#may i offer you a salami in these trying times

[pearlofmydreams]

Good news- I (kind of) understand how increases in crochet work now.

Bad news- we learn by doing and I have crocheted a slice of salami lol

[softersynths]

Can I offer Fake a nice slice of salami in these trying times?

you offer SLOMMY

Your friendship with fake peppino has increased. You may now use him as a special summon in battles

[verdemoun]

THANKS FOR REMINDING ME SEAN AND FOOD

Even after the gang learn to use expiration dates like yes some food is more perishable than others but Sean specifically grew up in Ireland 1879-1889ish. His Da, his favorite person, his idol, literally grew up during the Great Famine and I don't think that was a trauma he healed from or was able to protect Sean from. Sean absolutely inherited food insecurity. The gang are happy to laugh along with the running gag Sean can't keep his room clean but they know a lot of it is he gets so distressed over the idea of throwing food away even if it's expired and moldy. He will try to hide it for 'later'. Lenny has to keep a mental inventory of food that is about to expire because if it is not eaten or meticulously disposed of Sean will take it and has gotten food poisoning multiple times as a result.

His workplace in contrast are happy to support it. It's an elderly Italian couple, they appreciate the fact they hired the zoomiest erratic delivery boy in history but also a human garbage disposal who will merrily take home technically expired salami and enjoy it. 2 days technically expired salami is fine but it is a team effort to stop him saying shit like 'just cut the mold off the cheese it's fine' 'just don't drink the lumps in the milk'.

Kieran and instant meals is absolutely a thing. When I say instant I mean powdered. He was honestly the only one who struggled gaining weight while also being the one who really most urgently needed to gain weight. Bessie keeps that prescription high protein high calorie apple juice in stock at all times. Food is a nightmare of unexpected. Do you think he ever ate baked goods again after seeing a single spot of mold on a loaf of bread and learned that was a thing? Protein shakes, instant soup, rice cakes, instant potato, processed steam bag veggies and meat cooked to congratulations level of well done. If he cannot recognize what a food is made of he will not eat it. Rice, pasta, noodles, they do not look like food he will not touch them. Actually encouraging him to try protein shakes took a while but he now relishes the fact it is always the exact same (he will measure out the exact amount of water to make sure it is the same!!) He may be an Irish boy at heart but stew is a nightmare of vegetables cooked at different consistencies and he will only pick at it. Enjoys the taste sure but anxiety is too much.

Ironically he does really enjoy Mexican and Javier is very patient explaining the ingredients and letting him try stuff with the reassurance if he doesn't like it he will gladly eat it. Ugh I'm going to go off about how much the gang do not encourage Javier to connect to culture in canon era but Kieran adores listening to people talk about things they are excited and passionate about and will gladly sit through Javier's lectures on authentic Mexican and his stories of home. Javier also only cooks the way he was raised to, the recipe is the same every time and he is a perfectionist. Kieran does not fear pico de gallo as long as Javier solely was the one who made it. Will eat a bowl of it. Offer him a tomato any other time and he will not touch it.

While Arthur becomes a masterchef he absolutely was the first to start experimenting with food to disastrous effects that made them miss Pearson's bland mystery stews. Has mistaken salt for sugar when baking before he learned the importance of labels. Learned cilantro/coriander tastes like soap to him after accidentally dumping a mound of it into sauce thinking it was parsley. Arthur and John also in monkey brain mode together would do those hottest chip ever challenges and almost die.

Dutch's psych ward is bordering on resort living he treats his nurses like butlers laying in a sun chair in standard issue patient garb ordering hand squeezed lemonade doesn't even need to clear his throat before hearing an obedient 'yes, Mr Van Der Linde' and getting his refill. Gets a little giddy over the ridiculousness of tiny umbrellas as peak capitalism but drinks non-alcoholic pina colada for days. Crude jokes to Hosea about the magical effects of pineapple.

JACK'S RELATIONSHIP WITH PASTA HE LOVES PASTA Isaac took him to like wholefoods to see all the different shapes and types of pasta and Captain Angst lit up like a florescent lighting and bought all of it. John and Abigail are super uncomfortable with it but being kidnapped is one of Jack's happiest childhood memories he had good food, toys and experienced the high class luxuries hotels could only wish to offer. Will eat himself sick if he makes too much because he would never waste pasta. Carries a pasta measuring guide as one of his necessities after getting one as a gag present. Number 1 comfort food and boy does he need comforting. He will walk around eating a handful of plain pasta with the classic ardent desperation of both a wild horse and the gentle schoolgirl trying to tame it.

OMG WAIT SO UR AU HAS CHUBBY MACGUIRE

let the whole gang have their soft well fed happy era where they don't need to worry about where food is coming from no more treating beer like a necessary source of nutrition. don't care how long they've been warped they don't understand nor care for body standards or modern era aesthetics as long as they're happy and physically able to do the things they enjoy. dad bods and mom bods everywhere.

[kagejima]

You know, my brain is still stuck on the idea of Toshi being a stripper. Like he would probably be stiff at first but eventually he'll get into it and be the star of the club👀👀👀

HEHEEHEHHEHE OMG I'VE BEEN DYING TO TALK ABOUT STRIPPER!TOSHI!!! HE'S SO PRECIOUS.

@pan-cakez i don't know if you read it and that's why it's been stuck in your head but i hope you don't mind, but I'm actually going to tie this into my own stripper!toshi work!

It's actually the very first story (very first story, but tbh it's more of a prologue to the entire series) I ever posted on here when I started this blog back in may and i'm planning on it being my magnum opus heheheh

more thoughts under the cut (female reader, stripper club mentions obviously)

I'm gonna give some continuation into Stripper!Wakatoshi heheheheheh. This is sort of canon Wakatoshi?? He played volleyball in highschool and college but never went on to play professionally in this.

So, Wakatoshi... who has been asked by you if he wants to work at your establishment

And he's never really thought about it before.

But he knows he needs an actual job and rent is due soon.

And roommate Mattsun who has his fancy corporate job in marketing doesn't mind helping out and covering Wakatoshi's part of the rent at all, but Wakatoshi still feels bad because the townhome they share is definitely far from cheap.

But Wakatoshi doesn't even know if this is a good decision.

Nevertheless, he still takes your card when you give it to him. You tell him no pressure, he can take his time to think about it, but you'd be happy to have him if he accepts.

Tendou thinks it's a good idea, of course.

He won't shut up about it the whole time on the walk back from the restaurant.

"You'd be so good at it!" Tendou is telling him, "You're all big and strong! Ahhh, you'd have everybody swooning over you!"

"I can't dance though..." Wakatoshi tells him, "I can't dance regularly so I don't think I could even dance like the way I needed to for that."

"Ehhh, I'm sure they'll be lenient with you." Tendou shrugs before patting him on the back, "It's worth a shot though, isn't it? You could make a lot of money!"

"I guess..." Wakatoshi sighs when they reach the entrance to his townhome.

Tendou stands in front of him and puts his hand on his shoulder, a much more serious tone in his voice now, "You can do it, Miracle Boy. You can do anything you set your mind to. I hope you know that."

And Wakatoshi, for the first time in the conversation on this walk home, smiles.

His best friend always has his back no matter what. It's always been that way.

When Wakatoshi enters his home, he isn't expecting Mattsun to be there in the kitchen. It's late, and Mattsun usually has to put in longer hours at the office this time of year, but there he is, making a snack.

"Was wondering where you went off to. You left your gym bag so I figured it wasn't there..." Mattsun laughs.

"Drinks with Tendou." Wakatoshi answers, walking over to the glasses cabinet and pulling out one of their larger ones. If he wants to work out in the morning, he needs to stay hydrated so he isn't hung over in the morning.

"Ah? Did you have fun?"

"Somebody offered me a job."

Mattsun stops slicing the salami for his mini charcuterie board

"Oh?"

Wakatoshi nods and pulls your card out of his back pocket, wordlessly handing it over to Mattsun.

Mattsun knows exactly the place as soon as he reads the card.

"Oh, the girls at the office go to this place all the time! I've gone there for a few of their bachelorette parties," Mattsun's face lights up, "It's really nice too. Did someone try to recruit you?"

"The owner."

Mattsun is speechless.

"The owner, huh?"

Wakatoshi nods again before he takes a sip of his water.

"Weird," Mattsun's forehead creases, "I hear she's kind of elusive. I never saw here when I went there."

"There was some creep hitting on her at the restaurant so I had to step in."

Mattsun smirks, "Look at you being all Prince Charming."

Wakatoshi just continues to sip his water.

"So are you gonna take it?"

Wakatoshi shrugs, "Tendou thinks I should, but I don't know if it's a good idea."

Mattsun sighs. He knows Wakatoshi like the back of his hand after living with him for a few years, so he sees that Wakatoshi is nervous right now instead of indifferent to the entire thing.

"I think... that it wouldn't hurt to stop by there. See the place for yourself. Maybe introduce yourself to some of the other people who work there." Mattsun suggests as he hands him back the card.

Wakatoshi takes the card, examining it again.

There's the name of the club - Loveluxe - in white letters and it stands out from the deep blue-ish purple of the rest of the card on one side, with the address and phone number on the other side.

And your first name and personal phone number scribbled hastily in an empty spot in sparkly gel pen.

Mattsun asks if he wants to stay up and watch a movie he's been holding off on watching with him, but Wakaotshi declines.

Wakatoshi thinks about you as he's getting ready for bed.

He thinks about the way you looked so cute as you told him a little bit about the club you owned - he can't remember anything you said though - he was too distracted by the way your lips moved. The way the lace of your black bra was still playing peek-a-boo under your shirt and it took everything in him to not look down and offend you.

He thinks about the way you had smiled at him when you told him no rush to get back to you.

But he doesn't want to wait.

If Tendou and Mattsun think it's a good idea - he trusts them with his life - then it probably is.

Wakaotshi sits down on his bed and flips the card over and over in his hands again before he picks up the phone and dials your number.

A few rings into it and he's wondering if maybe he's making a mistake

He doesn't have any time to hang up though.

"Hello? Who am I speaking to?"

Your voice. It makes his heart do somersaults.

"This is Wakatoshi." He answers obediently.

"Ohhhh! Hi!" You say, and he can picture your perfect smile in his head as you say it, "What can I do for y--- OHMYGOD, PUT THAT DOWN, YOU TWO. I'M GONNA TAKE IT OUT OF YOUR PAYCHECK IF YOU BREAK ANOTHER LAMP!"

Wakatoshi pulls away the phone from his ear

"Sorry," You apologize, "I'm not usually like this. Some of the men that work for me are... chaotic." You sigh.

"It's fine," He smiles, "Um. I was wondering... if it would be alright if I stopped by? Maybe tomorrow morning?"

"Oh, yeah! We have our weekly meeting tomorrow morning too so you can meet everybody!"

Oh. He wasn't prepared for this type of answer.

"So is this a yes to my offer then?" You ask, and he can still see your smile.

"I think so?" He says hesitantly, "Maybe?"

You laugh and his cock twitches in his sleep pants.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning at 10 o clock then, Wakatoshi Ushijima."

[tsukishumai]

Hii. Can I please get 21 with akaashi? :)) also L O V E your work

+ Oops forgot to say my pronouns are she/her (for the 21 Akaashi) have a good dayy

Thanks for the request ! And tysm I love you <3

send me a prompt + ur fav character here :)

21. “I haven’t seen her/him/them smile like that in ages.”

Tags: mentions of alcohol/cigarettes, & meeting the parents lol

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: IM SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG I was having the worst case of writers block but anyway I’m kinda back I’m not sure if I like this one but I hope you do! Lmk ur thoughts <3

Akaashi put the finishing touches on the wooden board he laid out on the table, placing star-shaped fruit in empty spaces to make everything look vibrant and colorful.

“Whoa, where’d you learn how to make that?” you asked as you walked into the kitchen, two wine glasses balanced between your fingers in one hand and a large bottle of Cabarnet Sauvignon in the other.

“I saw a few posts online,” Akaashi stood back and admired his charcuterie board, nodding in satisfaction at how the salami river looked traveling between the mountains of brie and cheddar. “Do you think your parents will like it?”

You smile to yourself, wanting to point at that that’s the seventh time in thirty minutes that he’s asked if your parents would like something. But you figure the beads of sweat forming on Akaashi’s forehead indicated just how nervous he felt, so you placated him with, “I think they’re going to love it, Keiji.”

His lips twitched in some semblance of a smile for just one second before he brings a knuckle up to his lip.

“Or maybe I should put out fig jam instead of raspberry jam? Fig jam goes really well with brie, but I like the color of the raspberry jam better…”

Akaashi’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

“Too late, they’re here,” you practically giggled with excitement, setting down the wine glasses on the dinner table. Akaashi quickly started adjusting his shirt, pulling at the collar and tugging at the hem before you stepped in front of him. You gave a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, and said, “Don’t worry, Keiji. I just know they’re going to love you.”

The two of you opened the front door of your shared apartment in tandem, Akaashi standing back and smiling nervously as you threw your arms around your parents. He knows how much you’ve been missing home lately; Tokyo was nothing like your hometown, and he knows all too well the suffocating air of loneliness.

Akaashi liked to think he did everything he could to keep those demons at bay, but even he understands that he could never truly fill the void the same way family could. So when he mentioned inviting your parents over for dinner, offering to pay for the bullet train tickets himself, the excitement you had shown all over your face made him wonder why he didn’t suggest doing so any sooner.

Now that he was standing here, palms sweating as he stood under the scrutinizing gaze of your father, he thinks he maybe could have waited another couple of weeks to meet your parents.

“This is Keiji,” he heard you introduce, and he automatically bent over into a bow.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Akaashi-kun, none of that, get up and give me a hug,” your mother reached over to set Akaashi straight before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Akaashi’s eyes widened in surprise, looking over to you in a slight panic as you simply shrugged. “I’ve heard so much about you!”

“I just have to warn you, my mom can be kind of a handful,” you mentioned one evening while you were cooking dinner. Akaashi stood a few feet away from you, diligently chopping the vegetables you had given him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s really affectionate, for one. That alone is enough to throw some people off,” you mumbled, giving the beef in the pot one last stir before transferring it to a plate, “She likes to tease a lot, and you can never take what she says seriously. She laughs at her own corny jokes, not to mention she’s loud.”

You extended a hand out to Akaashi, and he promptly handed you the cutting board full of vegetables. You added them back in the pot, sautéing them gently.

“That sounds exactly like someone I know…” Akaashi quipped, and you threw your kitchen towel at him.

“Shut up and hand me the curry cubes.”

Before Akaashi could even think to bring his arms up and hug your mother back, she quickly let him go and diverted her attention to the stunning display on your dining room table.

“Oh my, what do we have here,” she exclaimed, moving over to examine the variety of crackers, meats and cheeses that Akaashi so artfully placed on a wooden board he bought at the local grocery store down the street.

“Yes, mom, it’s called a charcuterie board…” you quickly went over to show your mom, and Akaashi was left alone with your father.

Akaashi turned back to the stern-faced man, bowing deeply before uttering out his second, “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.”

Much to Akaashi’s relief, your father didn’t throw his arms around him, and simply returned Akaashi’s bow. Akaashi discreetly wiped his sweaty palms on the side of his jeans, waving a hand out to motion to the kitchen, “May I get you anything to drink?”

Your father didn’t reply, simply giving Akaashi a soft grunt and walked passed him to where his wife and daughter were laughing. Your mother and you both had a wine glass in hand, sampling different combinations the charcuterie board had to offer. Akaashi observed the way your dad didn’t reach for a wine glass of his own, opting to making himself a bite of salami and gruyere. Akaashi made his way to the refrigerator, grabbing a can from the emergency six pack he bought.

“My dad, on the other hand,” you set down the plate of katsu curry at the head of the dining table for Akaashi, and plate for you in the seat directly to his right, “He doesn’t really say much, but I promise you, he’s a total softy at heart. Don’t let the scowl fool you. He’s like, the total opposite of my mom.”

Akaashi came out of the kitchen carrying to glasses of water, setting one in front of you and one in front of himself before taking his seat at the table. “I guess opposites really do attract, huh?”

You picked up the glass to take a sip, smiling into the rim, “Yeah. I guess that explains me and you.”

Akaashi paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Akaashi nearly gleamed at the nod of acknowledgement from your father when he handed him a beer, nearly laughing at the discreet thumbs up you had given him from behind your mother.

