tight with annoyance.

“I didn’t think you were listening.”

“Oh, I was listening.”

Luke stared at his nephew for a long moment, leaning back in his chair. “So, you don’t hate your mom. You don’t hate me. But, really, all it took was me coming to New York to yell at you?”

Sighing, Jess said nothing. His lips were set in a thin line, and he averted his gaze from his uncle. He ran a hand over his mouth.

Eyes widening, Luke cracked a knowing grin. “You came because of Ella? But, you haven’t been together in...what? A year?”

Jess gave a sheepish nod. “Yeah, but, we still talk every couple weeks. She didn’t tell you?”

Luke snorted. “Well, I remember her chewing you out that first time you called. Telling you to let her know you were alive. But I didn’t know you were really talking.”

Running a hand over his mouth again, Jess gave another nod.

“So?” Luke asked, prodding. “Why’d you need to come here...if you call so often anyway?”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, squirming under the questions. “Since she moved out, she hasn’t been picking up. I didn’t know what happened. I wanted to...make sure. Because…”

“What?”

“I think...I mean...I’m in love with her, alright?” Jess spit out, an anxious bite in his voice.

Luke’s eyebrows shot up, and a flabbergasted look formed on his face. “Wow!...You think you’re in love with her?”

Jess shrugged. “Pretty sure. But, I’ve been thinking that since I was seventeen. And she doesn’t believe in love, anyway.”

Scoffing, Luke shook his head. “I know she says that, but it’s crap. What do you love about her, Jess?”

“Excuse me?” Jess asked, brows furrowing.

Luke rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Jess, I think it’s great that you know how you feel. And like I said earlier, I’m not gonna keep trying to change you. You are who you are. And Ella is who she is. If you’re gonna tell her how you feel, you have to do it carefully. And you have to be sure. So, tell me what you love about her.”

Scowling, Jess looked long and hard at his uncle. “What, do you wanna hold hands and skip afterwards?”

“Do you want to do this right or not?”

Finally, Jess relented. “Okay. Fine. I love that she...she’s so passionate. About everything. And she talks with her hands. And she eats peanut butter right out of the jar when she’s sick. And she hums while she works, without even realizing it. She..she cares so much about her friends and her brothers and her aunt and...I don’t know. She does everything for other people. She doesn’t think she’s a people person. But she really is. Even the way she talks to customers...you can really see it.

“And she’s such an amazing artist. She can feel art. And music. I’ve never met anyone else like that before. I can talk to her for hours...or not say anything at all. I miss her when she’s gone. Everything is...just better when I’m with her.”

When Jess looked up again, he found his uncle with a smug smirk. As Jess was speaking, his eyes had taken on a far-off quality. And though he didn’t want to be talking, his lips had started to curl upward at the corners anyway. Just from thinking of her. Luke recognized everything in Jess’s expression.

Jess shook his head slightly, jaw tense, embarrassment swirling in his stomach. “What?”

“Nothing,” Luke said lightly, almost mocking. “I’ve just...never seen that look on your face before.”

Rolling his eyes again, Jess scoffed angrily.

“Alright, alright,” Luke said, fighting off good-natured laughter. “Open two-way communication is the foundation of love…”

[maxe-mini]

Pretty Blue Eyes

A/N- Hey there! So this is my first ever full written fanfic, atleast one I’m going to post on tumblr. I had a lot of fun writing this, in fact, I finished it in a d a y sjgjsdb so yeah. This is gonna be an OC x Bakugou oneshot(?) Im not sure if its a oneshot bc I might make a follow up in thhe future, it depends. Anywayyyy, yeah! If you want details on who my OC is, her name is Kano Amaya(Last name, first name). I’ve posted plenty of art I’ve made of her on this blog, which can be found on my pinned post, which also happens to have the link to her wiki on Amino. Give it a read if you’d like! Now onto the fanfic! :DD 

Taglist: @deephasoceanmagic​ @kuroshin15​

Warning: Lots of cursing(I mean it has Bakugou in it), small mentions of blood and nosebleeds, overworking, passing out 

A/N- dw this is actually just soft and ‘angry pomeranian is angry bc he has feelings lmaoooo’

This wasn’t the first time it’s happened, but that didn’t mean it pissed him off any less. For the sixth time these past few days, his eyes had managed to wander right back to her. Dark blue hair tied into two low pig tails that seemed to always flow through the air just the right way as she moved. Cold yet mystical blue eyes that he could constantly feel himself drowning in. Fair skin dusted with soft freckles that he craved to touch. F u c k. He was absolutely smitten by this girl and he did not like it one bit. Those goddamn pretty blue pupils suddenly met his, and he stared back-even that was a competition to him now-forcing a scowl on his face. The girl merely raised an eyebrow before returning back to quietly eating her food, the chatter around her seeming to be uninteresting.

Bakugou scoffed, finally returning his own crimson eyes to his curry, practically stabbing a piece of meat with his fork as if it had personally wronged him, earning a few concerned glances from his- he did NOT want to call them friends- classmates. Only the sound of utensils clattering with plates could be heard around their table, which surprisingly only served to piss off the ash-blonde haired boy even more. “What?” He spat out, looking up to see Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari staring at him, their eyes practically answering his question.

“You doing alright man? You seem… more angry than usual.” Kirishima was the first one to speak up, his small eyebrows furrowing up in worry. “Did Kano do something?” Sero followed. Turns out that was a big mistake. Just hearing her name sent a jolt of electricity through his spine, and for a second he thought Kaminari had a death wish.

Bakugou growled. “That’s none of your fucking business.” He didn’t shout, he didn’t scream, he didn’t even let a single small explosion go off on his palm like he usually did as a threat. The ash-blonde boy only returned to his food, and it seemed his words were enough to stop any more questions from his peers. Good. Atleast they knew what was good for them.

 It hadn’t always been like this.

Bakugou stared at the ground, the angriest, most frustrated frown anyone had ever seen on his face. His classmates stared at him in concern, knowing exactly why he was so full of rage, yet none of them knew how to help. He’s always been difficult to deal with. None of them wanted to risk trying to comfort him, knowing that would possibly make him even more upset.

He was silent, his hands shoved into his pockets and his posture slouched. He had failed the Provisional Licensing Exams, and he was feeling no less than pissed about it. He knew it was because of his ‘harsh language’  towards the victims- if you could even call them that, they were all actors after all. Just thinking about it made him grit his teeth in frustration.

Before he could mope around even more, a delicate, dainty hand suddenly wrapped around his arm and forced him away from his thoughts as they pulled him to the back of the bus. People were apparently still collecting their things and everyone had time to chat with each other before having to eventually get back to school- not that he himself was interested in doing that. His frown faded away to surprise before he noticed who it was. Kano. 

The scowl edged itself back onto Bakugou’s face as he stared at her, yet for some reason, he didn’t move. He let her bring himself here, and for some god forsaken reason, he wanted to hear what she had to say. 

Those blue eyes pierced through his soul, as if analyzing every bit and piece of who he was. It took a fair amount of his will power not to back away, only staring back, hoping his gaze was as intense as hers. 

“Bakugou.” Her voice was firm. It always was, whenever she talked, which was a rare occasion. The boy in question didn’t answer, only raising his eyebrow in response. 

“I know you’re upset about the Licensing Exam.” She continued, her expression unchanging, staring at him in stoic honesty, and he could not-for the life of him- pinpoint what she was feeling at the moment. 

“No shit. I don’t want your pity.” Bakugou spat back, his words laced with venom. If anything made him angry, it was pity from other people. He didn’t need anyone’s fucking help. He wasn’t weak. 

“I don’t pity you. In fact, I look up to you, and I whole heartedly believe that you will receive your Hero License after the training course with ease.” Kano wasn’t startled at all by his profanity. She only stared at him through those unreadable eyes which he always managed to get lost in. 