Dinner went by without a hitch. Your mother made it easy, asking Akaashi about the details pertaining to his life, and offering him stories about your childhood. He chuckled at your frustrated groans whenever she whipped out her phone to show him baby pictures, asking her to forward him the one where you’re missing your two front teeth.

Your dad hadn’t said much the whole evening, but the crinkles formed in the corners of his eye all the same when Akaashi said a joke that made his wife and daughter howl with laughter.

“Akaashi,” your father grunted, standing up with a beer in one hand as Akaashi collected the dishes from the table, “Why don’t you join me on the balcony for a moment.”

Akaashi audibly gulped, and you fought a snicker from your throat as your grabbed the plates from Akaashi’s hands. “Go on, I got this.”

Akaashi nodded, feeling like his shoes were made of lead as he followed your father through the sliding door that lead out to the balcony. Akaashi promptly slid the door shut behind him, your father immediately leaning over to prop his elbows on the railing.

“That’s a good view,” he mumbled, waving his hand and motioning for Akaashi to stand beside him.

“Thank you,” Akaashi answered, taking his place next to your dad, “It’s part of the reason we chose this apartment.”

Your father nodded, taking out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He brought the white stick to his lips, lighting the end before inhaling a deep drag.

“I brought you out here because I wanted to thank you,” your father started, catching Akaashi by complete surprise. “I haven’t seen her smile like that in ages.”

Akaashi was stunned, staring at your father dumbfounded as he continued to let out puffs of smoke. A couple of heartbeats pass between the two of you, Akaashi searching for the words and trying hard not to let the tears further cloud his vision.

“I’ll do anything to make her laugh like that,” Akaashi said a little too quickly, coughing over his last word, “Sir.”

Just then, your father laughed, and Akaashi found himself smiling with him.

“That’s a good man. One last thing,” your father put the cigarette out and tossed it in the empty beer can in his hand, “Don’t tell them about this cigarette, okay? I told them I quit.”

Your father gave Akaashi two pats on the shoulder, leaving Akaashi on the balcony feeling like he could just about rule the world.

[ssson-of-sparda]

Two Dresses (Dante x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Patty desperately wants to know what happened between Dante and Y/N. Hopefully, Morrison is here to help. (Part 3 of A Tab To Erase) (Part 1) (Part 2)

Tags: Pre DMC3 Dante / Dante is Tony Redgrave / Love / Fluff / Slight ANgst / Implied Sexual Content / Explicit Language

Author’s note: Part 3 is out. Sorry for keeping you waiting. The story is coming to its end. Only one or two chapters left.

MISSION 3

Indifference is the worst form of contempt. But how can you be indifferent when a squeaking tiny voice as unbearable as fingernails on a chalkboard constantly splits your ears with endless whining? Dante wished to know.        “Pleeeeaase Dante. You promised.” Patty begged again as she almost sprawled on the man’s desk, strangely not caring about the grease or the tomato sauce that were disgustingly splattered on the wooden surface.      “I didn’t do such thing.” Dante nonchalantly took a bite of his pizza, trying to ignore Patty’s pleading blue eyes and her feeble attempt at convincing him to tell her the rest of his ‘love story’ (she had decreed it was one) with Y/N. “Come on, Dante! You have to tell me!” The frustration in every single word coming out of her mouth was growing stronger. You could hear it in the way her voice was becoming more and more piercing by the minute. And in spite of all the time spent with Patty, Dante had never succeeded in really ignoring her childish whims. “Don’t you watch TV shows?” She added. “You know full well I don’t.” And it was the truth. Except for adults programs once in a while, Dante cared less about television, contrary to Patty who was a professional binge-watcher capable of watching a dozen of episodes a day and still yearning for more.        “Well, even if you don’t, haven’t you ever experienced the frustration of a cliffhanger? Like, in Bolero in Spring, when Jenna has a car accident right after she decides to run after Josh to finally tell him he is the love of her life and that she loves him too and you know you’ll have to wait a whole week to know what happens next?”                Dante’s brain shut down after the first question, or maybe even before that, finding a not-so-surprising fascination for the slices of salami on his pizza and their perfectly round shapes. “Like I told you, I don’t watch TV.”      “Haven’t you ever longed for anything?”            “Yes actually. Right now, I long for peace … and quiet … and for you to finally shut up.” The girl glared at him, shooting daggers at him as sharp as a thousand Rebellions.

“What’s going on here?” Relief immediately shone in both Patty’s and Dante’s eyes when Morrison pushed the door of Devil May Cry, replacing the tension in the room with paternal warmth that was so like him.                 “Morrison! You got to help me. Dante doesn’t want to tell me what happened between him and Y/N” She complained with her small fists clenched tightly, a childish attitude that would have made Morrison smile if it hadn’t been for his surprise.“ You told Patty about Y/N? How weird of you.” “Not for free.”  “You know her, Morrison?” There was a gleam in Patty’s eyes, one only curiosity and excitement could create.       “By reputation. Everybody in the mercenary business knew who she was and was aware not to touch a hair on her head. I bet even demons knew. Y/N. Tony Redgrave’s beautiful girlfriend. And probably the only girl that could make Dante act somewhat … mature.” He said as he chose his words wisely, though he wasn’t sure they were fit for the memories of Dante he had in mind.                  “ What are you talking about? I’ve always been mature.”        “ Yeah. Because eating strawberry sundaes and pizza everyday is very adult.” Dante frowned, pretty sure he had once heard a similar reprimand coming from someone else’s mean mouth. His mother? No … but close. “Have you been spending time with Trish lately?”           “ Stop changing the subject and tell me the story!” Dante eyed at Morrison with an insisting look that meant ‘Get me the hell out of here.’ but today, he would not receive any help from his friend. “You know she won’t let go, Dante. So, should I tell her or should you?”              Dante sighed. “Two dresses off my tab and it’s yours.”

TWO DRESSES

Two star-crossed lovers in fair Redgrave City, where we lay our scene …

Are you kidding me?! What? I thought you loved that kind of lovey-dovey crap. Dante! Fine …

The rest of the story was no Shakespearian play. There was no betrayal, no sword fighting, no friend or parent tragically murdered, no forbidden love, no unfair ending, no … Who was Dante kidding? There was all that and worse. Another reason why he hated Shakespeare so much.                But when love started to bloom and with it the chances at a normal peaceful life, Dante never considered those dramatic events. Not even a slight second. After all, he was an overly enthusiastic nineteen year-old with the girl of his dreams on his arm and a long-awaited roof above his head. What could go wrong? Especially when all he thought about, all he imagined were simple mornings waking up with the one he loved so dearly and nights with his silver head in between…

“In between what?” “ Y/N’s fingers... Y/N’s fingers of course.” “ You’re not so good at making this story family-friendly you know that, Dante?” “I’m doing my best here, Morrison.”

And his epicurean – though quite lewd - plans were all shared to the utter despair of Y/N’s parents who constantly reminded Y/N of the big mistake she was making in getting involved with a boy like ‘that vermin Tony’.                 “What about college? What about that confortable life we wanted for you? How can you throw all this away for that boy?” Dante remembered the time Y/N’s mother had said that with a menacing finger and a poisonous tongue. That and the infamous “Is breeding with that trash and raising his filthy bastards truly what you want Y/N?”    So long the time that family had generously taken him under their roof for a few days. Guess money does make you stuck-up assholes after all. That’s what he had wanted to reply. But instead, he had just stood still, arms crossed over his chest and had remained silent, out of respect for Y/N and also because, deep down, he was sometimes thinking the same.

He wanted the best for Y/N. He wanted to give her the best life had to offer, all the things she wanted, all the things she needed but he only had a few dollars in his pocket and a list of debts he didn’t really know how the erase. And even though she seemed like she didn’t mind now, what would happen in a few years, or even just a few months. What would happen when the little he had to offer would not be enough anymore?

“Will you love me all the same in a few years?” She asked him, soft hands placed over his strong naked chest and (colour) eyes staring deep in his looking for the truth. “I’m sure I will love you even more if that’s anything possible.”               “Then stop worrying and stop with the silly questions already.” And she kissed him with all the comfort and the love she could gather. She kissed him like there was no tomorrow, like there was just them, only them, together, on that mattress on the floor in this furniture-less and decaying shop he had just been allowed to rent for an astronomical amount of money. “A neon sign.” “ What?” Dante asked a bit confused.                  “You should get a neon sign, like the one my parents had at the restaurant.” She added with a soft smile. “You want me to get a pink neon sign?” He joked and took delight when she laughed. She was so insanely beautiful when she was laughing. “It wasn’t pink. It was red.”                “ My coat is red. That sign was definitely pink. And pink doesn’t scream ‘menacing devil-hunter in the house’?” “Menacing devil-hunter?” She repeated, arching an eyebrow suspiciously. “Where?” Dante looked at her smirking mockingly at him. “Watch it you!” He pushed her on the mattress and went to lie his burning yet still sweaty body over hers to place a multitude of hungry lovely kisses on her neck, wishing this moment would never end.

But it ended, as all good things end eventually. Thanks to Enzo Ferino, once again. That piece of shit had the knack to ruin things after all.                “Tony! Per l’amore di Dio! Tony!” He shouted from downstairs, visibly alarmed if not terrified. “Speaking of the Italian midget.” Dante sighed, his lips still on Y/N’s skin, thinking that maybe ignoring Enzo would make him leave. “Tony!!!”           “Damn it.”          “Pretty sure the menacing devil-hunter hiding in this shop will scare him away?” Y/N taunted again and Dante grinned before pressing his lips on Y/N’s one last time. “Oh, he sure will. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Dante said as he reluctantly left his girl’s loving embrace to put on a pair of pants and go welcome his unwanted guest fidgeting in the hall.                    “ You’d better.”

“It better be important, Enzo.” Dante demanded as he lazily walked down the creaking stairs to show him how annoyed he was to see him here. “You’ve just ruined a perfect moment with my girl.”               “Y/N? Y/N is with you?” The man’s eyes were widened with fear and distress and even though Dante knew how much of a coward Enzo was, he had never seen him that way. “How many girls do you think I have?”  The short man leant against the wall and took a deep sigh. “Well, that’s relief I guess.” Dante frowned, unsure if he should remain annoyed or start asking questions. Hell, why not both. “Will you tell me what’s going on?”     “A man came to Bobby’s Cellar. Looking for you.”          “Not a first.” Dante walked pass Enzo to grab a bottle of whisky he had left early on on one of the many boxes he had not yet unpacked. “One of Denvers’ goons presumably.” He leant against the wall and took a mouthful of amber alcohol, thinking about the girl waiting for him upstairs and how he should have never left her.        “No. Not Denvers. That man was working alone and he asked about a certain Dante.” The half-demon froze for a second and his blue eyes darted a brief astonished glance at his partner. A man looking for Dante - Dante, not Tony - was no good news. “I said I didn’t know any Dante but then he described you and I thought che cacchio è. Then he threatened me and … He was scary, Tony”     “What did you tell him?”  Dante frowned. He had the feeling Enzo had fucked up. He could feel it in his guts. Otherwise he would have never rushed to his new place in the middle of the night to warn him. “That you weren’t here. That you certainly were with Y/N. And then he had me, Tony. I …” “ You mentioned Y/N?” Enzo took an immediate step back when he heard the anger in Dante’s voice. “ I … I’m sorry. He … He tricked me.” Then he took another step and another one, trying to stay as far away as possible from Dante, until his back bumped against the door and he was able to spot a terrifying red flame burning with rage in the mercenary’s eyes who was towering him menacingly. “What did you say about Y/N?”                           If the weird man in Bobby’s Cellar had scared the shit out Enzo early on, what he had felt back then was nothing in comparison to he was feeling right now. Paralysed with fear, he couldn’t move anymore, couldn’t speak. He could only stare at the raging fire in Dante’s eyes and feel a burning warmth emanating from the young man’s body against him. Were those the flames of Hell? Was he about to be punished for his sin? For betraying his partner?    “What did you say?” He shouted and Enzo trembled and squealed like a pig, arms covering his face to protect himself. Yes, his man Tony was about to flay him alive. He was sure of it. “What are you?” He mumbled.

“Tony.” Enzo thanked all the gods for that divine intervention. Though whom he should have truly thanked was Y/N and her soft reassuring voice that had miraculously pulled Dante from his dark rage.

I like her. Dante smiled.

“Stop please.” Enzo felt Dante calm down and when he finally walked away from him, the small man took a deep breath. “If something happens …” Dante didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to and Enzo was already nodding furiously. “I know.” He blindly grabbed the handle behind his back and quickly opened the door to run away as fast as he could.

Dante watched him running in the cold night with a frown until he couldn’t see him anymore. Then he swiftly strode back to Y/N waiting for him on top of the stairs to pull her in a strong protective  embrace. And when his lips pressed in her silky hair and she realized he couldn’t let go, she started worrying. “What is it?” She had never felt him like that.                  “It’s nothing.” He replied softly even though the voice in his head was screaming things like Don’t you get out of my sight, even for a second. I can’t lose you. Not like my mother. I love you so freaking much. “Stay with me tonight.”

But deep down, Dante wasn’t sure this was the smartest decision.

***

“And so was it?” Patty curiously asked as she stared at Dante with her big blue eyes. “ Was it what?” He replied, pretending not to understand. He loved teasing her. “ The smartest decision?” She clarified with an enthusiasm that clearly showed her interest and her will to know more. “ I thought you loved cliffhangers.”

[waywardnerd67]

Sweet Slice

Title: Sweet Slice Summary: (Y/N) is new to Lebanon escaping the big city life when she gets a job at a local bakery. Things get complicated when her past returns and her boss gets in the middle. Pairing: Dean x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 2173 Squared Filled: Baker!Dean Bingo Card: @spnaubingo​ A/N: The sandwiches described are from the grocery store my mom works at. They can be found at http://www.straubs.com/category/sandwiches

Check Out: SPN AU Bingo Masterlist

Staring out over the horizon, (Y/N) watched as the sun peeked over rising into the dark sky. Black and navy faded into beautiful pinks and reds as a sign of a new day. Breathing in the cool morning air, she threw up a few silent thank yous to whatever higher being was listening to her. Grateful for a new day, a new start and a new life for her. Carefully standing on the rooftop, she climbed back in through her single window and started mapping out her day.

(Y/N) had only lived in Lebanon, Kansas for three weeks. Finding a studio apartment above the only bakery in town that was owned by the handsome Dean Winchester. She gave him almost all her savings for the first month's rent and went in search of work. In a town of only two hundred-fifty people finding a job was harder than she expected. Until last week, when she approached Dean about the next month’s rent and offered her a job on the spot.

Now, as she pulled the hair out of her face and wrapped a red bandana over it (Y/N) headed downstairs for her first day at Sweet Slice. Approaching the kitchen entrance she could hear Led Zeppelin playing through the store speakers and pans clanging against one another.

“Morning boss.”

He looked over his shoulder a wide smile spreading across his face, “Good morning, let me get this pie in the oven and then I will give you your mission for the day.”

(Y/N) chuckled watching as he finished the pie he was working on. No one would ever believe from looking at Dean that he was a baker. His broad shoulders, muscular arms gave off the impression he was a tough guy. There were a few scars on his forearms she could see from the sleeves of his flannel being rolled up to his elbows. His large hands and thick fingers were the most deceiving as they gently and delicately handled creating the lattice pie crust on top.

“Ready?”

His husky voice brought her out of her daydream as she nodded following him to the other side of the kitchen. On the long table were various deli meats and cheeses along with a variety of breads then seemed to be freshly baked.

“I’ve always had this idea of not only offering specialty pies and baked goods but also to have a lunch hour with sandwiches on some of our breads. Today, I was you to just come up with some sandwiches for the menu and I’m going to taste test them for lunch.”

She smirked, “So basically you want me to make you a sammich?”

His laughter was infectious filling her body with a joy she hadn’t felt in a long time, “Yeah, I guess so. One of the perks for being the boss. If you need anything just holler at me.”

(Y/N) grabbed the pencil and paper on the table and started writing down some ideas she had. Sandwiches were something she knew all about being from New York. As a teenager she had worked at her local deli making sandwiches and giving the old mob men trouble as they flirted with her. The memory sent a chill down her spine. It was in that deli shop she had met Wyatt and her life changed forever.

Shaking her head, she went back to her list of sandwiches and began constructing them. A few of them, she had to have Dean bake up a few hoagie rolls because regular bread would not be right for them. By noon, she had assembled six different sandwiches for them to enjoy. She waited to garnish them until right before they sat down to eat. Dean had taken his flannel off wiping the sweat from his face from being near the oven.

His eyes widened as they glanced over the sandwiches plated in front of him, “These look awesome and I’m starving. Let’s dive in.”

The first sandwich was an Italian Sub that was on a fresh hoagie roll, spread with a mayo mustard blend and topped with salami, top round roast beef, baked and glazed ham, provel, dill pickle, onion, pepperoncinis and shredded lettuce. The noises coming from Dean as he devoured his half made her cheeks burn.

The next couple of sandwiches were simple ones with meat, cheese and simple lettuce, tomato, pickle toppings that could be offered cold or warm. The fifth sandwich was one her grandmother made for her every Sunday. Layers of baked and glazed ham, hard salami, mortadella, and provel topped with an olive Italian dressing blend on fresh baked focaccia bread.

“Now that sandwich sent my taste buds on an adventure. Whew!” He chuckled, finishing the last bite.

The final sandwich was her take on a grilled cheese sandwich. She had called it The Cure All making it whenever she had a particularly bad time of the month or a wicked hangover. On sourdough she placed two slices of cheddar, a layer of jalapenos, two slices of american, a layer of bacon, topped with caramelized onions.

Dean admired the sandwich for a moment before taking a large bite from it. His olive eyes rolled back as he closed them chewing slowly. She watched as he swallowed the bite and his full lips pursed together blowing out a gush of air.

“Wow, I think that may be the perfect sandwich and our signature sandwich to kick off a lunch special.”

Her cheeks were aching from smiling, “I guess I can add sandwich creator to my severely lacking resume.”

“If I have my way, you will never need a resume again and stay with me forever.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth a few things happened all at once. Their eyes snapped up connecting immediately. Her heart leaped within her chest with a bright, burning hope she has not felt in a long time. While Dean’s cheeks flushed crimson.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… not that I wouldn’t want to be with… um. Crap.” He put his head in his hands, “All I’m saying is you’re amazing and wonderful for what I have gotten to know of you these last few weeks. I think we would work great with one another.”

There was something deep within urging for her to reach out to him and after five years of being with someone who only pretended to care for her and use her she had kept herself guarded. Looking into Dean’s eyes, she could see the kind of man he was. The kind of man to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. The kind of man to go out of his way to care for someone. The kind of man that would protect those closest to him fiercely and without regard to his own well being.

(Y/N) reached across the table placing her hand on top of his, “There is nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you.”

It was in that moment that everything changed for them. They became partners in every way they could in their lives. Sharing the business together, his home together, building a life together over the next year. Until her past caught up to her in the little bakery in Lebanon.

It was a normal Tuesday as Dean and (Y/N) prepared for their normal lunch hour. Their business doubled from them adding a sandwich and slice combo. Some of their normal morning customers had picked up a pie or two for that evening so when the bell rang signaling another customer, (Y/N) thought nothing of it walking to the front counter.

“There you are my sweetness. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

She froze in her spot, the familiar raspy voice knocking the wind out of her. Looking up, standing in the middle of the empty bakery and locking the front door was the man of her nightmares. Standing nearly a foot taller than her, his jet black hair was slicked back and dark brown eyes narrowing in on her.

“H-How did you…” The words would not come out as fear struck her mind instinctively backing up towards the door leading into the kitchen.

His menacing smile spread wider, “You know I have my ways. You know when I want something I get it. No matter what.” He took two steps towards her as he spoke.

The same desperate fight or flight feeling kicked in pushing her feet towards the kitchen yelling, “DEAN!”

Before she made it two feet through the door a pair of thick, leather covered arms wrapped around her waist. She let out a piercing scream before Wyatt clamp his hand over her mouth. He walked them back through the door holding her tightly against his body where she could not kick or push herself away.

“You’ve always been weak and pathetic, but that’s how I like my women. You can’t fight me.” He snarled into her ear.

“But I can.”

She looked up wide eyed as Dean appeared in front of them stepping through the door. He was holding up a large iron skillet never once taking his eyes off of Wyatt.

“Put (Y/N) down now.” His jaw clenched as he spun the skillet in his hand.

Wyatt laughed pushing her into the front case. She cried out as shards of thick glass sliced and embedded themselves into her skin. She glanced up just in time to roll herself over the glass that had shattered as Wyatt’s large body flew back towards her. Crimson filled her vision as she looked down to the floor. Bile burned up her throat as the sickening cracking of breaking bones echoed throughout the room. Her vision darkened as the last thing she saw was the door crashing open.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Every inch of (Y/N)’s body throbbed. She could hardly lift her eyelids, her vision blurry from exhaustion and her glasses missing. Trying to speak, she coughed and a large hand engulfed hers. Instinctively, she flinched pulling it away. Squeezing her eyes shut terrified she would see Wyatt sitting beside her.

“(Y/N), you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her eyes snapped open tears freely flowing down her face, “D-Dean…” she croaked.

“Shhh. Don’t try to speak until you’ve had some ice chips.” He stood grabbing a cup and feeding her some ice, “After Sam and I took care of Wyatt, we had to rush you to the hospital. You lost a lot of blood and one large piece of glass embedded itself into your back.”

Dean became quiet looking down at their hands clasped together, “W-What hap-pen?” she whispered, eating some more ice and the cold soothing her burning throat.

She was surprised to see his eyes shining with tears, “We almost lost you and…” he looked away from her wiping his eyes.

“And what, Dean?” Her stomach churned and knotted a thousand thoughts running through her mind.

“And it wrecked me. I didn’t want to imagine life without you and when I did it gutted me.”

(Y/N) reached up wiping the few wayward tears from his cheek, “I’m right here because of you. Thank you.”

Her hand slipped down to his chest gripping his shirt and pulling him towards her. Every move she made was agonizing but worth it as his lips pressed against hers.

“I will always be here for you.” He whispered as she nodded her forehead resting against his.

Lying back she asked, “What happened to Wyatt?”

A low growl escaped Dean’s lips, “He and his buddy are currently in a cell hopefully getting to know their new roommates intimately.”

She wanted to know everything, but exhaustion was consuming her. Her eyes closing as Dean sat beside her on the bed humming her favorite Zeppelin song and lulling her to sleep.

Over the next several months, between her physical recovery and mental anguish as she relive her life with Wyatt to detectives and lawyers. (Y/N) slowly started getting her life back to normal. Dean accompanied her to New York where Wyatt and his goons were all put on trial for what they had done to her. After the guilty verdict was read, (Y/N) felt a great weight lift from her shoulders finally feeling free to live her life in peace.

When they arrived back in Lebanon, they noticed the vacant building across from the bakery had been sold and a new sign was being lifted into the air to attach to the store front. As the tarp fell to the ground, they both stared up completely stunned at what they saw.

The sign had a cake with a halo above it that read Angel Cakes Bakery. A tall, dark hair man stood admiring the sign before glancing over to them. He gave a small wave walking back into the building while (Y/N) looked over to Dean.

His jaw set in a strong line before muttering, “Son of a bitch…”

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[sparring-hyena]

date me.

i am once again a teensy bit drunk and figured i’d write something for you wonderful folks.

-

they have rules. a few of them, actually. if AJ really wanted to, she could probably sit down and write each one out. she’s not going to. but still. she could.

they’re all pretty standard rules, AJ thinks. most of them seem pretty fair considering their relationship. but there’s one rule that’s kinda sorta starting to bug her.

no sitting or standing together in public unless absolutely necessary. that’s the rule. that’s exactly what Poppy had said all those months ago. and at the time AJ hadn’t really thought too much about it. she was just glad that she’d be getting to spend more time with Poppy. so she agreed to the friends with benefits. could you even call them friends? they don’t do stuff that normal friends do.

maybe they aren’t friends then. they certainly aren’t dating. and that’s the part that’s kinda sorta starting to bug AJ. and maybe that’s part of the reason she gains the confidence to walk right up to Poppy in some quiet part of campus and sit down across from her.

“what do you think you’re doing?” Poppy says without missing a beat.

“lunch,” is all AJ says, pulling a sandwich and water bottle from her bag. “what are you doing?”

Poppy’s eyes narrow, but AJ’s spent enough time with her over the last few months to know that it’s not annoyance or frustration bubbling behind those beautiful eyes. it’s something else, and she’s still trying to figure out what, exactly, that something else is.

“want some?” AJ says, offering half of her sandwich to Poppy.

“no.”

AJ shrugs and takes a bit of her salami sandwich.

“what are you doing?” Poppy says again.

“i told you. lunch. i skipped breakfast, so i’m starving.”

“no. what are you doing sitting here?”

“oh.” AJ nods, swallows the food in her mouth before saying, “well, i thought it was about time you and i had a date.”

Poppy’s eyes go wide. “what?”

“i thought we should go on a date,” AJ says again, and even shrugs like what she’s just said is normal.

“no.”

“no?”

“this isn’t a date.”

“i never said it was. it just said we should go on a date.”

Poppy studies AJ for a moment. considers her answer and watches the way that she continues to eat her goddamn salmi sandwich so calm and casually. “and what makes you think i’d want go on a date with you?”

“because,” AJ shrugs, “you like me.”

Poppy scoffs. “no i don’t.”

“okay,” AJ says, not at all believing her. “if that’s true then, end it.”

“end what.”

“the sex. tell me you want to stop.”

Poppy goes to answer, but nothing comes out of her mouth.

“well?” AJ says, one of those crooked smirks on her face.

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.” AJ places her sandwich down and smirks. rests her elbows on the picnic table and leans in just a little bit. “i think you like me.”

“you wish.”

AJ doesn’t answer right away. just watches Poppy with that knowing smile, and then, finally, she says, “i know.”

Poppy folds her arms across her chest and rolls her eyes. “i’m not going on a date with you.”

“why?”

“what do you mean ‘why?’ i don’t need a reason.”

“you’re right; you don’t need a reason, and if you want me to leave, say it.” AJ quirks her head to the side and waits a moment. “i think you like me,” she says, “and i think that scares you. and i know you’ll say i’m wrong or deluded or just reading too much into the situation or something. and that’s fine. but i know—and you know—that that’s not true. this” —AJ gestures between herself and Poppy— “stopped being ‘just sex’ months ago.”

“i...” Poppy trails off. unsure of what to say next. and for the first time in... well, forever, AJ thinks Poppy actually looks shocked.

AJ reaches across the table and places her hand on Poppy’s, squeezing gently. “ i get that this is new and strange for you,” she says, softer this time. “but i need you to know that i like you. a lot. you’re allowed to want things, and you’re worth so much more than what you can do for people. so, date me.”

slowly, like she’s afraid AJ may pull way, Poppy turns her hand over in AJ’s and squeezes back.

“you don’t have to answer right away,” AJ says. “you don’t have to answer at all if you really don’t want to. i guess” —AJ shrugs— “i dunno. i guess, i just want you to know that.”

AJ goes to pull her hand away but Poppy stops her. “did you mean it?” she asks, voice soft.

“mean what?”

“when you said you liked me. did you mean it.”

“yes.”

another moment of silence passes. this one a little tense. AJ bounces her leg beneath the table, eyes flickering around their surroundings.

“okay,” Poppy says.

“okay?”

“you said we should go on a date. let’s do it.”

“really?”

Poppy nods, smiling that smile AJ swore was only for puppies. “really.”

“okay.” AJ beams. “are you free Friday?”

“yes.”

“awesome. i’ll take you out for dinner on Friday.”

“i’d like that,” Poppy says, squeezing AJ’s hand and stroking her thumb over the top of AJ’s palm.

[silverfrostheart]