Bakugou’s own crimson eyes widened slightly in surprise. That wasn’t what he expected. He didn’t answer. He didn’t know HOW to answer. This was not something he expected from someone like her, especially when he considered her competition, along with Half and Half and Ponytail. 

“So stop moping around. You know you’re strong. You know you’ll be fine, so go kick some ass at that training course.” For the first time since he’d seen her in the entrance exam, she sweared. Not only that, the corners of her lips curled up into a soft, confident smile, her faintly freckled cheeks glowing an equally soft pink along with it. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her with any other expression except for the one she always wore, unchanging and unreadable. She had her hands to her hips and looked so uncharacteristically bold. 

Bakugou could only stare. He’s been doing that way too much now, but he had nothing to say. He didn’t expect ANY of this from Kano. The ash-blonde haired boy was thoroughly taken by surprise. 

'That smile looks nice on her.' 

The thought made him blink rapidly, startled by his own mind. What the fuck? What the fuck was he thinking about? 

After a few seconds of silence, possibly as Kano patiently waited for his response, he formulated a reply. 

“You’re goddamn right I will.” He grinned. The same confident grin that brought terror onto those who were up against him. 

Seeing him back to his normal state seemed to have made Kano much more glad, as her smile only widened. F u c k. That smile could kill people. Bakugou barely managed to hold back incoming heat that was threatening to expose itself on his face, and he hoped to god that the girl in question couldn’t hear his rapid heartbeat. 

Before any of the two could say something, a voice pulled both of them right out of their thoughts. “Hey, where’s Kano and Bakugou?” It was Shitty Hair. Of course it would be Shitty Hair. 

The ash-blonde haired boy walked away, not waiting for whatever Kano was going to say next, assuming she had any. The glimmer of wild confidence had intensified in his eyes, and he was feeling pumped up. He would never admit it, but what she said helped. 

The ride back home was a blur after that. Thoughts of the upcoming training course flashed through his mind, interrupted by a few images of Kano’s smile. It irritated him to the core.

Bakugou grimaced at the memory, knowing that that was the start of when he started thinking of Kano as more than just a rival, and let himself scream a battle cry as he released a massive explosion onto an equally massive boulder, resulting in it having a big gaping hole in the middle, the little bits and pieces of rubble all but strewn about behind it. 

The ash-blonde haired boy huffed. Class 1-A had been given time to train in Gym Gamma, and he’d been releasing all his frustrations on these rocks. It was working atleast, but now he was tired and his wrists has a dull ache in them. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been destroying these stones, but he assumed it must’ve been a little over an hour. A few of his classmates had already gone back to the dorms, presumably to rest. He scoffed at the thought. 

One of the students who hadn’t gone back though, was one of the sources of his frustrations. Kano was currently heaving up an ungodly amount of water, her expression visibly strained, yet it was still stoic. It reminded him of Half-and-Half in a way, but he shook away the thought before he angered himself even more.

He jumped off the concrete platforms to get himself a bottle of water, panting as he noticed he was a little out of breathe. His crimson eyes followed her dark blue figure as her wrists flicked the other way and the liquid which she was floating in the air instantly formed into large icicles. Bakugou’s vision narrowed. 'She’s gotten faster at doing that.' 

A part of him was threatened and annoyed at her rapid improvement, but he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride for his classmate. He shoved the thought away, continuing to watch her movements closely. Her back was to him, so he didn’t notice the blood that was flowing down her nose. 

Kano threw her torso forward, following her arms, causing the large icicles to pierce through the boulder infront of her, the force of her control and the amount of ice she had enough to absolutely decimate the huge rock. As soon as the icicles went through, they melted back into water, and the girl immediately put the liquid right back into its containers which were from god knows where- Bakugou assumed it had been provided to her earlier before they all started training. 

Suddenly, Kano’s knees buckled, and soon she was on the ground. The ash-blonde boy blinked in shock, not quite registering what had happened yet before his legs led him right to her. Her eyes were closed, and he saw the blood that was coming from her nose slowly pool down onto the concrete. Once again, for the first time, Bakugou saw her with different expression on her face. She was in pain. 

Before he could think about what he was doing, he wrapped his toned arms around her body, carrying her bridal style. She didn’t move or resist, and Bakugou concluded she had passed out. What the fuck happened? One moment she was destroying rocks left and right, her strength shining through even when she was just training, the next she was unconscious and experiencing a nosebleed? Did the dumbass overwork herself?

 Aizawa had been watching from a distance, his tired eyes twitching in irritation. He had heard about how Kano’s bad habit of overtaxing herself in her training, but he didn’t expect her to do it now, not in UA of all places. The teacher pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out an annoyed sigh, walking over to his students- he’d have to talk to her about this later- before he noticed the Bakugou had already gotten to her. Huh. That’s unusual. 

“Bakugou. Bring Kano to Recovery Girl. That’s enough for the day for all of you. It’s getting late.” He instructed, his hands in his pockets as he looked around at the few others who were still training. His voice was loud enough to hear for the ones nearby, and the ones from afar seemed to get the message as they saw their peers suddenly stop what they were doing. Good. They’d gotten better at listening. 

He expected his ill-tempered student to put up atleast a little bit of a fight. Tell him it wasn’t his responsibility if his dumbass classmate worked themselves past the point of consciousness, but he got none of that. Bakugou merely nodded- although the teacher caught that his mouth was stretched into a thin line and his eyebrows were formed into a near v-shape- and ran to the front door. 

Aizawa was a bit surprised, although he didn’t let it show on his face. It seemed this problem child had changed much more than he thought he had. 

Bakugou’s arms were stiff against Kano’s body, effortlessly carrying her to the infirmary, which was a good distance away. He should never have decided to carry her when he saw she passed out. If he hadn’t, Aizawa wouldn’t have told him to bring her to Recovery Girl.

He was thoroughly annoyed, his teeth grating against each other as he forced himself not to pop a few small explosions on his palms, not wanting to harm his classmate accidentally.

The ash-blonde boy wasn’t angry because he had to bring his classmate to the infirmary. No. He was angry because of the goddamn heat in his cheeks that just won’t go away. He was angry because of the annoying ass beating in his heart that was pumping at a rate that couldn’t be explained by adrenaline. It was far too fast for that. Bakugou bit back a growl caused by his own frustrations, afraid he’d wake up the girl that was unconscious in his arms. Turns out he didn’t have to do that.

“…Bakugou?” That wasn’t firm. This was, again, the first time he’s heard her voice sound so… vulnerable. The ash-blonde boy met his gaze with hers, and he saw that her eyes were cloudy. Unfocused.

“Yeah, it’s me. You passed out while you were training.” He wasn’t sure why he was answering. The words just left his mouth on their own.

“Mm.” She only hummed in response, nuzzling her face onto his chest. She obviously wasn’t thinking clearly now. Bakugou felt his heart beating at higher speeds than he’d ever thought possible, and he was sure she’d definitely heard it by now. Yet, she didn’t say anything, and he presumed she must’ve passed out again.

After a few minutes more of running, they arrived at Recovery Girl’s. Bakugou let himself catch his breath before he opened the door with his knee, and he was met by the old nurse’s startled gaze.

“Oh dear. What happened?” Recovery Girl shuffled over to them, wordlessly gesturing towards a hospital bed for Bakugou to lay Kano on.

“She passed out while training. Aizawa told me to bring her here.” He watched as his school nurse got to work, checking her temperature and observing her complexion. Now that he could look at her properly, she was a lot paler. What the fuck had this dumbass doing?

A soft whimper pulled him away from his thoughts, and he watched as the girl in question slowly fluttered her eyes open, looking around in a haze. Her hand instantly went to her head, and she groaned in pain. A headache?

Recovery Girl looked worried, but only silently reached for a few pills and a glass of water. “Here, drink this. It should help with the headache for a while.” He was right.

Kano didn’t say anything more, only drinking her medicine. The pain in her expression dulled, and she looked a lot more relaxed. Bakugou wasn’t sure if it was that obvious, or if he’d been observing her long enough to notice these things. He hoped the latter was wrong. That would be extremely embarrassing, maybe even creepy, on his part.

A few beats of silence passed through the mostly empty infirmary, and was only interrupted by the soft tap of glass against wood as Kano set down her glass of water on the small table next to her bed.

“I’ll have you rest here for a while. I apologize for this, but I can’t trust you to go back to the dorms yet, not after what Aizawa told me.” Recovery Girl spoke first, her tone edging on strict. “What?” Her voice wasn’t firm again, and Bakugou felt his chest constrict at its softness. What was wrong with him?

“You’ve had multiple records of passing out from overworking from your previous schools. Kano, I know you want to be the best hero you can be, but this type of behaviour will not be tolerated in UA. You have to let yourself rest every once in a while. Everyone has their own limits, and you need to know yours.” The nurse scolded, which was met by visible surprise on the girl’s face, before she nodded slowly. “I understand.” Kano answered, her pitch soft, yet somehow strong. She was back.

“Good. Now rest, or do I have to tell Bakugou to hold you like earlier so you can do that?” Recovery Girl teased, her tone once again upbeat. Bakugou’s eyes widened slightly as he almost choked, shoving back down the heat that was threatening to expose itself on his cheeks. He did not miss the way Kano did the same, except she wasn’t as successful at hiding her blush, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.

The nurse only chuckled before she went back to her desk, beginning to work on whatever documents were on there. “I’ll tell you when you can leave. You can go to sleep if you want.”

A few beats of silence, then their eyes met. The clarity finally returned back to Kano’s pretty blue pupils as she gazed at him, seeming to be searching for words to say. Bakugou silently stepped closer to the bed, waiting.

“Thank you. I wasn’t expecting you to be the one to bring me here, but it’s a welcome surprise nonetheless.” She finally said, and the ash-blonde boy was left to analyze what she meant by 'welcome surprise.’

“You better be grateful. Why’d your dumbass pass out anyway? You can’t be that weak.” Bakugou responded, and he internally winced at how harsh his words sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Thankfully she didn’t seem to mind, nodding solemnly in response. “It seems I went a bit overboard there again. Recovery Girl was right about me having records for constantly overworking. Sometimes I can’t help it.”

Bakugou grimaced. “Well, that’s stupid.” He didn’t miss Kano’s sigh before he continued. “You don’t even need to do that. You’re already strong regardless.” That caught her by surprise, her head turning to look at him so fast he was afraid her headache would come back. “What? Didn’t expect that either?”

Her eyes were wide. “No. I didn’t but-” That smile. That fucking smile again. “Thank you, again. I appreciate it.” Bakugou wasn’t sure if her cheeks were flushed because she was flustered, or if it just came with her smile. Either way, he liked it.

“You better.” The ash-blonde haired boy let his own soft smile form on his lips, and the two gazed at each other in comfortable silence.

Maybe he won’t be that angry about this after all. 

[scribbleb-red]

The Scars - (Sculptor Neil x Muse Andrew AU)

Three years ago Neil (a reclusive but renown sculptor) met Andrew (a nobody going nowhere). 

Andrew had found Neil's cat, hiding under his car. Neil took a liking to Andrew. 

Andrew could see Neil was full of secrets, but the snark and the intrigue kept him coming back.

But a pestering journalist from Galatea magazine (ie. the plucky bitch that is Allison Reynolds) managed to track down Neil (known mostly as N) and from surveilling them, deduce that Andrew is N’s latest muse for his upcoming show. 

Andrew, who knew nothing of Neil's work, feels used.

He feels used and shattered and like the tentative *something* he thought he was forming with Neil was all a lie, all for some stupid rocks turned into stupider shapes. 

He packs up his life, as he has over a dozen times before, and disappears. 

No goodbyes. No explanations.

He doesn't need more lies from Neil Josten.

N's much anticipated show never happens. 

In a single, rare interview, he announces his retirement from the art world. 

 It's cost him too much, he says. 

 Andrew feels a thrill in his chest; it's all spite. 

Three years go by.

Andrew is living in New York, working in an auction house. 

He only took the job because of Renee, who needed someone to come in and help urgently. 

 He's on his second week when it's announced that they'll be auctioning off a private collection called "The Scars". 

It's by N.

As an artist N has always been recognised for his subject matter, for confronting the worst of the human condition by pushing the boundaries of material and media. "The Scars" is a selection of his earliest pieces - they're grotesque, alien - and Andrew recognises the subject matter, the inspiration behind them.

There's the puckering iron brand from Neil's shoulder. 

The pebble smooth bullet wound. 

The lacerations over his stomach where a road tried to shred his skin. 

A fractured monstrous child. 

 Andrew hates them. Hates their rawness. Hates their truth.

"Rumour is, he'll be here tonight," Renee tells him as they prep the room.

 Andrew raises an eyebrow. 

 "N," Renee explains. "No one knows who he is, of course, but apparently he's been trying to buy back his work. Allison's column speculated that he'd be here for the show."

"So a whole lot of fans are going to turn up?" 

"Sorry to make your life difficult." Andrew shrugs. She's thinking of the extra work he'll have on the door. He never told her about the months spent with Neil, the summer nights, the autumn walks, the winter his heart froze over.

The crowd arrives. 

Allison is amongst them: eyes sharp, heels sharper. 

Matt Boyd comes next with Dan Wilds, known for her strategy on bids. 

Kevin Day stalks through, ear piece in, determination setting his jaw. 

Andrew does not see N.

Andrew's not looking for him, by the way, of course not. 

Andrew wants nothing to do with N. Nothing to do with his scars or his smiles, his secrets or his promises. 

He's not scanning the crowd, looking for a shock of red hair. He's not hyperaware of every flash of blue.

And that's when the bidding starts. The first sculpture is "Mother's Ruin". On one-side it's bullet-smooth, a puckered dot; on the other a female shape pulls through, raging, screaming, mouth deadlier than the wound. 

Kevin starts the bid. Dan follows. Back and forth they go.

When Kevin taps out, eyes hard as the stone from which the sculpture is cut, Dan releases a vicious and victorious smile. 

Which is when a new bidder enters the arena. Dark hair. Dark scarf. Dark cane across his knees. A familiar set to his shoulders. 

N.

But no. It isn't N. It can’t be.

But it isn't Neil either. 

Or if it is, it's like seeing someone else's e-fit of him. All wrong. Something real is missing. This man is brittle, lean as a clip-point. His wrists are all bone.

N doesn't flinch when the hammer falls and the final price is put on his own work. He is eerily still. Andrew thinks about a time when any loud noise would have made Neil startle with excitement, a new sensation, something to explore. When he was the most animated person in any room - all energy, all life.

The same thing happens on the next piece. And the next. Kevin and Dan are furious. Allison is watching Neil with the same deadly look in her expression that Andrew remembers from when she appeared at his front door all those years ago. 

Andrew doesn't understand.

(And he doesn't want to. He's not interested. He doesn't care.) 

But as the auction ends and Neil is in possession of all of his art once more, as Allison stalks towards the man they both know to be N, Andrew finally sees his face. Gaunt and blank, bruises under his eyes.

Neil looks like one of "The Scars" - a ruined version of himself, sunken and shrunken and beaten down. 

Andrew is moving before he can think about it. Moving to block Allison's path, to stop her from reaching a man that is so clearly sick and strange and unlike himself.

Seeing Andrew coming, Allison stops. She knows the warning set of his jaw, it's the same expression he wore when he threw her off his doorstep. She stops, but she grins. He can almost see the ideas spinning inside her skull. Muse and artist reunited once more? Was this a story?