Random drabble bit! Lemme know if anyone wants me to finish it or something!

~~~~~~~~~~~☆☆☆☆☆☆

The sun beat down on duel academy as Megan Yuki chased after her laughing twin brother, Jaden, who had mischeviously decided that it was a good idea to steal his sister's lunch.

"JADEN!! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU, I'M GOING TO BE AN ONLY CHILD!!!!" The twins friends, Bastion Misawa, Tyranno Hassleberry and Syrus Trusdale watched from a nearby bench. It was something that never phased them as it was normal for them at this point.

"How long till you think Meg catches him this time, Bastion?" Syrus asked, Sipping his juice box. Bastion chuckled.

"Judging by Megan's speed today and what the lunch is....I'd say give her two more minutes." He replied. Right on time Megan tackled her brother, Snatching the salami and cheese sandwhich safely out of Jaden's hands.

"Wow nice prediction, private!" Hassleberry said, praising Bastion's estimation skills. Megan huffed, dusting off her pants. She preferred the boys uniform to the girl's uniform. Though to make sure people could tell her and Jaden apart, she always rolled up her sleeves.

"I told you to quit trying to steal my lunch dweebus!" She huffed at Jaden as he got up from the ground, grinning. To outsiders the two may seem like they're at odds. But the truth was, they were as thick as thieves.

"Aw c'mon sis! I was just keeping you on your toes!" Jaden giggled, taking his own sandwhich out of his pocket. "Phew, thank god, you didn't smoosh it!" He teased. Megan huffed.

"I'll smoosh your face in..." She grumbled, sitting down on the grass. Syrus laughed.

"Man you guys are always really something." He said. And Syrus had meant that in a good way. The Yuki twins had been his dearest friends since everything began last year. Hassleberry laughed

"No kidding! Honestly when I first met y'all, I thought the Lady-Sarge was gonna bite my head off like a preying mantis!" Bastion snorted at that as he sipped his tea.

"Oh don't worry. That's just Megan in general." The Ra yellow smirked.

"HEY!!" Meg protested. Everyone burst into laughter. The temperamental slifer girl grumbled, pouting as she bit into her sandwhich.

"Well aren't you guys a boisterous bunch?" Megan groaned. GREAT. Just great....the others turned to see Aster Phoenix, smiling abit.

"Ugh. if it isnt Aster....." she huffed. Aster smirked.

"And if it isnt little miss dragon princess. Did you get any better insults while I was away? Cuz dust bunny and dandy boy really aren't very creative." The silver haired pro taunted. Megan's face turned red

"Oh shut up!" She hissed, in turn making Aster only grin wider. Jaden stepped in, knowing if he didn't, his sister was going to pick a fight. Yet again.

"Now now, let's not fight...." he said. He looked back at Aster. "What's up? I thought you left?" He asked. Aster shrugged.

"Yeah well i was going to...but after the crap with Sartorius 'enrolling' I figured I would too. Cuz something isn't right...." Aster explained. Megan rolled her eyes.

"Uh huh." She said. "Are you sure it's not just cuz you wanna be a pompous dick?" She huffed. Syrus coughed.

"Megan, Language.....we don't want you getting yelled at again...." he reminded the more fiery Yuki sibling. Aster smirked.

"Yeah Meggy, Language." Megan stood up. Her face bright red.

"Call me that again, Phoenix and you're dueling ME." she warned. Hassleberry, Syrus and Bastion looked at each other then to Jaden. Jaden sighed.

"Sis c'mon--" he started.

"No!! I'm not having this jerk just sit here all smug! He still tried to humiliate you! Or have you forgotten Jay?!" Megan protested. Jaden shook his head.

"I didn't forget. But Meg...." the gentle brotherly tone sounding. "Remember, I don't care. Those people will believe what they believe. At the end of the day, what matters is I kick their butts!" He smiled. Megan sighed, defeated.

"You're way too nice sometimes jay...." she smiled abit.

"Look, as cute as this little sibling moment is and as fun as it is to go back n forth with you meggy poo-- I DO just wanna talk. I even brought a peace offering." Aster spoke up. Meg growled.

"You have ten seconds to show me before I revoke your kneecap privileges for calling me 'meggy poo.'" Aster just simply raised a box of what seemed to be....canned coffee?

"Oh sweet!! Canned coffee!" Jaden exclaimed. He jumped over and took the box. "Ooooo it's a caramel mocha mix! Hey sis isn't that your favorite?' Jaden grinned. Megan glared at aster, her face red.

"You live for another day." She grumbled, walking over and snatching out a can. Aster teasingly bowed.

"Why thank you madam dragon. Your kindness is appreciated." He joked sarcastically. Then chuckled when Megan flipped him the bird.

[hazymultiverse]

Since I loved your first set of stand musings toward s/o is it possible to get some of bucci gang reacting to their s/o's stand and whatever shennagins insue when the couple's stands are together 💅 owo love you

You absolutely can. Stand interactions soothe my soul tbh.

This was a bit tricky at first, mostly bc stands can be so versatile, so these kinda center around the s/o having a fairly humanoid stand.

—

Bruno Bucciarati: upon seeing your stand, is probably going to compliment it, saying it reflects it’s user perfectly.

If your stand is affectionate, he’ll always oblige, letting it hang all over him, and pressing gentle kisses to the back of its hand.

You laugh sometimes about how it seems stuck on him, teasing that it may have plans to steal him from you, but Bruno is quick to assure you there’s enough of him for both of you.

Sticky Fingers is the perfect gentleman to your stand, offering his arm whenever the two of them are out, and seeming to protect your stand from any danger, or whatever mild inconvenience it can pretend is a danger long enough to sweep your stand off it’s feet. Your stand eats it up, and swoons into his arms, you and Bruno often watch the two rather amusedly, if not a little embarrassed that it’s coming from your own souls.

Leone Abbacchio: You really aren’t sure what he thinks of your stand at first, Leone isn’t known to be the greatest communicator, and you aren’t sure how to breach the conversation. Upon first getting his stand, he saw Moody Blues as a sick joke, mocking his hang ups on the past, and really isn’t sure whether that was a universal experience for all stand users, so he’s not about to compliment what might be a sore spot for you.

The first step for him came after a mission, where he made a comment complimenting the strength of your stand, and in thanks, it immediately floated over, kissed his cheek, and straightened up his hair a little. He really didn’t know how to react to that, but he wasn’t completely against it.

Moody Blues is ecstatic, Leone may be able to pry him off your lap, but your stand?? Free real estate.

You better hope your stand is okay with physical affection, because Moody will be all over it, sitting on your stands lap, letting your stand sit in his lap, floating next to each other, as long as they’re at least holding hands, it’s fair game.

Pannacotta Fugo: Fugo really won’t be too touchy with your stand, he isn’t even comfortable with his own, so he tends to keep his distance in general. You’re gonna have to make the first move. Eventually he’ll warm up to it a bit, talking to it like he would you, telling them about whatever books he’s reading, and reading aloud if they seem interested.

Purple Haze is the happiest you’ve ever seen him, as long as your stand is soft and gentle with him, maybe helping clean him up when he can’t manage, he’ll be a guard dog not to be reckoned with. Haze nuzzles into your stand, holding them as much as he can. There’s definitely been a few occasions that you’ve felt a phantom warmth, only to find Haze draping his cape on your stands shoulders.

Guido Mista: He’s gonna offer your stand some salami.

I mean hey, if it works for the pistols, he doesn’t want to make your stand feel left out! He’s probably one of the most comfortable with your stand, no matter how intimidating they may be, cracking jokes with it, and never acting any different when its out. It’s you, isn’t it? Here’s his babe, there’s his babes stand, life’s good.

Sex Pistols are gonna have a great time, but here’s hoping your stand is patient. They’re gonna ask them to help steal snacks for them, generally hover around them, and occasionally try to sneak little cheek kisses.

Mista will occasionally comment on how obedient your stand is, and how *some stands* would do well to learn something from them, usually sparking a chorus of complaints. Mista usually gets kicked by six shockingly strong little legs.

Narancia Ghirga: This boy is gonna brag so much about your stand.

“Their stand is the coolest! Did you see it in the last battle when they-“

“Everyone saw it Narancia, would you shut up for five seconds”

All it took was one battle, and Nara has dubbed your stand ‘totally kick-ass’ and makes sure it knows what he thinks. Here’s hoping your stand isn’t bashful, because they’re gonna have the biggest cheerleader behind them for every fight.

Aerosmith seems pulled towards your stand, flying loop de loops around it, and landing on its arms and shoulders on occasion. You sometimes wonder if stands can communicate independently from their users, because looking at the two of them sit together, you can tell there’s something a bit deeper going on.

Giorno Giovanna: No matter how odd your stand is, this boy is going to remain unfazed. He’ll address your stand the same as you, both in speech and in actions, almost as if the two of you are interchangeable.

Not to say he brushes you aside, but he knows how big a part Gold Experience was in his life, and intends to show your stand the same respect and gratitude for protecting you this long.

Golden Experience acts the same as his user, with the main difference being you can tell when he’s lonely.

If you aren’t the type to have your stand out much outside of battle, you’ll quickly be able to tell that GE misses them by the flowers he grows, colors reminiscent of your stand. He loves you, but has a special bond with your stand that goes a bit beyond what you and Giorno can truly understand.

[volkswagonblues]

due to a combination of work deadlines and also uh....news of violent hate crimes....my brain has been slurped out between my ears and replaced with a smoothie. so here i am, boppin’ along, full Always Sunny “May I offer you an egg (sandwich) in this trying time??” mode

(Left is a homemade wanpaku sandwich from this recipe // Right is a salami and egg from here )

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 19

Fandom: Marvel 

Summary: Based on "Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki." by @thefandomimagine​

Even when the world was falling apart around you, you could always count on the Stark Tower's kitchen. The relationship between you was… difficult, to put it matter-of-factly, but it would never betray you. It would never abandon you. Even in the darkest hour, it had your back and provided you with all the support you needed. 

"You have a very stupid look on your face," Loki observed with polite interest. "Not that it is a rare occurrence."

You took your dreamy stare off the chips before handing them to Loki. You dug farther into the secret stash under the counter. 

"You'll understand in a few minutes." 

"I don't want to eat. This, whatever it is, doesn't even look edible." 

"Oh, honey, you're in for a wild ride. Wait until I find more flavors." 

You produced another package before starting on another shelf. You estimated that you only had a few minutes to make it through this before one of the Avengers decided they weren't yet done with the issue you so narrowly escaped. 

Loki eyed the growing pile of food. At least, what he hoped was food. All the unnecessarily colorful, plastic containers were not something he was used to. 

He sighed, watching you move around the kitchen. It was not like he had anything better to do—after all, you were the one who managed to get him out of the storm of questions and accusations just minutes ago—but standing there like an idiot was very low on his list of priorities. He tried not to be obvious about it, but once he had a glance at himself in one of the windows he passed, he could only wince at the dramatically smudged blood and dirt all over him. He kept on brushing the sweaty strands of hair off his face, but they kept falling over his eyes anyway. 

Of course, he was still glorious. It's not like a few dirt smudges and greenish bruises could hide his perfectly sculpted features (obviously), but he wouldn't say no to a bath. Or a shower, at the very least. 

You stood up with a loaf of bread and reached for two plates. "You prefer salami or some veggies on top? I can slice a tomato." 

Dumbfounded, it took him a moment to understand. 

"Pardon me, but are you about to make sandwiches?" 

"Yeah. You prefer toast?" 

"We have fought some otherworldly monsters that almost got us killed, got kidnapped and then almost eaten again, and then yelled at for security breach, and you're about to make sandwiches?" 

You gestured dramatically towards a high paneled window, showing a beautiful view of an evening setting over New York city.

"We've been out for the whole day and we got a lot of things done. Aren't you at least a little bit hungry? Besides, what kind of situation isn't improved by a sandwich?" 

"That's not—" Loki sighed. "That's not even close to my point, you dim-witted human. How can you even think about eating right now?" 

"One, that's bold of you to accuse me of thinking," you put one finger in the air. "Two, I'm just hungry, and unless your godly stomach doesn't need food, so should you be. What's wrong with the sandwich, though?" 

"Nothing, I just—didn't really expect to get one. Handcuffs, yeah. Some punishment, a lock down maybe. But not a sandwich." 

"Is it bad?" 

Loki thought for a moment. He had lived a long life, especially by human standards. He lived through a lot of absurd situations, most of which he brought upon himself, but none of them managed to prepare him for this one. Well, at least it wasn't a painful one. 

"What's a salami?" 

"A cool meat." 

"Then salami it is. I just hope it's got nothing to do with that hellish sauce you forced me to consume last time." 

You laughed, quickly assembling the ingredients on the bread. Loki wasn't sure the sandwiches were actually needed, given the amount of other food you made him put on the counter, but he didn't argue. To be fair, he didn't even feel angry at any of the pointless actions you dragged him into. 

At least Thor wasn’t there. He'd never let that go. 

With a hint of hesitation, Loki perched himself on one of the stools on the other side of the counter. He wasn't an expert at Terran cuisine, but he judged it would take you a moment to finish making the meal you were so stubborn about. 

His legs appreciated the rest. It only begun to dawn on him how busy the day was. True to your words, once he thought about it, Loki could feel the low rumbling of his stomach, no longer tight from the stress and adrenaline. 

Loki caught himself involuntarily listening for the steps to the kitchen, but the floor stayed quiet. Of course, it wasn't the first time he was alone with you, but to think there were Avengers wandering through the very same building, and yet not (or at least no longer) bothering him, was a strange concept to come to terms with. He wondered how long it would last. 

Probably until his brother arrived. He had a talent for making things worse. 

The silence around should be comfortable and peaceful, at least for the time being. Instead, it forced words out of his mouth—ones that had been on his mind for the past hour. 

"Why did you help me?" 

Your eyebrows rose a little as you shot him a surprised look. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I, by all standards, am still a villain. That… meeting wasn't supposed to end with me walking away like that." 

He eyed the bracelet still shackling his wrist. It seemed like a small price. 

You shrugged, reaching for a tomato. 

"I didn't see you at fault for any of what happened. You shouldn't be blamed for that." 

"Some people would disagree with you." And he knew their names. 

"Point them to me when you meet them next time. I'd love to have a conversation with them." 

"What I'm trying to say is… We don't even know each other, so I don't understand why you'd do any of that. No, I'm not talking about the sandwich. You know what I mean, and don't deny it. I'm too tired to fall into word games with you again." 

With that, he offered a straightforward conversation. It was not something he often chose willingly, but the day was long and confusing, and the longer he got to know you, the more questions rose in him. 

You noticed the change. Rushing it would be unwise. You reached for salami, toying with the packaging for a moment. 

"You use the argument of me not knowing you well like it's the only perspective that matters. You make it seem like I'm the kind of person willing to do anything only for the people close to me. Has it ever occurred to you that, just maybe, most of what I do and say, I choose for my own sake too?"

You pulled the package open. 

"To put it in simple terms, I don't care who you think you are. From the moment I realised you weren't a madman or a psychotic killer beyond reasoning, I decided to treat you like any other person put in your position. And I did that for my sake too, partially at least. I don't like to make choices I don't feel good about and I don't like letting other people's opinions stain my own. You may not know this, but once upon a time I was in a very similar situation, with a price over my head and more people seeking vengeance for my actions than I could count. I made some mistakes, but I was offered a chance to be treated like a person and… well, maybe not redeem myself, but at least to do some good. To do things that matter to some people."

"That doesn't really answer my question." 

"Then let me rephrase—I treat you like a person because I see a person in you. Not the villain. Not the God of Mischief. You. A person as tired as me, and hungry enough to excuse my poor attempts at fancy cuisine." You put one of the plates in front of him. 

Loki blinked. It didn't vanish. 

"Is that a ketchup heart on top?" 

"Yeah. Thought it looked cute." 

"I hereby excuse your attempts at creativeness. Stil, it's not like I'm going to be friends with you, though." 

"That's okay. We can just not kill each other for a while,” you said, attacking your sandwich. Your stomach sighed with delight. 

A look you didn't understand crossed Loki's face. "It would be easier if you just hated me." 

"Definitely. But do you want it the easy way, or the fun way, Mr. Trickster?" 

Hesitation changed into something else. What exactly, Loki still didn't know, but it didn't seem like a bad idea to give himself some time to figure it out. 

"I'm fairly certain there's only one answer to that. For the record, though, I don't want to be the sidekick." 

"We'll think about that. Now, let's move somewhere else before they find us and bore us to death."

Taglist: @writerjmlove @drakonwild @eeveesjourney @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @oatballsoffury @inumorph @ejectur @nerdybabywrites @twhgirl @nikkoliferous @unlikelygalaxygiver @multifandomreaderinsertfanfics @dreamingofonceuponatime @iamfelixc @bluebunnlee @effmigentlywithachainsaw @sadwaywardkid​ @ravenclawpossum​ @waitforthehurricane​ @absentmindeduniverse​ @unicorniorosacomefrutillas​  @toboldlyscream​ @waitforthehurricanrose​  @cluelessnitwhit​ @iamverity​ @absentmindeduniverse​ @the-corruptor​ @just-another-romantic​ @breakawayfromeveryday​

[c-c-cherry]

April 4th

Today is Mista's least favourite day in the world. Maybe Giorno underestimated how much of an effect it really had on his friend.

I wrote this on Ao3 on April 4th so I hope that explains things lol

Word Count: 3711

◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇

Giorno slowly walked upstairs, attempting to balance a full glass of water on an already slippery food tray. He didn’t think that he’d be spending his morning trying to intrude on his friend’s personal business, but a part of him couldn’t help it. He just had to know.

***

The day had been pretty normal as far as mornings go: Abbacchio was completely ignoring everyone at the breakfast table, Bucciarati was busy cooking waffles, Trish was leaned back in her chair reading a magazine, and Fugo was clearly trying to restrain himself from strangling Narancia to death, who “had the audacity to be so fucking loud this early” according to him.

Giorno stepped down from the stairs and into the kitchen and was greeted with multiple ‘good mornings’ from his teammates sitting at the table.

It made him feel warm inside, as much as he would never admit it. Before Bucciarati, he never really had anyone to greet in the morning; his stepfather was always passed out, and if his mother wasn’t giving him the cold shoulder, she was out having the time of her life at some club.

Things were different now. Although everything was so strange at first-- full meals, watching movies, people like Bruno and Mista who always asked how he was doing-- he was slowly growing more and more used to it. Something about it made him feel so...domestic.

“How many waffles do you want?”

Bucciarati’s voice cut his thoughts in half as he pulled up a chair next to Trish.

“Just one, thank you.”

The table resumed as normal as everyone got their food one-by-one, and Giorno turned his head to ask Mista a question when he realized that Mista’s spot was still vacant.

“Mista hasn’t come down yet,” he commented quietly, hoping someone else would notice as well.

“Well...duh,” Narancia replied, looking dumbfounded that Giorno would even think about Mista coming out of his room. Giorno stared blankly at the boy before looking up at Bucciarati.

“I’ll bring him some food in a bit,” Bruno sighed as he put another waffle on Narancia’s plate, “It's not a good idea to try to get him to come downstairs today.”

“Today…?” Giorno asked himself, trying to wrack his brain for some memory explaining why today could be bad. A death anniversary? His birthday? Did something bad happen to him on this date that he forgot about? No matter how hard he thought about it, his mind was drawing a blank.

“It's April 4th,” Narancia chimed in, stabbing a strawberry with his fork. He snorted when Giorno stared at him, confused as if to say, ‘How the hell do you not get it?’

What the hell was Giorno missing about this? Fugo sighed in irritation before he could try to decipher it even more.

“04/04,” the blonde remarked, watching Giorno’s face turn from confusion to realization, “There’s no way in hell Mista is coming out of his room today. Hell, he’s probably just pretending that today isn’t happening at all.”

Abbacchio snorted from behind his book. Bruno hit him on the back of the head with the spatula in his hand.

“Not funny,” he said, although a soft smile could be seen creeping on his face.

“To be fair, he’s pretty dramatic about it,” Trish said, taking a bite of her apple, “It's almost humorous, the way he makes that number such a big deal.”

“Exactly! Like, what’s he gonna do when he turns 44? Just cry for a whole year?” Narancia cackled, “What’s he gonna do when it's 2004? That’s coming up soon, too!”

“April 4th, 2004 will be a day to remember, alright,” Fugo groaned, simultaneously turning his head away in disgust as he watched Narancia drown his waffles in syrup.

“I mean, technically Number Five of his stand is really Number Four when you really think about it,” Trish said, “But I bet he’d have a stroke if someone told him that.”

“He just thinks that ignoring the number will make it disappear,” Fugo scoffed, “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Giorno stared down at his plate. Was Mista really that affected it? He had heard the man complain about the number once in a while, but it seemed almost in a dramatic or joking way, at least from the way everyone made fun of him for it.

Mista was a pretty good sport. Maybe it was from all the injuries he had sustained in his time as a Passione member, but the man was surprisingly durable. Sure, he whined about everything from getting shot to the number four, but in the end, he always found a way to suck it up and make it better.

Giorno wondered if this was just another “Mista being dramatic” moment or if something was seriously bothering him. It was hard for him to even imagine Mista being more than his happy, whiny, dramatic self, but Giorno was the king of false appearances. He would know.

From all the shit he had lived through, Giorno was sure of one thing; no one will notice it unless it takes you over, or you decide to talk about it yourself.

“Hey. Do I have to give you guys the spatula, too?” Bruno asked, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. Giorno’s mind was brought back to reality, back to the table they all-- not Mista-- shared.

Narancia screeched and dove under the table and Trish laughed as Abbacchio angrily hissed at him to get his ass back in his seat. Fugo wiped his mouth with a napkin but said nothing.

Breakfast was resumed in peace, (aside from Narancia complaining about “fucking math”), and everyone had cleared from the table and respectively got to whatever activity they wanted to do. It wasn’t often that they had Saturdays free, but Bucciarati insisted that today's schedule was cleared off. 

Giorno imagined that it was because of whatever Mista was doing upstairs, but everyone seemed pretty stressed lately, anyway. A day off couldn’t hurt either way.

Narancia and Trish had fled to Narancia’s room to play Mario Kart before Fugo hunted them down and forced the orange boy to work on multiplication, Abbacchio resumed whatever book he was reading in the living room all while Bucciarati did the dishes.

Giorno sat at the table, unsure of what to do. He thought about doing paperwork, but there really wasn’t much to do in general. Besides, he felt a bit curious about what Mista was doing. He knew that it wasn’t his business, but he really did want to see how his friend was doing.