When he turns, Neil is gone.

Fortunately, Andrew knows he has to be around. There's  paperwork to be done, after all. So he goes outside. There's a familiar black sports-car parked there. Andrew leans against it and waits. And waits.

"Are you really going to smoke that entire pack waiting for me?" 

 Andrew exhales smoke through his nose. 

Even Neil's voice is ragged, rough with disuse. He tells himself it doesn't matter. 

"What do you want, Andrew?" 

"You upset a lot of people here tonight," Andrew says.

"What do you want, Andrew?" 

 "Interesting move, buying up your own art. Are you trying to create a scarcity effect? Trying to inflate the price?"

 Neil asks a third time: "What do you want, Andrew?" 

 Andrew fixes a look on Neil, he really does look dreadful.

What's with the contact lenses? He wants to ask. What's with the hair? Why are you so thin? What happened? Are you sick? Are you dying? 

 "I'm not coming to your funeral," he says. 

 "What?" 

 "Whatever's wrong with you, I won't be there." 

 Neil shakes his head. "I'm not dying."

Lie. Lie. Lie. 

 Andrew didn't realise he'd be able to hear dishonesty in Neil's voice as easily as he ever had. 

"Don't lie to a liar, Neil. Didn't you tell me that?" 

"Ha." Neil leans heavily on his cane, sees Andrew's scepticism. Insists: "I'm not."

"I'm taking a turn," Andrew says, sees the pain lancing over Neil's features when he hears it. It looks an awful lot like grief. 

Neil still nods. 

"Why are you buying back your art?" 

Neil's face twists: mouth tipping down, eyes squeezing shut. "I'm destroying it. All of it."

The cigarette nearly drops from Andrew's lips. He catches it in time, rolls it between the tips of his fingers. "Why?" 

"It's not your turn." 

"Then take yours." 

Neil looks at him. Andrew wishes his eyes weren't muddy brown, that he could see the man he knew, not this underworld shade.

"No," Neil says. "I've taken quite enough from you." 

It's cryptic. It's nonsense. It's infuriating. 

"Fuck you," Andrew says. "Why are you destroying The Scars?" 

"Get off my car, Andrew." 

But Andrew knows about self-destructiveness. He's not stupid. He knows that look.

And he might not care about art, or sculpture. He might hate Neil for the lies he omitted day after day. He might loathe Neil for giving him colours only to take them away. But Neil was on the right side of hope last time he saw him. He doesn’t like this grey-washed half-man.

"Tell me," Andrew says. It's almost a growl. "Tell me why you're doing this." 

Neil sighs. "Not here. Get in the car. My place is nearby." 

Andrew never wanted to be in close proximity to Neil again but he wants to know what's going on more than he can pretend he doesn't care.

So they get in the car and they drive and they come to Neil's apartment, a classic loft in a red brick block. It's huge, shabby and unloved, everything a little tatty at the edges. 

 Like Neil, Andrew's brain supplies. Never taking care of himself, heart so big it felt empty.

Neil makes coffee. It's just how Andrew likes it, from the sugar and cream right down to his favourite mug. 

He frowns. "You kept this." 

"I shouldn't have, I'm sorry." 

The apology makes Andrew bristle.

Andrew asks for the truth again. Why is Neil destroying "The Scars"? 

"Not just them. All of them. All of it." And Neil begins to talk.

It starts the day Andrew found his cat, when he turned up on Neil's door, soaked to the bone with King tucked into the front of his coat. 

 "I never told you why she was out there, did I? I threw her out. I was in way. Panicking. Freaking out. I thought nothing was safe."

Neil talked about meeting Andrew. How he felt immediately drawn to him, like to like. He talks about the mornings when he woke up and the brightest thing in the day was the promise of Andrew's presence. He describes how those bright moments translated into his work. 

"Hope."

He doesn't linger on the soft moments, though Andrew's brain supplies them: iced coffee on the park swings, warm smiles, red hair against his shoulder, lying his head in Neil's lap, sharing smoke, swapping truths.

"Hope," Neil says like the word is a fragile thing. "Crept into everything I made. It made the edges softer, made jagged pieces slide together, drew colours out of grey stone." 

And he started making new things too - mixing gold and marble, hard with soft.

"I thought I was inspired by kintsugi - the idea of repairing broken things in a way that revitalises them. New life." 

And then Allison came. And she spoke to Andrew. And then she spoke to Neil. 

"She told me what you said, Andrew. She told me how very sick I am."

Andrew frowns. "What did she say I said?" 

"That I hurt you. That I used you. That what I did was like rape." Neil's words are biting and blunted and all together mirthless. "I was taking from you without permission. That I'm just like him, like my father."

Andrew is silent. 

"I hadn't even thought about it. I know I should have. The work was just so separate to us - I didn't see how I was using you. How I was abusing you. But of course it wasn't kintsugi - it was you. Everything. The gold. The marble. The edges. The way they fit."

"And the way I felt." Neil's breath is a rattle. He really is too thin. "The way I felt about you was also everything." 

"Was?" 

"Is," Neil corrects, reluctantly. "And I know that's wrong. That it makes you uncomfortable. And I get it. I do. It made me realise how my art is monstrous."

"I wasn't cutting anyone open. I wasn’t physically hurting anyone. But I was destroying people. Flaying them alive. Slicing them open. Revealing their secrets. Wasn't I? The Scars. The Butcher. White Bones, Black Sand. Every collection. Every act of brutalism. Exacted over and over with every witness."

The silence that falls is oppressive. It's the sky before a storm. The water closing over your head when you can't swim.

Andrew knows he has to say something.

Andrew knows what he has to say. 

"Allison got it wrong, Neil. She got it wrong for both of us." 

Because Andrew was never angry about being a muse. 

No, when Andrew found out who Neil was, he felt cold. 

And when Allison asked him for comment on what it was like to be 'the latest', he felt numb. Like none of it was real.

Whatever they had was meant to be nothing. But finding out that it really was nothing -  the coffee and the conversation, the confidences and shared quiet - all of it meaningless... That bottomed him out, sent him plunging straight down into the cold, dark places in his brain. That was why he was mad. That was why he left. 

Was it all real after all?

"You hurt me." Andrew can't deny that. He'd been prepared to never let anyone or anything else in ever again. Because Neil isn’t something he could ever take back or recover from. Neil was a chance he shouldn't have taken. "But I'd do it all again."

There is a moment when Neil's brain hasn't quite caught up - where he looks like he might be torn between running & crying & breaking apart. There is so much damage to undo here. Years they need to discuss. Issues Neil probably hasn't spoken to anyone about, recluse that he is.

Andrew makes the first move - placing his mug on the table, moving to stand in front of Neil. He places two fingers under Neil's chin, tilting his face upwards.

 "You are Neil Josten, and right now you are sick, but not because you're your father. You haven't abused anyone. You never abused me."

"Andrew..." 

 "Don't. Argue. About. This." Andrew says. "I know you like to run your mouth and catastrophise - but tonight you're just Neil, and I'm just the man who found your fucking cat. And you're going to take out those hideous lenses and get some sleep."

When Neil doesn't move, Andrew lifts him out of his seat. 

When Neil stumbles without his cane, Andrew helps take his weight. 

When Neil asks Andrew to stay, Andrew borrows a t-shirt that's just a tiny bit too snug and curls up on the other side of the bed.

When Andrew takes Neil's hand, they're missing the callouses he remembers.

When Andrew brushes Neil's knuckles with his lips, they both almost stop breathing. 

Before Andrew falls asleep, he thinks maybe, just maybe, that if he asked for a kiss -a real one- Neil would say yes.

The end. 