He had no idea if Mista was just being his dramatic self or not, but he knew that if it bothered him enough not to eat, it might be more serious than he thought. Either way, Mista was his friend. He knew the most out of anyone that going through things alone was always significantly worse.

“Need something?” Bruno asked, and Giorno realized that he’d been sitting at the table for far too long. Feeling his face turn slightly pink, he quickly shook his head. Bruno didn’t give the boy a second glance and resumed to...whatever he was doing.

“Sorry, but...may I ask what you’re doing?” the blonde said quietly, leaning back in his chair a bit. He bit his lip for being so formal with the man, he promised them he would try to kick the habit. Bruno seemed to pay no mind to it as if he were too concentrated on whatever task he was doing.

“Food for Mista,” was all the man said in reply, continuing to prepare the plate. Whatever it was, it wasn't what they had for breakfast. The plate was full of snacks, hardly a full meal; Fruits, cheeses, crackers, salami, Giorno recognized it all as Mista’s favourites.

“No waffles?” Giorno asked in confusion, and Bruno chuckled.

“He’d just spend forever counting the little holes in the waffles. They’d be cold before he could even take a bite,” he replied, “I doubt I’ll get him to eat anything today, anyway.”

What a mom, Giorno thought to himself as he watched Bruno patiently put everything on a tray. When he turned around and headed upstairs, Giorno nearly jumped out of his seat.

“I can take it-” he said, much too eagerly, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

***

Giorno knocked on the door of Mista’s room, careful to avoid tapping the door four times, and waited, the tray digging uncomfortably into his side as he kept a hand on the door.

“Mista?” Giorno called out softly. He thought he could hear shuffling from the other side of the door, before a gruff, “Who the hell is it?” was said, muffled slightly by the door.

“It’s Giorno,” he answered, adding on, “I have food.”

Giorno could hear the Sex Pistols whining and begging from outside the room and he couldn’t help but chuckle. The stands must be starving by now.

Silence met him, and Giorno was about to call out to him again before he heard Mista’s voice, more aggressive than before spit out, “How many are there with you?”

“Just one. Just me,” he answered back, and Giorno stepped back a bit as he heard more shuffling come closer to the closed door. After a moment of more silence, the door finally cracked open and Giorno saw Mista’s face appear on the other side. Well, more like Mista’s left eye. Giorno couldn’t see the man’s full face, but his expression was far from welcoming.

“I’m not hungry,” Mista finally said.

“Miiiisstaaa~”  

“Feed us Miiissstaaa~”

“We’re dying, Mistaa~”

“We’re starving~”

“Hey! Shut up, will ya?” Mista barked, turning his head. Giorno took the opportunity to grab the water glass that was inches away from falling off the tray.

“I can just leave it outside if you-” Giorno’s offer was cut off as Mista’s door opened quickly and a swift hand pulled him into the room, shutting almost as fast as it had opened.

Giorno was surprised that the water still hadn’t spilled.

Mista had his back to the door as if he were making sure that no one else could break in. Once he was sure that they were “safe”, the man huffed and sunk to the ground across from Giorno, who had already situated himself there, carefully setting down the tray.

“Sorry,” Mista breathed out, folding his arms over his chest. The tray in front of him wasn’t anything fancy, but Giorno was sure that the pistols wouldn’t mind at this point.

“Eat up, guys,” Mista said, his voice thick with exhaustion. The bullets scampered over and tore apart the food that lay in front of them.

Carefully pushing the tray and Mista’s bullets to the corner of the room, Giorno finally got a good look at the state of his friend. His usual hat was on his head, but that was about it; Mista was still in his pajamas and a blanket was lazily draped over his shoulders. His back was pressed up against the door and dark bags were forming under his eyes.

It would be an understatement to call him a mess right now, and Giorno couldn't help but feel guilty; he knew what it was like.

Giorno picked up the glass of water still sitting on it and passed it to him.

“Bucciarati said you probably weren’t hungry, but he brought you this,” the blonde said, as if it were some kind of peace offering. Mista nodded tiredly and took a long sip of it, setting it down in front of him.

“Thirsty?” Giorno asked him. To his dismay, Mista shook his head.

“Nah, it’s not that. Just can’t sip it more than three times,” he choked out. Giorno only now noticed the slight tremor in his body as he spoke.

The blonde opted to say nothing, just grabbed a pillow that was already half-falling off of Mista’s bed and propped it under his head as he leaned back slightly. He was fortunate that Mista’s room still had carpeted floors.

The pair basked in silence. Mista stared at the ground and Giorno leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He noted a few things about Mista’s room; the window that was usually open was shut and a curtain was drawn over it. Mista had also turned his lights off, leaving the room in a comfortable blanket of darkness. Although sitting in the dark was pretty relaxing, it made Giorno worry.

Did Mista genuinely want to pretend that today didn’t exist?

Giorno didn’t know how long they sat there until Mista cleared his throat awkwardly from across the room.

“So I’m guessing the others probably told you?” Mista said quietly, breaking the silence.

Giorno didn’t know what to say but nodded. He thought back to the breakfast table, where Fugo joked that Mista would pretend that today wasn’t happening and when Narancia claimed that he would cry for the entire year of 2004.

It seemed amusing enough earlier, but now their “jokes” really weren’t that far off from the truth, which was a bit scary to think about.

“Yeah.”

“They were probably laughing about it. They always laugh,” quiet laughter bubbled up Mista’s throat, but he sounded anything but happy. Giorno felt a shiver up his spine. This entire situation felt uneasy to him.

“Its stupid, isn’t it?” Mista’s voice got louder with each word. In the darkness, Giorno could see his figure hunched over still against the door, “A fucking number. There’s not even a good reason for it, it's just-”

Mista’s loud voice faltered for a minute, and Gioro heard him sigh and recompose himself.

“-Stupid.”

Giorno knew Mista couldn’t see him in the dark, but he shook his head out of habit.

“I don’t think it’s stupid.”

“No, Giorno, you do think its stupid,” Mista growled back, “You don’t have to be so goddamn polite all the time, for fuck’s sake. Just tell me that it’s fucking stupid!”

The yelling had taken Giorno back a bit and he found himself flinching back by habit as he inhaled a sharp breath. Mista seemed to notice the response and dialed it back a bit, instantly regretting what he had said.

“Sorry,” he breathed out roughly, “I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Giorno.”

“It’s alright,” the blonde replied, feeling the sudden panic disperse almost immediately when Mista spoke back to him. He didn’t deal well with angry outbursts, but he’d had his fair share of episodes that were hardly ever pretty. Right now, he was just worried about Mista.

“It’s not alright though,” Mista growled quietly, frustrated, “None of this is fucking normal and all of this is fucking stupid.”

He didn’t say anything after that, so Giorno opted to stay silent as well. There wasn’t really anything he could do to help him besides be there with him...unless he just wanted to be alone in the first place.

“Do you want me to leave?” Giorno asked quietly, prepared to get up from his comfy spot on the floor and worry about him from a distance.

“No,” he replied sharply, though it felt less like a demand and more like a plea. Giorno nodded to himself and his eyes trailed back up to the ceiling.

His eyes had mostly gotten used to the dark by now and he traced the cracks in the paint with his eyes, wondering if they should paint over them during their next day off.

Mista held his head in his hands from across the room, back still leaned up against the door. It was fucking humiliating acting this way in front of Giorno, but he couldn’t help it at this point. He couldn’t ignore it today, the stream of thoughts that pushed their way into his brain.

The thoughts that told him if he sipped his water four times Abbacchio would be lying on the ground covered in blood with a gaping hole in his stomach.

That if he knocked on the door four times Narancia would be impaled, blood dripping onto the ground as lifeless eyes stared back at him.

That if someone showed him four slices of cake, Bucciarati would collapse and someone would tell him that he had been a walking corpse for days.

That if he walked outside this fucking room right now, Giorno would get shot in the head and collapse beneath his feet and it would be his fault.

Everything would go wrong and it would be his fault. All because he knew that he should’ve stayed inside. All because he knew what would have happened but ignored it anyway.

He could feel a familiar tension in his chest as his skull throbbed from behind his eyes. He swallowed thickly and tried to blink those thoughts away, tried not to think about what lay outside this door.

He blinked back tears as they swarmed his vision. He pulled the blanket further over his head and instinctively clenched his fists.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t-

***

The silence was broken again as Giorno heard quiet whimpering from across the room, instantly recognizing the high-pitched sounds as Mista’s stand.

“Miiiistaa stop! You always tell us not to do that!”

“Miiisstaa~ stop acting like such a wuss!”

“Stop crying or you’ll make me cry too, Miiistaa~”  

“Number 5! You’re such a crybaby!”

Mista stiffened as Giorno abruptly sat up from his spot, eyes blinking to adjust to the darkness. He was hunched forward, the blanket over his head and blocking his face as the Sex Pistols scampered around him. Once they noticed him, they jumped, backing away towards the food plate again.

“Yikes! I forgot that Giorno was still here!”

“Pull it together, 5!”  

“Miissstaaa’s sad so I’m sad toooo~”

“Mista?” Giorno asked softly when he noticed that he wasn’t telling them off this time. Mista didn’t answer and the Sex Pistols grew silent, huddled back in the corner of the room.

“Mista,” Giorno said again, creeping closer to his friend, “Are you alright?”

A small sob was Mista’s answer and Giorno watched as the blanket fell off Mista’s shoulders, completely exposing him to the outside world.

“Fuck,” Mista choked out, desperately feeling around for the blanket as more tears blurred his vision. The Sex Pistols were muttering quietly in the corner and Giorno thought he could hear Narancia and Fugo fighting down the hall, but nothing could stop him from focusing on his friend.

“I’m going to put this back over you,” he said calmly,

He grabbed the blanket and draped it over the man’s shoulders again, feeling how much they were shaking when he did so.

Mista choked out a thank you and buried his face in his hands as more tears slipped down his face, dribbling onto his chin.

“Can I touch you?” the blonde asked. Mista sniffled and nodded slowly.

Giorno wasn’t really one for physical affection; he barely had anyone give it to him, and he was equally bad at giving it back to someone. He slipped next to Mista and let his gentle hands make their way to his back, rubbing small circles into it.

When he had woken up screaming just the third night of meeting the gang, Bucciarati had done the same for him.

“Can we--? Can we go up on the bed?” Mista asked, his voice breaking as he tried to speak between sobs. Giorno nodded and stood up, helping his friend up and led him across the room to the bed.

Once Mista had reached the foot of the bed, he collapsed into it, shoulders shaking. Giorno draped another blanket over him and sat on the edge of the bed, blinking in surprise when Mista asked him to join him under the covers.

Once Giorno was comfortably nestled under the covers, he felt Mista pry open his neatly folded arms and buried his face in his chest. Giorno wrapped his arms around the man and continued rubbing circles into his back, not stopping when he cried even harder.

Once the crying had mostly stopped, Mista raised his head and looked up at Giorno’s deep emerald eyes. Giorno brushed back a curl that had fallen out of his hat.

“Feel any better?”

“Not really,” he breathed out with a watery laugh. He felt another curl drop out of his hat and Giorno’s eyebrows quirked up with amusement.

“Do you want to take your hat off?” he asked. Mista shook his head and shuddered.

“No way, dude. That’d be like asking you to take your braid out.”

Laughter bubbled in Giorno’s chest and Mista felt warm. He could see the sunlight leaking out of the curtains from his bed and he let himself cuddle up closer to Giorno’s chest.

“Can you--” he started abruptly, “Can your stand heal my mind?”

He hoped his question wasn’t too stupid. Mista felt Giorno tense up as an airy laugh escaped him.

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” he said, resting his hand on the back of Mista’s neck. Mista looked up in surprise.

“Really?”

“How else was I supposed to experiment with Gold?” he shuddered at the memory of sitting in his room, begging his stand to make him better in some way, praying that his healing powers could also work internally.

“So...is there a specific reason why you don’t like it?” Giorno asked, quickly changing the subject. Mista inhaled sharply against his chest at the mention of it.

“Not really,” he said flatly. Giorno didn’t ask any more questions and he was thankful for it Giorno could tell that just the mention made him paranoid, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but found that Mista had beat him to it.

“I just wish that it wasn’t today,” he groaned in frustration, letting his gaze trail to the closed door. He could feel his mind starting to slow down as he nestled further into Giorno’s comforting warmth and he wanted nothing more than to stay there forever.

“It doesn’t have to be,” Giorno answered, pulling the covers over them, “We could just stay here.”

Mista sighed, already feeling exhaustion take him over. Maybe he could just stay here. He yawned.

“Sounds like a plan.”

Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as he thought.

[crimsonredemption]

Hey! Love your modern!reader stuff! What would you say the gang would work as when they would live in this time? (sorry for my english 🙈, i hope you know what i mean)

Thank you so much! Don’t worry your English is perfect!

Modern!Au Headcanons    //    TW: None  The van der Linde gang and their jobs 

I see Arthur working as a curator in a museum, probably one displaying various art pieces. He loves the paintings, the history behind them and the many different ways to interpret their meaning. He’s shy about it though and rarely talks about his job to others; he also only works there maybe three days a week so many people don’t even know he’s in the field. Before giving his first tour through the museum he was a nervous wreck but he soon lost himself in it and there was no stopping him it’s just really cute ok? When he’s not at the museum gushing about artists and paintings, you can find him at his ranch living his best life with the animals he keeps there. 

Dutch is a lawyer! I can just perfectly imagine him swaying his way around the courtroom delivering the speech of his life to the judge and the jury. He’s bursting with charisma and has an easy time wrapping others around his finger. It doesn’t always work, of course. But he always has words of encouragement for those he defends. “Have a little faith, will you? We’ll turn this around” his catchphrase is getting on everyone’s nerves but he just won’t stop

Hosea would probably be a teacher, or at least an educator of some sort. That’s a fact and we all know it! I see him in a high school teaching older kids about history and geography? Maybe literature? He’s very interested in his students and makes sure to uplift and encourage them as often as possible. He can be strict and demanding, but not ever cruel which is why he is respected by everyone. Sometimes tells stories of his youth and people are convinced he’s been into some shady business but?? He’ll only ever tell enough to keep them guessing.

Charles runs a wildlife sanctuary! He’s big on the rights of those that can not defend themselves against mankind. He’s got a huge heart and while he’s not the most social person, it’s easy for him to find sponsors and donors. I can totally see him as a veterinary surgeon as well!

Javier works in an urban coffee shop as a barista. He knows his stuff and probably makes the best coffee around town. But in his free time, he likes to sing and perform his own songs, which soon made him somewhat Instagram famous his looks probably also helped and while he loves the many opportunities this brings, he’s the happiest when he can sing to his loved ones in private.

Sean, I said it before and I’ll say it again, is that guy working part-time at Subway while he’s in college. He’s the guy to take your order and tell you how goddamn awful your choice of meat toppings and sauce is “Oyy here we go again with the fuckin Tuna and honey mustard?? Are ya’ll even tryin’?? What kind of sick ole’ bastard only wants pickles on his salami sub???” But he’s a nice guy after all and gives away cookies for free if you’re nice to him, fuck company rules. 

It took John a long time to find his calling. After years of drifting from job to job he had to take a good long look at his life so far and he decided that what he really enjoyed most was helping people, sometimes complete strangers. He becomes a social worker, maybe even doing some street work. He may not be the most social person around but he’s kind and dedicated, and most importantly never judges a book by its cover. He knows that there is always more to someone than meets the eye. 

After working as a nurse for a few years, Abigail decides to go to med school to become a doctor. It demands a lot of time and dedication but fortunately, she can count on her family and friends to help her out. She hesitates at first knowing that she won’t have as much time for Jack as before, but her mind is put to rest when she sees how John and Jack are bonding more than ever now that he spends more time with his son. 

Pearson owns his own catering company. He started as a chef in a small restaurant located in his hometown when people started hiring the restaurant to cater to social happenings. He soon realized that being on the road, while also being a chef and getting to cook to his heart's content was the best of both worlds! 

Lenny, like Sean, is also still enrolled in college and works part-time as a lifeguard at the local public swimming pool or at the beach depending on where he lives. He’s fun but also enjoys being responsible, a perfect combination to teach little kids how to swim!

I can totally see Tilly as a real estate agent! She’s kind and opinionated and really knows her way about business and salesmanship. She’s an honest soul as well, there’s no way she would try to sell you a shit home for the price of a mansion by disguising its flaws! She’ll probably be like “Yeah it might be haunted but you and I both know your budget...sooo get used to it” 

Karen works in PR (Public Relations) for a major company. She’s very social and has an easy time making friends and new acquaintances, which comes in handy! She can also hold her liquor, a nice trait to have when you gotta be on a lot of company parties and outings.   

Mary-Beth works part-time in a Library surrounded by what she loves most - books! She plans and organizes book fairs and festivals especially aimed at kids to get them into reading, something she’s really passionate about. In her free-time, she tries herself as an author but yet still has to send a manuscript out.

I love the idea of Sadie as a firefighter. She’s a total badass who has a heart of gold, always ready to help in any way she can. It’s a tough and dangerous job but she’s more than willing to put herself in danger if it means saving the lives of innocent people. She can be rough, sure, but working in a field that’s predominantly male it’s a trait that has helped her more than once. She was met with the usual demeanor, but they soon found out that she’s not one to mess with.

Strauss works in a bank, a big one that is. It’s a well-paying job and he’s content with his life choices so far, but sometimes he thinks about all the people he met that have been at their absolute worst and while he sometimes really did want to help them, he couldn’t. It keeps him awake at night occasionally.

Kieran works with horses, you can’t convince me otherwise. Maybe he has a little ranch that doubles as a hotel, where he offers to teach people how to ride horses? The ranch would be way off in the middle of nowhere, but it’s perfect for those who want a fresh breath of air or to just get away from the city for a little while.

Micah earns his money with little acting gigs and voice acting. He makes more money with the voice acting though, which he doesn’t like all too much. He’d rather score a role in a big movie and become famous but for now, he’ll have to roll with the small parts he’s given.

Reverend Swanson would still be a Reverend I suppose? 

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.8)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 3043 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Clumsy Girl fell hard for the sidewalk, sent macarons flying, and was starkly reminded of her feelings for Sonata the Hedgehog. Meanwhile, Jealadrien made his saucy debut, but blamed his funky stomach feels on his breakfast, and as he, Salami and Marimoo arrived at Alya’s front door, he unwittingly saddened our fav gal by mentioning his imminent date. Will envy run amuck during their gaming afternoon? And will Buginette get her feelings back on track? Read forth, my furiends, and find out!

---

Chapter Eight

Marinette stared down the scuffed floor of the stair landing, if only to hide the sting in her eyes and what it truly meant. She blinked – once, twice, thrice – and clung to the carton of macarons, so hard the cardboard let out a faint crack beneath her fingertips. She was waiting outside Alya’s apartment: the third wheel to a bicycle, soon to be the fifth to a quad bike. Not that she was mad. Well, not at Adrien.

She’d suggested a candlelit dinner. She’d told him to ask Kagami out properly. She’d planted the seeds in his mind. And God, if the night of Glaciator was anything to go by, she’d bet her earrings he’d planned the most swoon-worthy of dinners. Had he decided Kagami made him happier than Ladybug? Did he plan to make their relationship official? To make her his girlfriend?

Adrien’s polished shoes shifted from the corner of her eye. “Marinette?” The concern that coated his voice had her lifting her head. “Are—”

The apartment door squeaked open, and the familiar herbal scent of Marlena’s houseplants flooded the stairwell.

“Why hello, boy and girls!” Alya’s eyes zipped across the three of them. “Weiiird. It feels like we talked just seconds ago!”

Adrien’s eyes snapped ahead, model smile at the ready. “Hey, Al,” he said, readjusting the pizza boxes. “You took the words right out of my mouth!”

Kagami offered a little half-bow. “Thank you for welcoming me into your home.”

“S’all good, Kagami!” Alya's attention turned to Marinette, and her grin wavered.

"Uh - Hi, Al!" Marinette pasted on a smile. "I'm here on time for once!" Had her hands been free, she’d have whipped out some jazz hands for extra oomph.

Alya shook her head. “Dang, girl! You sick or something?” She stepped aside with a lively, “Come on in, squad. Shoes can stay on.” She eyeballed Adrien. “Being exposed to your shoeless feet once was enough for me.”

His ears reddened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The image of Plagg’s gooey Camembert squelching around in his shoes hit Marinette and suddenly, her smile came more freely. They had another joint patrol tonight. She’d have to ask him where he stowed it all.

They’d just crowded in the entry hallway when Nino bounded on up, his sneakers pounding on the parquet floor. “Hey, ma dude!” He threw an arm around Adrien, nearly bowling him over. “Thanks for keeping the pizzas away from Marinette.”

“Marinette was bluffing,” Kagami interjected, her lips splitting into an awkward grin. The corner of Marinette’s own mouth rose in recognition. “She led us up the stairs right after making her threat. She never intended to eat the pizzas without you.”

Two seconds ticked by as Nino and Alya bore witness to Kagami’s pearly whites. “Err,” Nino drawled, first to shatter the silence. “Riiight.” He pulled his trademark finger guns.

“Yo, Kagami!” Alya planted a hand on her hip. “Ready for the grand tour? Adrien, you might as well tag along.”

Marinette didn’t miss the scheming glint in Alya’s eyes as they swept from Kagami to Adrien, then her to Nino. “In the meantime, babe, can you give M a hand with fixing things up?”

Nino readjusted his cap. “You got it, Al.” He reached for the pizza boxes in Adrien’s arms. “I’ll take those off your hands, bro.”

The instant he did, Kagami took Adrien’s hand in hers.

“Alrighty, ladies and gents!” Alya nodded toward a lone door on her left. “Right there is the bathroom, where yours truly fabulizes herself every morning.” After a sassy flick of her fiery hair, she gestured to the pale wall on their right, which stretched to the far end of the apartment, its surface busied by tribal masks and animal paintings. “All those doors lead to the bedrooms, which brings me to the most important part of our tour.” The volume of her voice faded as she led the hand-in-hand couple past the kitchen, the dining room, the lounge – all open-plan – and through the furthest door. “Here is your royal highness’ room!” She shut the door behind them.