[brief-candle]

ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ᴠᴏᴡ - Kyoujurou Rengoku

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS THE SECOND PART TO A TWO-SHOT, THE FIRST PART BEING BLACK VOW. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER. THANK YOU.

one more!! then i’ll be gone into the abyss for 53786432 years i promise :))

time for angst round 2, featuring kyoujurou’s pov!! wowee!!!!!!!!

series: kimetsu no yaiba/ demon slayer

notes: kyoujurou pov, major character death, angst, not much yandere, angst, originally male reader that's female for the majority of this chapter, muzan being a dick.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

It was as if everything had changed overnight.

The house I'd lived in for so long suddenly seemed so desolate. It seemed so lonely, despite how for many years I hadn't thought of it like that in the slightest. Hallways seemed to stretch on forever, barren even with the numerous pieces of art present. Rather than drawing the eye, I couldn't bring myself to look at them. They were hideous, as if completely different paintings to the ones I had bought myself.

There was something missing, wasn't there?

This feeling of something no longer being present haunted me like my very shadow, taller in dim candlelight. Tonight it seemed that I wouldn't sleep, wouldn't rest until I found what was lost. Though when I wondered what was lost, tried to grasp it as firmly as I could, it was as if the meaning of its very existence was to evade me.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

So, in some halfhearted effort to clear my mind, I entered the library. It was very rare that I found myself here, favouring physical activities over losing myself in a book. But there was something so alluring about the idea of escaping for at least a couple of hours which seemed so appealing to me. Most likely, it was the wedding that would take place in such a short time that was putting me in such a state. I supposed that it was hard not to feel so gloomy, with my lack of fondness for the woman that I would be marrying. There was only person that I'd confess this to, though.

Who was it, again?

The more I thought, the larger the dilemma that I'd faced just moments before. I could swear that I could see their face, only for it to become more blurred and faint with each ounce of effort that I put into remembering them. A warm feeling began to run through my veins as I recalled them, however faint, before it was quickly shoved out.

What was I thinking about then?

The feeling that just flew through me- what caused it? The more I thought, the further from reach it was. An intense sensation of frustration seized my heart, along with the bitter taste of sadness. Surely, if it was so important, then I wouldn't have forgotten it in the first place. However my heart told a different story, beating to a rhythm of sorrowful loss. Whatever it had been, I had played some part in this huge mess.

No book in the vast labyrinth of a library could hold my mind from its turmoil that night, and so I went back to bed unfulfilled.

There, I dreamt of a figure with no face, who spoke words with no voice. It faced away from me from the majority of the dream, with no features to identify it whatsoever.

"Do you not enjoy the Lady's presence?" It had asked with complete absence of sound. Even still, I understood perfectly, a sense of familiarity in the scene painted out before my eyes.

I remember being sat there, taken aback by the sudden question for a moment. Then I'd laughed- or tried to, at least- at it, at the whole situation. This person had known me so well, yet the me sat before them now knew so little. The laugh tore at my throat as it left, wracking my chest with uneven, sob-like movements.

"Why do you ask?" I had returned, yet now I held no interest for that answer. I knew the truth, and so did they. The question I'd wanted to ask was left unsaid, as my mouth refused to utter those words.

There was silence then, for a couple of seconds, and I knew the answer before it was said. What I knew more than that was that it was a weak excuse to cover up what they really wanted to say. And that was what I desired to know more.

"A hunch." Was what they finally settled on, and if I could have said it with them then I would have. But I could only watch on as everything began to blur, as the background began to mix and intertwine into one large mass. The person had disappeared by this point, and that unquenchable sadness returned once more. It was like a constant downpour, determined to extinguish the very flames that my soul thrived on and leave only the ashes behind.

Finally, the colours disappeared with the bright light of the morning sun. For a moment, a spark of optimism provided light through the murky rain, a beacon of hope to any passing travellers who would stumble upon it. However all flames soon die, and this spark was put out sooner than the rest; the figure who had flung open the curtains to my room was unfamiliar. Though somewhere, I knew it was physically impossible for it to be that person (though the reason to that, too, evaded me). Yet that didn't stop the disappointment that followed after my dreams had left.

"Today's the big day!" They had chirped happily, yet with the politeness that the usual maid would possess.

"Yes," I acknowledged with just as much as distant friendliness as usual, a broad smile stretching my lips. And I felt every muscle ache as they were pulled taut. It was more difficult than I thought to act as if excited, seeing as today would be the day that I was bound to someone that I couldn't be more disinterested in. But, alas, they grinned back, completely unaware of the fact that the smile I so often held had become so fake.

It was almost immediately after waking that I had to dress, the finely tailored suit hand-sewn to the exact measurements feeling more and more like a cage with every passing second. Even such a feeling did not drag that smile from my face, though, as if it was glued there and could never be removed.

Every preparation seemed to pass so quickly- too quickly!- as time rushed past. Where minutes had dragged into days the night before, hours became seconds today. A feeling of dread bubbled up in my gut, threatening to boil over and spill onto beautiful bouquets of flowers, onto floors cleaned so diligently that every inch of them shined, onto this damned suit which would lead to nothing but confinement to a woman I did not love for the rest of my life.

I couldn't take my eyes off those flowers, so beautiful in colour, as I waited for my carriage. Servants had long given their best wishes and had scurried off to prepare everything else to be immaculate for my return. But it wouldn't just be my return.

Finally, the smile was allowed to slip from my face. Before, I had worn it so genuinely and freely, without a care in the world. Because I was happy. However there was no happiness to be felt in the current situation, apart from in the colour of those flowers. They were truly charming in some way, and I couldn't take my eyes off them. It was a familiar colour, one I recalled looking upon with such fondness. But I wasn't quite sure why.

Her eyes match the flowers.

That was my first thought when I'd looked up, seeing a woman stood away from the path, leering from the forest. Her hair, like spun silk, skin that looked so soft in the gentle late morning sun. But most of all, it was her eyes that appealed the most. With all of the lovely colour found in the blooming roses, tinted with a hint of sadness.

No- it was the other way around.

A beautiful sorrow was the main thing to be found in her eyes, followed by the colourful hue. They matched her expression in all of its forlorn elegance, with eyebrows furrowed and lips upturned in a pained smile. It was in those eyes that I saw it, realised it within an instant that took my rushing towards her, those flowers left behind on the cobbled track: she was the key to what I'd lost.

When we embraced it was like the rekindling of the fire I'd lost in the past days, weeks, months, who knew how long? Who cared? As I left behind the home I'd known for my whole life, I knew that I didn't. Not if I could find the happiness that had been stolen from me without me even knowing.

Rather than the lavish lifestyle promised to me if I'd married the girl I'd been promised that day, me and the stranger soon made a humble life in a small cottage, detached from the rest of the world. We survived on what we grew, and ran through each day as if we were the only people in the world. And to me, we were. Although my memories from before that day have yet to return, my joy had come back in heaps and bounds. Almost every minute of the day was spent together, and I couldn't be more content.

At least, that's what I'd like to think.

However with the cheerfulness brought by this woman, there was a deep sense of self-hatred stirring in my heart. It was as if I was betraying someone by enjoying these days spent with her. Deep down, it was as if I knew it was meant to be someone else. Someone similar in many ways, but massively different. It was confusing, almost terrifying how there seemed to be no solution to end this misery. But I avoided this feeling like the plague, busying myself during the day and relaxing with her during the night. I filled that empty feeling with actions, anything to avoid thinking. Because thinking too much would only hurt me again and again, in the end.

She, too, seemed to be suffering, despite how happy she seemed when engrossed in something. Whenever conversation had long ran dry and there was no more work to be done for the day, that sadness that made her eyes its home only intensified. Just one look could tell you that guilt ran like blood through her veins, and that she had done something heinous in her past. Perhaps many things. Though that should have bothered me more than it actually did, as instead of approaching the subject, I merely focussed on bringing and keeping our happiness present.

"You know," I had said once, a cheeky grin written all over my features. Her expression was one of endless amusement as she stared back at me. It was close to mine, was her face, and her hands cupped mine, which held her face.

"You could pass for a guy." And though I had laughed, half-joking in the matter, the laugh she gave was half-hearted, tainted with a hint of bitterness. For a moment, I'd worried that I had offended her, with that dreadfully pretty look in her eyes once more. However it disappeared upon her noticing that I saw, and she merely grinned a full grin back,

"Do I take that as a compliment?" She had asked, though didn't look offended in the slightest even if it wasn't.

"Of course!" I had replied immediately, adding on: "though you'd be a very beautiful boy."

"I don't think boys would find that very complimentary, you know."

"Well, handsome, then!" Enthusiasm seeped into my voice just as it had always done in the past, not feeling unnatural in the slightest, "is that better?"

Her hands, slightly cold to the touch, squeezed mine as she had snickered softly, leaning in closer, "I guess."

They were cold, even now, as she lingered behind me. I could feel her gaze looming over my shoulder to glare at the man who'd invaded our little corner of the world.

"Can I help you?" Though I was indeed smiling, finding it much easier with my lover (for some reason, it slightly stung inside to phrase it like that) behind me, there was a tiny spark of rage that threatened to fester and grow if this man did not leave. If he threatened our peace here, then even I was hesitant to find out what I would do.

"The person behind you." His voice was cold, like being snowed in during a blizzard without any wood to start a fire.

There was no need to look behind me to find out who he was referring to, so I didn't look over my shoulder lest she begin to panic, "what of them?"

"Give them to me." Their responses were immediate, a hint of a bite to each word that he hadn't bothered to hide. They were clearly dangerous, but their presence did not scare me as much as the questions of what would happen to her if she were to go with him.

"Why?" I had asked instead, without much internal debate. To hand them over would be to welcome back in that bottomless despair, without any light to help me out. This woman was my saving grace from such a fate, someone who had aided me in so many ways up until (and including) this day. To hand her over, too, would be to hand over the familiarity I had lost, a sensation that could only be found in her presence.

She tried to speak, voice trembling and unsure. Before she could sound a word I turned to look at her in those eyes which I adored so much. It was obvious that she was worried, terrified, and was trying to protect me over herself. But what sort of partner would I be to let her do that for me, while she would undoubtedly suffer instead? In those eyes, I could tell without a second glance that she had suffered enough for me as it was, and so I refused to let her suffer further.

"There's no need to be worried," I squeezed her hand gently, it seemed to cool down my blood that had begun to boil, "I'll keep you safe."

This didn't seem to persuade her; she was a rather tough customer when it came to things like this. However she was cut off once more when she tried to speak, this time by the man who'd invaded this little home of ours and intended to destroy our peace.

"You don't need to know that.-" like hell I don't! "-All you need to know is that I'll take them either way. Except if you resist then you'll wind up dead."

It was soon after he had finished speaking that I reluctantly let her hand go. Because if he were to attack and she was so close, then there was a chance that she could be caught in the crossfire as well. That was a situation that I'd immensely like to avoid.

"I refuse." Was my answer, and I hoped that the confidence that I had built up did not falter in this moment. Failure was not an option here in order to keep her safe.

But I wasn't even given a chance to hear what he said next, before his claws that seemed to sprout from nowhere had dug into and slashed my skin into ribbons. It was painful- oh god it was painful! There was so much blood, and so much pain that my nerves felt like they were shutting down. I crumpled inwards onto myself, onto the floor. The pain was immense, though her screams were even more painful than I could ever have imagined. Her tears more painful than it all as she began to wail.  She didn't stop, even as she dropped besides me to immediately attempt to stop the bleeding.

Her hands shook as she applied pressure, but couldn't seem to apply enough to allow the wound to clot. One of them rose to wipe at her eyes furiously, which turned red around the edges. But not as red as her hands, which were coated in a deep and dark red that could only be my own. It was such a shame, for such a colour didn't belong on hands like hers. Those hands which had partaken in the impossible task of helping to heal my soul, which were now stained in the blood wrought from my own foolishness. From my own inadequacy to protect her, like a partner should.

I tried to smile at her, to assure her that it would all be fine, to apologise to her for the mess that I'd dragged us both into. The tears only seemed to quicken in speed and increase in volume when she saw, and quickly broke eye contact to put more effort into trying to help the slash clot. Each push onto it was like a new layer of agony, piling on top of each other until it was impossible to see the bottom of it all. It hurt more than the wound itself, perhaps. But maybe that was the price to live. And I wanted to live, now more than ever, so that I could continue to live out my life into the era of old age with the person I cared for so dearly. Even if every time I looked at them, a feeling of guilt stabbed me in the gut. Even if I could never know the source behind the mass of melancholy that she seemed to live off.

Suddenly she stopped, and wept into the hands that had been caked in thick layers of crimson. Sadness seemed to suit her in a way, but I think that's because she wore it so often. It was like a second skin for her. However I think that happiness would suit her much better. I doubted that such a thing could be found in her if she was to be taken by that man, who looked on with cold, sadistic amusement. Such a man is not worthy of her company, which is the type that could bring sunshine to any rainy day. And so I steeled my resolve, pressing my own hands onto the wound. They were heavy, like tonnes of lead, and could muster very little strength through them, but if I could help her at least a little bit, then I would try my very hardest.

Until my last breath, I would try my very best for her.

That was what I'd resolved to do, until I heard it beside me. A cracking, splintering of bone and tearing of flesh. Jagged movements, painful to watch, could be observed from the corner of my eye. I wasn't sure what brought me to glance over, but I was even less sure of what made me continue to watch. I suppose it was like watching a tragedy before you, with the pain that she must have been feeling through such a change in internal structure. From a very brief look elsewhere, it appeared that the man was not expecting this either, and that was what concerned me even more.

Finally, the reformed figure met my eyes. Those same eyes as the woman, yet the familiarity I'd seen in them was a hundred times more potent, the sadness in them triple as intense.

How could I have forgotten?

How could I have forgotten?

How could I dare to have forgotten him, the demon that had lived by my side for what felt like an eternity? And it was an eternity that I swore that I'd look back on with fondness, after I had driven him away. It was an act of cruelty that I had bestowed upon him, to reject him with such force and force my gaze to harden into stone as I cast it upon him. But it was one that I had thought necessary at the time. After all, I would only bring more cruelty to him if I were to accept his feelings, as the world is a cruel place to those who don't fit the mould. Humans would seek to kill him without remorse due to what he was. That was something I could not bear to see, especially as those closest to me hunted those like him without a second thought. Hell- I'd done the very same for an enormous part of my life. But to see him die? I couldn't bear the thought.

But today, it seems like I would have to, with his new form that had only just been built-up being broken down once more. And I could feel it- the gash was beginning to clot and close in time that human mortality would not allow. It was relieving, yet agonising. For me, the physical pain was ceasing, but his pain must be immense.

There were a thousand questions that I wanted to ask, and a thousand more to follow-up. However by the rate at which he was deteriorating before my very eyes, I knew that he wouldn't be able to ask even one. He was going to die, just as our time together had been restored. Right here, right beside me.

It was too much to even think about, so how could I live through it?

The tears that I'd been holding back had blurred my vision for too long, and so they broke free and rolled down my face. They were hot, boiling against my skin as they went down their path. Just as I held him for the first time, I held him again, forehead pressed against his. It was cold, as always, and I was so grateful for every second that I could feel him and his cool touch.

If this was the closest that I'd get to heaven, then please let me feel it a bit longer.

Time is continuing to run out, and his end is visibly near. Please, I beg of you, the you that kneels in my arms with a look so vacant- I know that what I feel will never be able to reach you, not before you disintegrate like you would in the light of the morning sun in which we met for the second time. But I beg that this vow reaches you: that I will continue to love you for the rest of the life that you've given me. I will dedicate it to you, and live on as if you were walking the path that I will walk upon too.