“So,” Nino drawled.

Only then did Marinette realise she’d watched Adrien every step of the way.

Or rather, his hand.

In Kagami’s.

She ripped her eyes from Alya’s bedroom door and threw Nino her most inconspicuous smile, hoping it was enough.

“Do you – uh – like triple cheese?” He jerked the pizza boxes a little higher in his arms. “Could I interest you in a slice? Or two. Maybe three. As many as you need.”

“Triple cheese sounds great.”

With a nod, Nino led her down the short corridor, around the corner and into the kitchen. Red overran her vision, a result of the dated cabinets that lined the wall to their left. He laid the three pizza boxes across the island bench, her carton of macarons soon joining them.

Flipping back the lids, the aroma of melted mozzarella and spicy pepperoni warmed the air. In a matter of moments, napkins layered the polished bench before them, and pizza sagged between their fingers. One bite of pizza and her troubles seemed just a little smaller. Two and they were melting like mozzarella in one of those nifty clay ovens. 

A self-assured voice travelled through Alya’s door.

“—our first date – couple—”

Was Kagami talking about tonight?

“—no doubt – perfect—”

Marinette squinted, like that’d help her hear bett—

Splat.

A glob of mozzarella slid off her steaming slice and onto the bench.

“Hey…” Nino’s voice was oddly gentle, much like his eyes when she met them. “I’m sorry about my dude. He’s pretty clueless sometimes.”

“What? No, I just—” Her sight sunk to the bench, zeroing in on the glob of mozzarella. She plucked it up, dumped it on her napkin, and sighed. “Sorry. I’m trying to get over him.”

Nino offered her a smile of solidarity. “It’ll be okay, M.” He propped his arms upon the bench, eyes sinking to his pizza. “I figured he’d tell me if they were official, you know?”

“Um – They’re not official?”

“They’re not?”

Wait.

Did Nino not even know?

“Well, uhh…” She toyed with the edge of her napkin. “Adrien told me he didn’t think they were official yet, despite what people have been saying. But they are going out on a date tonight, so...” Any words thereafter only clung to her tongue, refusing to be given voice.

“Really?” His brows squished together. “When’d he say that? How’d this even come up?”

“Well, I left my backpack at school yesterday, so he dropped it off. I took the chance to congratulate him and – uh – that’s when he asked for my advice.”

“Man,” he murmured, cupping his chin, “maybe I should talk to him. See where his head’s at.”

Marinette tensed. “Ju-Just – If you do, please don’t tell him I said anything. I – I thought you knew. And besides”—the volume of her voice dropped in time with her eyes—“Kagami’s right. I hesitated. I had my chance – heck, I’ve had hundreds of chances – but at the end of the day, I just can’t seem to bring myself to tell him how I feel.”

Nino shifted closer on his barstool and set a hand on her shoulder. “Well, Marinette, sometimes the slowest turtles are the ones that win the race.”

Images of a green-clad superhero played in her mind’s eye. She couldn’t help but giggle. He’d made a great Carapace. Goodness, even now, without the Turtle Miraculous, he was still looking out for Ladybug.

And now that she thought about it, maybe there was a truth to Nino’s words that even he was unaware of. The bond between Ladybug and Chat Noir was second to none, built from a year of blind trust and friendship. If Chat Blanc was anything to go by, a sudden confession from her could end the world. Perhaps things were better this way.

Bunnyx sure seemed to think so. She knew Marinette was Ladybug. It wasn’t a stretch to assume she knew Chat Noir’s identity too. Even Hawk Moth’s. When Timetagger terrorised Paris, Bunnyx had hopped in and suggested through flailing hand motions that love between her and Chat Noir would be messy. Was that because of timing? Or were they just not meant to be?

“Well,” Nino tore her from her thoughts, “the slowest turtle usually wins the race… but not in Mario Kart!” He grinned, prodding a thumb over his shoulder, toward the living room. “Ready to eat my dust?”

There was a glint in her eye. “May the fastest turtle win.”

---

Their pizzas downed, Marinette and Nino made their way onto the immense L-shaped sofa. Thumbs soon flicked joysticks. Fingers scurried across tiny buttons. An upbeat soundtrack bounced through the TV speakers. On a particularly tight corner, Marinette’s character drifted by Nino’s in a flash of yellow and pink.

He growled, gripping the controller tighter. “How are you so good at gaming?!”

She threw her nose in the air, a twinkle in her eye. “Practice.”

Seconds later, a turtle shell crashed into her character, lurching Princess Peach into the air. She didn’t lose first place, but that didn’t stop her from pouting. “How do you keep hitting me?! You can’t even aim the green ones!”

Grinning, he pinched the brim of his cap. “Practice.”

To the left of the TV, Alya’s bedroom door eased open, and the queen herself peeked through the crack. Seeming satisfied by the sight of them gaming up a storm, she swung her door the rest of the way and sashayed into the living room, Adrien and Kagami in tow. The latter stopped to study the screen. “Who’s winning?”

Adrien didn’t miss a beat. “Marinette, of course.” He ducked past the TV, careful of obstructing their view.

Her breath accelerated in time with the music tempo as she commenced her final lap. It had absolutely nothing to do with Adrien claiming the empty spot to her right, the sofa sagging a smidge beneath his weight. Kagami was close behind, and despite the minimal leg room, she squeezed into the actual corner of the L-shaped sofa, right beside him.

“Dude,” Nino was screeching, “you have so little faith in me!”

“Sorry, Nino.” Adrien let out a little laugh. “I’m sure you’ll beat her one of these days.”

“You are so not helping.”

Alya plopped down beside Nino and planted a peck on his cheek. “At least you’re not far behind, babe.”

“No, but I will be if you keep doing that.”

Not even a minute later, Marinette sprung to her feet with her fists in the air. “YES! I win! Marinette style! Booyah!” With a second fist pump, she almost lost the controller to the ceiling—but she didn’t, ‘cause she was a winner. And of course, that warranted a fervid victory dance, so she did just that; her hands swept from left to right and back again as she chanted, “Uh huhhh! Oh yeahhh! I’m the best! Uh huh!”

Her theatrics were only urged on by the laughter that layered the air (around eighty five percent of which might’ve just come from a certain kitty cat).

Nino thumped a hand on the round coffee table ahead. “I demand a rematch,” he squawked, “on two hundred CC!”

Marinette spared her nails a cheeky glance. “Ha! You’re on, chump.” In the wake of her victory, she was well on her way to feeling normal again. “Let Master Dupain-Cheng show you how it’s done!”

True to her word, she pulverized him.

---

For the next half hour, chit-chat and banter filled the airy apartment, as the quintet savoured their fill of pizza. Four slices remained, tucked away in a cardboard box on the coffee table for Luka.

A four-player game of Mario Kart had ensued.

Marinette was winning.

Adrien was hot on her trail.

Alya and Nino were half a lap behind, after two run-ins with a certain yellow fruit.

And Kagami was keeping a curious eye on the TV, no doubt making mental notes for her first attempt next round.

“Ready, guys?” Adrien jumped to his feet. “Here it comes.” His character, a burly ape on a hefty quad-bike, was fast approaching a ramp. “Donkey Kong dab in three, two, one!” He dabbed in time with his character, complete with a dramatic grunt.

Marinette’s eyes remained on the screen, but that didn’t stop a smile from puffing her cheeks.

Nino, adamant that “whole body steering” was a legit strategy, unknowingly tilted into her personal space. “Bro,” he exclaimed, “was the grunt really necessary?”

“Absolutely,” Adrien quipped. “It elevates the dab to a whole new level—”

“Babe,” Nino cut in, now leaning right into Alya’s space. “What’re you doing? Get outta my way. Get outta my way. Get outta my—”

“Nu uh, Nini! Get your stupid dinosaur outta my—”

“Dude!” He thumped his feet on the floor like Gigantitan 2.0, and Marinette’s eyes flicked to his section of the screen just in time to catch the tail-end of his kart spinning. “Another freaking banana?!”

“Ha!” Adrien voiced, triumphant. “Yes. Peel the pain of my slippery secret weapon!”

Alya snorted. “The pain of your puns isn’t bad enough?”

“Just call me Banadrien.”

“Bro? You can’t think up something better than that?”

Marinette’s smile turned wry. “Don’t you mean something more apeeling?”

Adrien gave a hearty laugh. “See? M gets it.”

She narrowly escaped an explosive, green turtle shell. Since when did Adrien use that nickna—

Gasping, she clutched the controller closer.

A certain pesky primate had crept into the corner of her screen.

“No no no no no!”

“Yes yes yes yes yes!”

She shoved her thumb against the accelerator button, so hard a tiny circle was surely forming on her skin. “Adrien, get your creepy ape away from me!”

“That was the perfect opportunity for a Planet of the Apes reference. I am so disappointed in you!”

Adrien’s conniving cackles enlivened the room, but now was not the time to admire the unbridled joy in his voice, nor the throatiness of his chuckles. Her face scrunched as she wrestled with her thoughts. For goodness’ sake, Kagami was sitting right next to him!

Holding her breath, Marinette dared a peek at the silent girl. Kagami’s hand cupped her chin, her eyes set on the screen. She eased her head onto Adrien’s shoulder—

Princess Peach zoomed straight over a poorly concealed banana peel, the wheels of her kart skimming the track with a dizzying spin.

His pesky monkey shot straight past and—

“NO!”

“YES!”

Kagami placed a hand on Adrien’s knee, which had bobbed wildly for most of the race. “Well done, Adrien,” she praised, patting his knee twice.

“It’s not over yet,” Marinette declared.

The music amped up, Adrien now in the lead and commencing his third and final lap. Marinette was close behind.

Alya unleashed a throaty groan. “Adrien, you and your bananas are driving me cray!”

“Dude! How many do you have?!”

Adrien sniggered. “I’m gonna hazard a guess and say a bunch.”

“But how?!” Nino screeched.

“I guess you could say they were ripe for the picking.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Gosh, Banadrien! Stop distracting me with your lame puns!” From her peripheral vision, she caught his grin inch wider. He leaned well within her bubble and her Chadrien Alarm™ blared like an air horn.

“Now you’re just hurting my peelings.”

Her heart thundered in her ears. She didn’t trust herself to speak. No, instead she elbowed his gut, which only encouraged another laugh. Suddenly, she was laughing too.

That is, until she glimpsed Kagami’s thumb shift a smidge atop the black denim of his jeans. Her hand hadn’t left his knee.

“M, you’re falling behind!” Alya cried, snapping her to attention. “Quick! Cut corners!”

“Find shortcuts!” Nino added.

“Run him off the track!” said Alya. “You don’t want him banana punning for the rest of the day, do you?”

Marinette giggled. “Shouldn’t you be taking your own advice?” 

“Girl, we’re a lap behind.”

“Yeah, we’re just cruisin’ at this point. You’ve still got a chance!”

Marinette honed in on the TV. His quad bike was up ahead. Only half a lap remained. Things weren’t looking good, but that’s never stopped her before.

Her tongue peeked through her lips.

“Oh! Oh!” Alya made an exaggerated gasp. “She’s got her game face on, boys and girls!”

“She’s catching up!” Nino cheered.

They were right. So maybe if she really dug in and focussed—

“Say yellow to my triple bananas!”

Three slippery suckers clustered behind Adrien’s motoring monkey. He released the first.

She dodged it.

He let loose his second.

Another dodge.

The third.

Yet another dodge-a-roonie.

“You really aren’t living up to your nickname, Banadrien.” With a satisfying jingle, her character rocketed through a mystery box—but suddenly, she was whirling at the hands of a despicably well-placed banana. “WHAT!?” Her eyes bulged.

“You were saying?” He sent her his signature wink.

She sputtered—for words or air, she couldn’t be sure. That sly cat! Had he planted that sucker on their previous lap?

Donkey Kong whooshed over the finish line.

Nino and Alya’s jaws dropped in unison, their gasps rocking the room.

“Yea-hea-heah!” Adrien launched to his feet, Kagami’s hand falling from his knee, though the smile on her lips was as apparent as his excitement. He whipped out a fervent victory dab—once more in sync with his character. “Beat you by a banana split second. Adrien style!” With dramatic flair, he threw Marinette some dual finger guns. “Booyah!”

She burst into a fit of laughter. Gosh, if this was the price to pay for losing to her partner, she honestly couldn’t complain. “Next—“ She wheezed. “Next round I will reign victorious!”

His shoulders shook with his every snicker. “Seems our Gamer Princess is salty she got dethroned!” He flashed a smirk and suddenly, all she saw was her cheeky kitty. All she felt was a fierce thumping in her chest. And all she could do was beam up at that face and those eyes and the pure joy that sang within them.

Why yes, she’d been dethroned.

And if he acted like this every time, she’d lose again in a banana split second.

[rosesisupposes]

Fall to Rise

Part 11 of Another Goddamn Hero Story

read on ao3

Chapter Relationships: Romantic LAMP; Familial LAMPT; Background OC pairings;

Chapter Warnings: Memories of trauma; questioning memories/reality; mentions of past death/murder; cadaver mention; Human experimentation; nonconsensual experimentation; cryogenic freezing; mention of blood loss

Word Count: over 7,600 i’m so sorry

Taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious@bewarethegrammarpolice   @jemthebookworm@arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse@thelowlysatsuma @monsterinatophat @turtally-pawsome @um-yes-hi-hello @idkaurl @potestessemagishomosexualitatis@hawthornshadow

a/n: yeah, it's been a minute. i started law school, things got hectic. here’s a Lot of Things

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337501 [UPDATED] Classification: M.1.iv [Primary Tier Neutral, Unknown] Name: Agent Whisper Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Reformation-In-Progress, Enrolled Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Thomas Sanders Affiliation: Neutral Partners/Sidekicks: DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; DI#A-4895 - Team Right Brain; /////////The two teams volunteered to oversee his reformation Primary Foes: None Powers: Pathokinesis - Broad Spectrum; Illusions - Broad Spectrum; Self-Healing/Rejuvenation - Broad Spectrum; /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] There have been multiple edits to this entry, and I’ve no idea why, and I can’t see the history. Can you check this? - Joan Costume: Black t-shirt with a skull that can change between white and floral, jeans. Age: 19 Height: 5’10” Pronouns: He/Him H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Enrolled Note: Brother of DI#337437 - Gale Force; Presumed killed in IR15-Z-0632, apparently self-healed; Unclear if powers were created by [REDACTED], or if they were always present and [REDACTED]. /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Talyn, what’s going on? Why can’t I un-redact these phrases? /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] I have no idea - these details weren’t added by me. It makes no sense. The note was added, and then edited and redacted. But from the code it looks like both changes were from… Logan?

~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337413 [UPDATED] Classification: Class A.2.iii [Secondary Tier Hero, anomaly] Name: Crimson Marauder Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [TOP SECRET] Roman Fitzroy Affiliation: Hero ///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: On Call Partners/Sidekicks: member of DI#A-4895 - Team Right Brain; Works with DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Psionic Construction; /////////Able to manipulate color of constructions along the red spectrum, unless it is a previously-created object being stored in a psionic pocket dimension; Constructs that have persisted need less energy to maintain; complete lack of consciousness can deconstruct Costume: Black Suit with Red Blocks, Gold Belt, Black and Red Cape with Gold accents; Black and gold mask Age: 25 Height: 5’ 11” Pronouns: He/Him H.E.A.R.T.S. Class N/A Note: Formerly known as Scarlet Prince, see DI#337321; Origin and family unknown

~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337437 [UPDATED] Classification: A.1.iv [Primary Tier Hero, unknown] Name: Gale Force Status: ACTIVE ///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: Blackout Only Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Patton Sanders Affiliation: Hero Partners/Sidekicks: member of DI#A-4895 - Team Right Brain; Works with DI#A-4894 - Team Left Brain; Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Air Manipulation - Broad Spectrum; Costume: Grey calf-length tunic, slits up to waist with loose sleeves over loose white trousers; light blue belt; matching blue symbol of a hurricane across chest. Does not wear a mask. Age: 21 Height: 5’10” Pronouns: He/Him H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Enrolled Note: Highly volatile, responsible for deaths of DI#265351 - Commander Eagle and DI#337236 - Silver Sparrow, see IR15-Z-0632; First appearance at Harmony City Foster Care; Origin and family unknown. ///////// Changed affiliation after unmasking of DI#337501 - Agent Whisper revealed to be his brother. Still unclear if he is an anomaly or if the Sanders bloodline is super, particularly because of DI#337501’s involvement in [REDACTED]. /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Talyn, it’s happened again here! Has Logan been messing in our files? /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Joan, this is really troubling - some of the edits have been made while I know Logan has been in the field. DREAM may have been hacked. I’m going to have to suspend all access until further notice.

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

“Pat, are you sure about this?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”

“This just feels like the superhero equivalent of a whoopie cushion. Or ‘down low, too slow.���”

Patton hugged his brother around the shoulders. “I mean it, Tommy Salami! You won’t be hurt.”

“It’s a long way down, though,” Thomas said, eyeing the edge of the roof nervously.

“Never fear! Your knight is here!” Roman announced, landing gently by the brothers with a smile. He bowed gallantly to the teen. “Sir Roman Fitzroy, on official Safety Net duty!”

Thomas smiled shyly. “You’re sure?”

“Of course, my Very Special Agent! Even if you can’t fly naturally, you’ll feel just like a bird,” Roman said, gesturing off the roof with a flourish. Floating in mid-air was a giant red cushion, soft, plush, and downy.

Other students at HEARTS were mingling around in various levels of trepidation and excitement. Some were confirmed flyers, ready to practice more and to build up their reaction time. Some were like Thomas, testing for latent abilities in a controlled environment. And some knew they couldn’t fly, but were here for the experience anyway.

“Ready?” the teacher called. A ten-year-old wearing what looked suspiciously like a beloved blankie tied around their neck like a cape clapped their hands and nodded. “Here we go!”

The teacher scooped the little one up and tossed them onto the trampoline, launching them into the air in a burst of surprised giggles. Their cape fluttered behind them as they bounced, eyes squeezed tightly shut. When they finally opened them, it was to realize they were floating about fifteen feet above the heads of their classmates.

“I doned it!”

“Yes indeed! You did it!” one of the older students said as their classmates clapped and cheered. The elder girl floated up serenely to their level. “Can you get down yourself?”

The child frowned and focused on their feet. Slowly, they lowered down to the ground once more, sparking another round of applause as the next student stepped up to try.

Finally, it was Thomas’ turn. There were rounds of encouragement from the crowd, though more subdued than they had been for the others. But the youngest students didn’t flinch or waver, just cheered as Thomas offered his hand to the teacher. Patton floated just by the edge of the roof, Roman at his side, ready with the enormous cushion to catch him should he go awry.

Virgil glided up beside the two just as Thomas was tossed onto the trampoline. He bounced high into the air, making a strangled yell that grew louder as he immediately started to plummet. But in a breath, air wrapped around him and he was gently deposited on his feet by Patton’s side.

He smiled shakily at his brother. “I guess you got the ginger and the flying genes, Pat.”

“You okay now?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Thomas said. He looked over at the other students. The ten-year-old who’d gone first was going for a second turn, keeping their eyes open this time. “I think I’ll leave the flying attempts to the experts though. C.C. was right - they said they weren’t sure I’d like it.”

“Who’s-” Patton started, but one of the students walked over with impeccable timing.

“Hi! I’m CC! I’m in Thomas’ class.”

Patton grinned and shook their hand. “I’m Patton, Thomas’ brother.”

“And you’re also Gale Force,” CC said with a nod.

“Only when I’m in uniform! I wouldn’t want you all to think I’m full of hot air,” he replied with a wink.

They laughed brightly. “Ooh, can I add that to my list? I’m documenting super school, you see. The conversations here are so much fun to overhear!”

Patton agreed willingly, and asked about their favorites and classes, watching with pleasure as they drew Thomas into the conversation too. Not everyone was so comfortable with his brother, the shadow of his past still lurking in their minds.

CC smiled suddenly at the brothers, interrupting the conversation. “Did you know? You’re going to be happy.”

“Is that another prediction?” Thomas asked them. He slipped a hand into Patton’s, a tic of seeking reassurance that had been carrying them both through their school days.

CC shook their head, smiling softly. “It’s a guarantee.”

Only feet away, Virgil tugged Roman towards him, fidgeting with the papers in his other hand. “Hey, could you come over here for a second?” Roman looked nervously at Pat and Thomas, not wanting to leave them. Virgil smiled in understanding. “We won’t go far - I’ll help you keep an eye on them. I just want to be safely out of earshot.”

Roman followed him to the the other half of the roof, where the building rose up into the elevated classrooms. He was intrigued by whatever Virgil had to say, but still took the opportunity to slip a hand into his back pocket to squeeze his ass.

Virgil turned with a smile, bringing them chest to chest, and leaned down to steal a kiss. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Depends, is it working?” Roman asked with a wink. The past month had seen them all maintaining a laser-sharp focus on Thomas and his recovery, leaving only the occasional night and stolen moment for them to solidify the affections they’d finally expressed in so many words. Virgil, Logan, and Roman all cared far more about supporting Patton in his reunion and joint recovery with his brother than escalating their relationship - but there were still the occasional moments where they couldn’t, or didn’t want to, restrain themselves.

Virgil drew back smirking, one brow raised. “Up to you, Princey. We can get distracted in the closet right around the corner, or I can share the surprise with you.”

Roman exaggerated his pout, circling Virgil’s muscled waist with both arms. “How dare you pit my love of your kisses against my love of surprises. Can’t I have both?”

Virgil kissed Roman’s temple. “Here, read this first, and maybe there’ll be time for distraction after.”

He handed Roman the sheaf of paper he’d been twisting in his hands. Roman smoothed out the crinkles and glanced over it. He did a double take and looked over it again, reading closer, mouth falling open as he went.

“A new foster home?”

“Not just any foster home,” Virgil said, a smile slowly stretching across his face. “One that’ll allow supers to stay together with non-supers. One that’ll work with HEARTS without making kids leave their home to learn.”

“For them?” Roman asked, glancing back across the roof at Patton and Thomas.

Virgil nodded. “For them and everyone like them. And if a kid is staying there, there won’t be a cost to go to HEARTS. I’m working on Joan to allow the normal foster allowances to go towards school fees.”

Roman smoothed the paper again with hands that shook slightly. “For me,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but Virgil nodded all the same, resting a comforting hand on his boyfriend’s waist.

Roman’s eyes filled slightly as he smiled up into Virgil’s dark ones. “Virge, this is wonderful . Where’s it going to be? Who’s gonna run it?”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling slightly. “My family’s house, actually. It was my moms’ idea. I already have to talk them out of adopting every single friend they meet - what if I just… didn’t talk them out of it? And I’m hoping that this means Thomas won’t ever have to be on call. His detail can just be protecting the kids, maybe keep Pat with him too-”

Any further words were cut off by Roman tugging his head down to silence him with enthusiastic kiss after kiss. “You wonderful, brilliant, beautiful man,” Roman said in between kisses. “You’re so considerate and sweet and smart!”

The packet of papers were discarded as Virgil responded with equal enthusiasm despite a spreading blush. Roman summoned a discreet wall around them, preempting any students stumbling by.

They could tell the others the news later, at a less interesting time.