Perhaps after that, we can meet again.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, stillwatersnarwhal

June 30- a WinterShock fluff and/or crack fic, maybe with multiple personalities for Bucky , for @stillwatersnarwhal

Written by @ibelieveinturtles

The multiple personalities are only hinted at here. I didn’t quite get to showing them in more detail. Enjoy!

Bucky is used to not being able to find an empty bed in the safe house they're shacked up in. It's not a huge problem - because often as not, they don't all sleep at the same time anyway - but on the rare occasion they do, it's more a case of finding a bed that still has room.

He has his preferred bed buddies - they all do - but really, no one can afford to be fussy unless they want to sleep on the floor.

He's shared sleeping space with Steve more times than he can count. Steve's good to share a bed with because he rolls onto his side and then doesn't move again until he wakes up.

Sam sprawls. To share with Sam, one must first rearrange every limb he has, then dive in quickly before he rebounds like a jack-in-the-box. Sometimes it's easier to wait.

Clint and Wanda are both used to sharing their sleeping space with other people, which helps even though Wanda has nightmares almost nightly. She sleeps stiffly, lightly, sparingly - afraid of what slumber brings, succumbing only when exhaustion conquers her.

Scott is a cuddler. He clings like an octopus and Bucky doesn't mind - it's quite nice to have someone who's not afraid to snuggle up to him.

Bucky has his own sleeping habits. The nightmares aren't as frequent any more but they've been joined by another issue - sometimes, Bucky doesn't wake up as Bucky.

The Soldier only comes out after a particularly bad nightmare or mission. Princess Shuri removed all his triggers and programming but the remnants appear whenever he needs to take an emotional step back. Thankfully, the ghostly remains of the Soldier are usually content to just wander off to be alone somewhere until whatever caused his appearance has passed, and no one ever gets hurt.

One day Natasha shows up with a pair of exhausted looking women that only Clint seems to have met before - although Steve and Sam claim recognition once introductions are done.

Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis became fugitives after government officials descended upon them, insisting they sign the Accords because Dr. Foster's work has been deemed a threat to world security. Lewis proudly tells how she quietly sabotaged all their equipment while Dr. Foster distracted the goons; using a special virus she created herself to scramble the computers once all their data was secure. After successfully avoiding an official signing for several hours they fled at the first opportunity. There's a lot of swearing and gesturing during the telling of the tale and Bucky is quietly captivated.

It does mean that the beds are even more crowded now. Natasha leaves again almost immediately, saying she has things to take care of, but they've still only got three double beds and now there's eight people to put in them. It's a struggle, but they manage.

The two women slot smoothly into the group. Foster frets about her research and all the events and appearances she’ll be missing but Lewis treats the whole experience like a vacation, making friends with everyone. She’s like a breath of fresh air.

A couple of weeks later, Steve and Bucky pull into the drive. It's 2am and they've been awake for 47 and 43 hours respectively. They've been out on a supply run, driving to a town well away from where they're hiding. Bucky is more ready for sleep than he's been for a long time but as he wanders from room to room, he realises that all beds are currently occupied.

Wanda is cuddled up with Foster, and Bucky can see straight away that she's more relaxed than he's seen her for quite a while. Clint and Scott are sleeping back to back, and Lewis is sharing with Sam. Now there's a surprise, as she's an even bigger bedhog than he is. When Lewis sleeps, it's in diagonal starfish mode and for such a small woman she can easily occupy an entire double bed on her own. Lewis and Sam have somehow managed to weave themselves together and sleep at the same time. It's a bit like looking at a first grade art project made out of string and pasta. After staring for several startled seconds, Bucky turns to leave but pauses when there's a whisper from the bed.

“You look like shit. Get in here."

Turning back, he sees Sam looking at him.

"You'll have to slide in when I slide out, otherwise she'll be impossible to move."

Bucky frowns, then shrugs. He doesn't have the energy to argue. Sam extricates himself from Lewis and Bucky takes his place. He's asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow but he still registers the still-sleeping Lewis slide an arm around his waist. It feels good. It's also the best sleep he's had for weeks. When he wakes up alone twelve hours later he misses her weight along his back.

It’s only a matter of days before they end up sharing a bed again. He goes to sleep alone and wakes up with Lewis clinging to him like a limpet. She has a surprisingly strong cling for such a small woman. He tries not to but he still manages to wake her while trying to wriggle free.

“Where you going?” she mumbles, curling her fingers into his shirt. “Stay.”

“I can’t.”

“Can.”

“Can’t. Lewis, lemme go.”

“Noooo.” Her grip tightens and even though he’d like to stay, Bucky has to pull out the best excuse.

“Lewis, I’m bustin’. I have to get up.”

Lewis groans but let’s go. Bucky rolls out of the bed, careful to tuck the blankets back in before he leaves. Just as he opens the door, he hears another murmur.

“Darcy.”

“What?”

“Call me Darcy. Not Lewis.”

Bucky smiles. “Okay, Darcy.”

She finds a lot of excuses to spend more time with him after that, and he’s not complaining.

The next time Bucky's in dire need of sleep it's the middle of the day. Everyone was up and down all night due to some rather aggressive weather but each bed is only half occupied. Sam is doing his starfish impression, Foster is in the next room (although all the men tend to stay away from her, because she has a tendency to bring a knee up, sharp and sudden, for no discernible reason at all). And then there's Darcy.

Bucky stares at her current sleeping position. For once she's only taking up half the bed. Except it's the top half of the bed. She's sprawled face down across the pillows, one leg dangling over the front edge, one arm over the other edge. Bucky could fit next to her but he'd have both legs off the edge of the bed from the knees down. He's hesitant to try and move her though because when Steve tried it a few days ago, he'd ended up on the floor, hands cupped around his balls, and blood flowing from his nose. (No one's sure how that happened - super soldier reflexes are usually much, much better than that.)

Bucky sighs and chickens out. It would be easier to wrestle for space with Sam again, except by the time he gets back, Scott has already insinuated himself beside Sam, and Bucky knows without looking that either Steve or Wanda have probably curled up with Foster by now. (He checks anyway. It's Wanda.)

Bucky turns around to see Steve and Clint standing in the doorway of Darcy’s’ room.

“I'll take my chances on the floor,” Clint mutters, walking away as Steve stares blankly into the room. Bucky wanders back to the doorway, slinging an arm around his buddy’s shoulder as they observe the sleeping woman.

“If you don’t mind your feet hanging over the edge you could probably get in there without disturbing her,” Bucky says quietly. He casts a sideways glance at Steve and allows a tiny smirk to dance around his mouth. Steve returns the glance, but not the smirk.

“I think I’d feel safer in a lion’s den,” Steve replies as he rubs his face tiredly. “I’m sure I can wait a few more hours. Besides,” and now Steve does grin at him, “you’ve been awake longer than I have. You need the rest more than I do, Buck.” Steve pats him on the back before turning and leaving. “Sweet dreams, Bucky!”

Bucky turns back into the room, taking the few steps needed to reach the bed. Darcy hasn’t moved a single muscle since he first peered into the room and while he’s tired enough to sleep anywhere, in any position, he’s still not sure if he wants to risk trying to move her.

“Why the hell can’t you just sleep like a normal person?” he mutters to himself. "Alright, Darcy. Move for me, please."

To his surprise she rolls over and blinks at him. "Wassgoinon?"

"You're using the bed wrong," he replies.

She glances around, then slowly wiggles herself around until she's the right way round. "C'mon then,” she says, patting the pillow next to hers. “All fixed. Get in here so I can go back to sleep.”

He quickly strips down to his singlet and shorts before crawling in next to her. She immediately plasters herself against him and it feels fantastic.

“You’re my favourite bed buddy, you know,” she whispers after a while.

“Yeah?” Something blooms in his chest and he realises it’s happiness.

“Yeah.”

[pb1138]

Fictober Day 6: Husky, feat Josephine and Asena

Part 2 of This One (Tumblr) || This One (Archive)

Modern au, mafia au

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4         AO3

The soft chatter scattered about the restaurant seemed so far away from their table, tucked into the corner against the window. In the dim lighting aided by two softly lit candles upon the table, Josephine gaped at her lover. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Asena chuckled softly at Josephine’s floundering. “I asked you to move in with me.”

Josephine stared across the table at her, jaw slack, mind racing. “I-I couldn’t!”

Quirking a brow at her, Asena sipped her wine. “Oh? And why ever not?”

“We’ve only known each other for six months!”

Asena rolled over the protestation in her mind, and Josephine could see the way the ring in the center of her lower lip was beginning to roll as it often did when its wearer was thinking. “It… I suppose it is fast,” she admitted at last. “I can understand if you’d say no on that basis, but I do wish you’d take some time to consider it if that’s your only reservation. I feel good about this, Josephine. About you. Us.”

Thankfully for the dim lighting in the restaurant, Asena couldn’t possibly see the darkening of Josephine’s cheeks. If she were honest with herself, she’d know that the novelty of their relationship was not truly the problem. She was floundering, scrambling to find something, anything to tell her not to do this. Impetuousness was not something that came easily to Josephine Montilyet, after all. “Well…” Mierda. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. “I… I have a lease! With my apartment! I can’t just break it.”

“Sure you can.” She seemed almost delighted at how easy these rejections were to beat down, the smug bastard.

“Well, it would be disadvantageous to do so. After all, it’s a $400 fine to break the contract in addition to a full month’s rent. And what about Cullen and Leliana? They cannot afford to pay for the house on their own.”

Asena chuckled, leaning back in her chair to observe her. “You know I’m happy to help you, Josie. And Cullen and Leliana can find another roommate. Maker knows they have enough friends. Until they do, I’m happy paying any deficit they have. And my new apartment is just oh so lonely without a roommate,” she pouted playfully.

Josephine stared at her for a long moment. “You’ve really… thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Hermosa Josefina,” she purred, sitting forward, her voice lowered to a husky dulcet. “I do nothing without first thinking it through.”

“But… We hardly know anything about each other. We’ve only been dating six months…”

Asena’s gaze softened, and she sat back again, a warm smile against her lips though her eyes betrayed her soft sadness. “You don’t have to, of course. I won’t be offended. It is kind of fast.”

Josephine swallowed hard and stared down at her steak, thoughts flying a million miles per hour through her head. As the minutes passed and Asena took up her own fork again, Josephine came to a conclusion at long last. “Alright.”

Asena’s hand paused over her salad, a brow raising at her. “Pardon?”

Tilting a shy smile up at her lover, Josephine reached across and gently slipped her hand over Asena’s. “I would like to move in with you.”

Slow comprehension spread easily across Asena’s face, quickly replaced with a brilliant grin. “You’re sure?”

Nodding, Josephine squeezed her hand then withdrew to sip at her own wine. “Mm. I… I find that I care about you deeply, my Lady Adaar. I think it could be… good.”

“Brilliant!” Asena clapped her hands together lightly, eyes alight in the candlelight. “We can do it as soon as you’d like. I don’t want to rush you, after all.”

Josephine giggled and nodded. “You’ll have to help me pack, of course.”

Rolling her eyes, Asena caught the eye of the server and politely raised her hand. “Of course, mi hermosa Josefina. I’d be only too delighted to do your… heavy lifting.” Her voice dropped with the last two words, bringing a blush to Josephine’s cheeks that made Asena chuckle.

The server brought over their check and clasped her hands in front of her waist. “Can I get you anything else, Lady Adaar?”

“Josie? Some desert, maybe?”

Josephine shook her head, supplying a polite smile to the server. “Not for me, thank you.”

“Then none for me, either.” Asena nodded, passing the bill and a credit card back to the woman, shooting her a smile of her own. “Thank you.”

“I trust this new apartment of yours isn’t the stuff of college student nightmares?”

“Josie, you wound me. In all the time you’ve known me, have you ever thought my taste less than exquisite?”

“Well, there was that shirt you wore the other day, the one with the stripes.”

Asena gasped dramatically, putting a hand to her chest in mock offense. “How… dare you!” she teased. “My grandmother knitted that shirt for me on her death bed!”

Josephine chuckled, sipping at her wine. “And was your grandmother blind when she died?”

“That’s beside the point,” Asena laughed. “But, no, mi amor, I promise you. There’s no holes in the floor, no splinters in the hand rails, no roaches scuttling about, nothing like that. You’ll be pleasantly surprised, I think.”

“I certainly hope so.”

Xxx

‘Pleasantly surprised.’ That didn’t even begin to cut it. Josephine gaped, turning slowly about in Asena’s foyer. She’d said “apartment” and Josephine thought of some small, one-bedroom hole in the wall with no elevator. Not… this.

“Asena… how—”

“I got a good deal on it. My boss does a lot of work for the owner of this building. They’re good friends, and when I said I wanted to move, they hooked me up.” She beamed at Josephine as she passed by her, carrying two of her heavier boxes with ease. “D’you like it?”

“I…” Clearing her throat, she stepped further into the large space to explore.

It was a penthouse, and say what one will, affording a penthouse in Val Royeaux, let alone one downtown as this one is… She’d only heard of the royal family and their courtiers owning any. The apartment itself was completely open, lined with floor to ceiling panoramic windows that went all the way around. A half-wall of exposed brick separated the huge, state-of-the-art kitchen from the living room which was built down a step and featured one of the biggest televisions Josephine had ever seen in person. Across the way, the bed sat on a raised step, separated from the rest of the apartment by Rivain-inspired screens depicting the ocean in a storm, and a rather large section of the corner was walled off, presumably for the bathroom. A balcony lined the entire outside, and all around the railing grew a vine which sported vibrant pink flowers.

“Asena, I…” Josephine comes from nobility. Though her family may not have been particularly wealthy in terms of enterprise, they still were one of the wealthiest families in Antiva City. It is a rare occurrence that Josephine should feel humbled. But this? “I’m speechless. Even with a discount, Asena, how can we afford this?”

“Not we, mi amor. I. I don’t expect or want you to pay for a single thing, ok?” She flashed her a brilliant smile as she slipped back to the open elevator packed to the brim with boxes. “I told you, my job pays really well.”

“Yes, but you’ve yet to tell me what that job is.” The mystery was beginning to wear thing. At first, Josephine thought that perhaps it was something embarrassing or personal, like some sort of sex work. On many occasions, Asena has had phone calls that required her to slip off somewhere private, and often when she returned, she had to leave immediately, sometimes changing into different clothes along the way. But unless she was the personal courtesan of Celene herself, there was no way Asena could afford this on an escort’s pay. No, now Josephine was beginning to grow wary. Drugs, perhaps? She’d heard of some back-alley lyrium dealers hitting it big.

Asena set the boxes down and smiled reassuringly at her. “I told you, mi amor. I’m a freelance contractor whose work requires her to sign frequent NDAs.”

Josephine raised a brow at her, took in her calm smile, the warmth in her expression, and sighed. Was she buying it? No, not entirely. Could she talk herself into buying it? Yes. For now. “Well, I don’t envy the person paying your checks,” she joked. “Or…” Looking around again, she giggled. “Perhaps I do.”

Asena came to stand beside her, an arm resting along her shoulders. “We can do whatever you want to it. Repaint, redecorate, rearrange, anything. Together.”

Josephine looked up at her impossibly tall lover and smiled, her arm snaking about her waist. “Together.”