~~~~~~

That evening found the brothers Sanders taking time away from the other students again. Mealtimes were fine, but the atmosphere after dinner, where teens and kids and young adults all mixed and played in the common areas still had twinges of uncomfortable familiarity.

So Thomas sat instead with his brother on the roof of the school in the setting sun, staring out at the reflection of the clouds on the harbor. The light bathed his face in blood-red tones as he listened to the crash of waves and call of gulls.

“Patton, I’ve been meaning to ask,” he started, then paused with a nervous laugh. “I don’t know that I really want to know, but I have to find out sometime. How do I know when it became real?”

“What do you mean, kiddo?”

“I spent so long hallucinating in what I think was the facility. But I saw myself escaping almost every day. When did I do it for real? When did I start infecting everyone else with my visions?”

Patton turned to look at his brother. The boy looked scared, but his face was set, even as he refused to make eye contact.

“It was a bit over a month ago that the first attack came,” Patton supplied.

“What happened in that one, Pat?” Thomas asked. His voice was strained and distant.

“Are you sure you want to know, Tommy? You didn’t know what you were doing, you can’t blame yourself-”

“Yes I can, Patton!” Thomas interrupted. “I have to! I didn’t know it was real, but I still chose to attack innocent people, even if I thought they were just illusions. I could have stayed nonviolent, I could have just tried to hide from it all, but I just… it hurt, so much, every time I watched the home collapse around me, every time I had to feel the fire and bricks blasting through us, and I lashed out. I need to know what I did. How else will I ever make up for it?”

Tears leaked out of Patton’s eyes. “You’re… Thomathy, I know you will make up for all of it. We both will. I lashed out, too. We’ll work hard, and we’ll become the heroes we needed when we were younger. We’ll help.”

Thomas grabbed Patton’s hand, squeezing too tightly. “I still need to know, Pat. What did I do that was real? What happened that first time?”

Patton sucked in a shaky breath. “How many of our friends do you remember, from before? From when we were kids?”

Thomas closed his eyes. “I remember… I remember Leo. And Derri and Dahlia. And… Ms. and Miss Parson.” He opened his eyes, looking anxiously at Patton. “Am I right? Were they real?”

“They were real,” Patton confirmed. “They were our Hundred-Acre Wood friends and our moms, or the closest we got.” He steeled himself, breathing in deep. “Do… do you remember Damien?”

Thomas frowned, responding slowly. “Yes, I think I do. He was older than me? He left, early. There was… something happened. An accident?” He looked for confirmation.

“Sort of. The experiments weren’t an accident, but the fire in the lab was. Dam’ got adopted and then the man who’d taken him turned out to be not very nice.”

Thomas stiffened at the mention of ‘lab’, but he squeezed Patton’s hand tight and forced himself to relax. “I… yes, I remember. Did he…?”

“He survived, but we didn’t know it. I only learned he was alive recently… the day of your first real attack. He was transformed, given powers, so he got sent here instead of back home.” Patton gestured to the brick school underneath them. “Tommy… do you remember who was with Damien when he left?”

Thomas spoke sadly, eyes fixed on the horizon, staring off into distant haze of remembrance. “Val. Valerie. Kanga. She… we lost her too.”

Patton swallowed. “She… was in the same place as Damien.”

“And the same thing happened to her?” Thomas turned to look at Patton, his eyes searching for confirmation. At Patton’s nod, he looked off, eyes flitting as he poured through his twisted, unclear memories. “I dreamed about her a lot. I saw her so many times. She kept coming back, sometimes the same age I remember her, sometimes older. One time she brought me Teddy. But usually she just hated me. She blamed me for letting her go and letting her get hurt and... I could never help, never enough.”

Patton squeezed his brother’s hand. “What was the last time you saw her?”

Thomas frowned. “I… the day I hurt Roman. She was there, angry with me, telling me that Roman was the reason she was so hurt. She had burn scars from his light powers, and dark bruises all over.” He looked up. “What that real?”

“No, it wasn’t, kiddo. Roman never met her,” Patton said. Tears were coursing down his face, and his voice was thick. “The last real time was three days before that. She… she was given powers too, like Damien, but they were painful. She had feathers growing out of her skin, purple and black ones…”

Thomas scrambled to stand, backing away from his brother. “No. No, you’re lying! That time wasn’t real, it couldn’t have been!”

Patton stood too, grabbing Thomas’ hand before he walked off the roof by accident. Tears continued to fall down his face. “I’m sorry, Tommy. It’s real.”

“But that means that I-” Thomas choked out, and then the sobs took over as he crumpled to the ground. His entire body shivered and convulsed as the reality of his actions took hold.

Patton knelt with him, trying to hold as much of him as possible, crying into his shirt. “You didn’t know,” he whispered. “You didn’t mean it.”

“But I did it anyway!” Thomas wailed. “What have I done, Pat? What kind of monster am I?”

“The one you were made into,” his brother said, voice hardening despite his grief. “The one the world created, leaving you behind. Like they left me behind.”

“The world didn’t create me, Pat,” Thomas responded. “People did, and I did.”

Now Patton looked at him in confusion. “The heroes? They created me too. They’re part of the world.”

“No, Pat. The people in that facility. The lab. Whatever it was.”

Patton hesitated. “I don’t want to make you talk about it, but… what do you remember of that place? Do you remember faces?”

Thomas wiped his eyes. “No. Maybe I did once, but I- no, I don’t want to remember. It’s too much. Too much pain and fire and…” He curled in on himself again. “Please don’t ask me to remember them, ” he asked in a tiny voice.

Patton wrapped his arms around as much of him as he could, holding him close. “I won’t. I’m sorry, Tommy. It’s okay now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

Thomas reached up a hand to bunch in Patton’s shirt, gripping tightly. “Is this real?” he whispered.

“Real, Thomas. It’s real.”

~~~~~~

Things weren’t always great. Logan had learned to be okay with that. Thomas had nightmares, waking in cold sweat and anger, lashing out at anyone who got close. But slowly, he was recognizing them all faster, seeing them as safe. Recovery would be a long road, but they were all on their way. Virgil had started therapy, partly at Logan’s urging and partly as encouragement for Roman and the Sanders to go too. Logan came sometimes for group sessions, more a supporter than a patient. Roman and Patton had nightmares too, but they always woke to the tangle of limbs in the enormous bed that now dominated most of Virgil’s apartment bedroom. They had a good arrangement, even if Logan was finding that he became far too easily flustered by Roman and Patton’s much more overt forms of affection. It was new and intriguing, but the frequency with which he blushed now was, frankly, embarrassing.

He had time to discover all the new shades of red he was able to turn because the level of super activity had also dropped sharply. Virgil and Logan hadn’t been called since that last attack, and they’d been reveling in their newly-free time by exploring the city as civilians, bringing their boyfriends and Thomas out to the Skylar home in surburbia, and taking them on leisurely flights above the cloud cover. When Logan received a call one morning to go see the mayor at City Hall, he was more intrigued than alert.

“Virge, wanna come?”

“Hm, I didn’t get the call, you think I could?”

“Why not? It’s just Joan.”

“You’re right. C’mon, starlight. Want a lift?”

They walked into the office together, stopping short as they realized the alert hadn’t been quite the casual call they’d assumed. The windows were blocked out with heavy shades. The table was covered in printout and status reports that threatened to drown a very frazzled-looking Talyn in paper.

“Joan, Talyn, what’s going on? You needed to speak with me?” Logan asked. “I brought Virgil, I hope that’s okay…”

Joan paced backed and forth, their normal worry lines looker much deeper than normal. They paused one or twice, about to speak, but glanced at Virgil and Logan, then around the room, and away as they resumed pacing. Finally, they sighed and asked, “Can we go to the roof?”

The roof of City Hall was the same graceful style as the rest of the Neo-Renaissance building, with swooping arches and balustrading that made it stand apart from the marble of the other government buildings. The roof had a cupola that had clearly been designed to make it even more distinctive. Now, it functioned as an entrance for flying supers into the building, one that Virgil preferred if he was arriving without Logan. But that wasn’t its only purpose.

“I’m going to turn on the dampers,” Joan told them bluntly as they filed into the small space from the stairwell.

Logan stiffened in shock, glaring at the mayor.

Virgil reached out a gentle hand to rest on his boyfriend’s back. “I trust it’s for a good reason?” he asked Joan drily.

The mayor nodded. “It’s not about you two. It’s to keep other powers out. I really, really don’t want anyone to overhear.”

Logan sighed, his shoulders falling from their tense position. “I know you wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Go ahead.”

Talyn quickly tapped in a PIN on one of the columns, then a now-glowing button. Walls of light blinked into being around them and sealed over the entrance to the rest of the building. Virgil flexed and stretched his free arm. Knowing that his strength and durability were being neutralized wasn’t a comfortable feeling, even if he understood that it was sometimes necessary. He kept the other hand solidly on Logan’s lower back, feeling the man tremble slightly and offering comfort.

“What’s so important that needs all this secrecy, Mayor Stokes,” Logan asked, voice clipped.

Talyn came over with their tablet in both hands. “It’s the database. DREAM’s been compromised.” There was a slight tremor in their hands as they showed Logan the screenshots from the most recently-updated records. “I created this tool, and Joan is the highest-ranking official in the city, and neither of us can read these edits. All we know is that according to the system, you were the one making them.”

Logan took the tablet, staring hard. Finally he looked up. “I didn’t make these changes.” Three pairs of eyes looked back in concern. “But,” he continued, looking at the screen in confusion, “I think I know who did.”

“And who would it be?”

“Drs. Atticus and Portia Lancaster,” Logan said. “My parents. I- it looks like it might be related to their work on the origin of powers. They’ve been hinting at some more exciting experiments.”

“Hold up,” Joan interjected. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“It was all under the umbrella of EANSC 2.0, and my understanding was they weren’t sure there was anything to find, let alone brief you on. If you didn’t read the full reports, you might not have noticed,” Logan said, removing his glasses to rub his temples. His fingers shook, but his voice remained steady, if a bit detached. “I don’t know the full details myself. If I’d known you hadn’t been informed, I would have procured a summary for you.”

“Lo, we need to get these dampers off and go talk to them,” Virgil said. “If they can tell us more about how to help Thomas, we need to know sooner rather than later.”

Logan replaced his glasses. “Yes. Yes, of course. I- Yes. We shall do that. Yes.”

Virgil paused in his pacing and came over, cupping Logan’s chin in his hand. “Lo? Are you alright?”

Logan looked up at him and attempted a smile. “I… I am trepidatious. I am unclear as to why they would have neglected to inform me, if they made a breakthrough like this seems to imply.” His voice sounded oddly formal and strained. “Let us go discuss with them at once. And, Virgil, if you would - permit me to take the lead, as it were. I am quite confident there will be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. We need only ask without accusation, and it should be all revealed to us.”

“Logan-” Joan started, but Logan just shook his head. Talyn typed in their PIN again to deactivate the dampers.

“You’ll at least let us know what they say?” Joan asked as Logan and Virgil stepped to the edge of the cupola.

Logan took a deep breath and looked back. “You’ll be the first.” He stepped off the edge, becoming a blur as he did so.

Virgil nodded to both Joan and Talyn before leaping out to follow his partner.

~~~~~~

“Logan! Virgil! What a lovely surprise!”

The Drs. Lancaster were both in their lab at the university, and Portia greeted them both with a smile and a little wave. Her red hair was pulled back into a bun, but wavy strands had popped free, held back only by the headband tied into a bow. Virgil had asked, once, how no one ever recognized the former public face of Harmony City’s Heroes, even if she had changed her last name. The doctor had winked, tapping her frames, and said, “It’s all in the glasses.”

Her husband was able to pause his work too and came over smiling. Virgil had always liked the Docs - they’d welcomed him into their home as his ‘City Family,’ once it became clear he couldn’t commute out to his mums in the suburbs as much as he would have liked.

He really, really hoped that Logan was correct.

“What brings you ‘round, big guy? It’s been months!” Atticus asked, going for a hug. Virgil didn’t so much hug back as he patted the man’s shoulders awkwardly, glancing meaningfully at Logan.

The young man cleared his throat. “Mom, Dad, I have a question for you.”

Atticus’ eyes lit up, looking at Virgil and back to his son. “Are you asking us for our blessing, finally?”

Logan did a slight double-take. “Beg pardon?”

Portia chuckled, slinking an arm around Atticus’ waist. “Your father here has been hoping you’re going to make an honest man out of Virgil soon.”

Virgil blushed deep crimson at that. “I- uh. Our boyfriends might object if we got married without them?”

Logan elbowed him. “Virge, I hadn’t told them that yet-”

“Shit-”

“Boyfriends? Multiple? Are you starting a collection?” Atticus asked, blinking. “Is it like a butterfly collection, are you collecting taxonomic details?”

Logan cleared his throat. “No, Dad. I- Virgil and I have started mutually dating Roman and Patton. All four of us as equal romantic partners.”

A slight crease formed in Portia’s forehead. “Roman and Patton? Have we met them?”

“Not as such, no,” Logan said, not meeting either parents’ eyes as he fiddled with his glasses.

Atticus and Portia stared in a mixture of confusion and concern. Logan shot Virgil a pleading look, linking their fingers together.

Virgil flinched. This conversation was far more personal than he’d been prepared for, but he’d gotten them into this mess in the first place. “You may know them by their super names - Crimson Marauder and Gale Force.”

Logan squeezed Virgil’s fingers so tightly that he would have bruised, if he ever bruised.

Portia pursed her lips, the wrinkle in her brow becoming more pronounced. “Weren’t you fighting them, dear?”

“Yes, Mother, I was,” Logan started. “But things, ah, changed. And they’re reformed now.”

Virgil wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Atticus’ face in something that had to try so hard to taken as a smile. “But they’re villains, Lo?”

“They were villains,” Virgil clarified. “They both went through-- god, they went through some rough shit, and the anger from their experiences made them more villainous for a while there. But they really are wonderful men, and they’re nonviolent now.”

“Well. I suppose such a thing is possible, hypothetically,” Portia replied. She tapped her lips with a long, elegant finger. “If trauma was so involved in their moral failings, what on earth could have shaken them enough that they’re now attempting to erase them?”

If Virgil had been a cat, he would have hissed. Instead, his shoulders and back stiffened even as a chill ran down his spine. He exhaled slowly, making sure he didn’t accidentally squeeze Logan’s hand back. Feeling like this, he might hurt him inadvertently.

“Actually, Mother, Father, the answer to that question is the very question we have come to ask,” Logan said. He stood ramrod straight, meeting his mother’s eyes levelly despite the difference in their heights.

“What’s with the fancy-talk, Lolo?” Atticus asked, chuckling uncomfortably. “We’re all family here.”

“Speaking of family,” Logan continued, “Patton and Roman found their perspective on what makes a hero or villain dramatically changed by the events of the last several months. This was largely to the reappearance of Patton’s brother, Thomas Sanders.”

Virgil had never quite determined if his acute awareness of others’ body movements was part of his powers, or if it was just the natural power of anxiety. But it was enough for him to notice that both the Drs. Lancaster blinked in a way that looked a lot like recognition.

“That may be another name you have not heard, I am aware,” Logan continued. “But I am quite confident you know who he is. His alias was Agent Whisper.”

Portia gasped. “Goodness, how upsetting for your friend that his brother was such a terror upon our city! No wonder he was so upset. Such a reveal, and losing even an evil sibling would be terrible, I’m sure.”

“Dr. Lancaster,” Virgil cut in, “Patton didn’t lose his brother again. Thomas is also in reform. I thought you knew.”

“How would I know, dear?”

“Because you’ve been in the DREAM Index,” Logan replied, taking back the thread.

Atticus smiled, round cheeks crinkling. “Lo, you know she doesn’t have access to that anymore! They can’t let just anyone see all the supers’ data!”

“But you two do. You asked for my information, when I handed off my dissertation. To cross-reference, you said.”

Portia pursed her lips. “We did, didn’t we. It must have slipped my mind.”

Logan frowned. “Mother. Please. One of you has been making edits under my name. I’d like to know why, and what it has to do with Thomas.”

“That was me,” Atticus said. “I was preserving the integrity of our research. You know how important that is.”

“Which research was being implicated?” Portia asked conversationally, as if her only son wasn’t still staring her down.

“Project Charcoal.”

“Ah, a good call, my love. That’s far too sensitive to be revealed.”

“Even to the mayor?” Virgil asked innocently. “Because not even they could see past the redaction.”

Atticus walked over to the lab bench. “Lo, come sit. No need to be so suspicious - you know we’ll tell you everything.”

Logan looked to Virgil automatically, who shrugged in response. Are we ready to do this? Do we have a choice? They squeezed their interlocked hands and sat across the bench from the doctors.

“So. My dissertation became Project Charcoal,” Logan stated.

“Yes, that’s what it came to be called,” Portia said. “EANSC 2.0 was too much of a mouthful, and lost accuracy.”

“And you didn’t tell me this sooner because…?”

“You never asked, kiddo,” Atticus said with a smile. “We were telling you about our experiments - the refining of the dampener field, the RNA sequencing, that’s all under the project!”

Logan frowned. “And yet, there is clearly more that you neglected to mention.”

“Well, yes, but we didn’t want to distract you. Your hero work was more important,” Portia explained. “We were continuing our research on side-effects of EAs on civilians and it ended up being merged together, that was really the only big change we didn’t tell you about.”

“...the side-effect research?” Virgil asked quietly.

“It started after the Mystic Magician,” Logan explained. “He managed to succeed, in a terrible way. The Viper is proof of that, and the Condor was too. But it rocked the conventional understanding of enhanced abilities. My parents and the larger genetic research community started looking into whether or not civilians were affected by being exposed to active abilities.”

Atticus nodded. “We wanted to minimize collateral damage beyond what could be seen. Were bystanders being slowly mutated? Was the density of supers here self-fulfilling? So we looked at both demographic data and autopsies of casualties from super fights. We started seeing the beginnings of patterns, but nothing definite. And then we hit a wall completely when Logan was about nine years old.”

“And then, in a fluke, we discovered the EANSC - the Neutralization & Stasis Chamber. And the dampening field,” Portia said, eyes alight. “An electromagnetic field that affected the use of powers. For the first time ever, there was the idea that abilities could actually be affected externally. We had a whole new way to conceptualize the side-effects and to focus our research. And only two years after we perfected EANSC enough to implement, Logan joined us in studying just how the emotional effects of the dampers were connected to the use of abilities.” She smiled fondly at her son. “If we hadn’t been inspired before, getting to work with you was what really did it.”

Logan smiled back, relaxing. “Thanks, Mom.”

Virgil was frowning, though. “But what were you looking for?”

Logan grinned at his boyfriend, squeezing his hand. “We’re scientists, Virge, isn’t it obvious?”

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

Logan opened his mouth to speak at the same time as his mother did the same.

“A greater understanding of the world!!”

“A way to stop supervillains forever.”

Logan whipped around, jaw going slack. “What?”

Atticus nodded. “Loberry, don’t be naive. We don’t get these kinds of resources just for being lecturers at the university. We don’t get highest clearance in the city for teaching undergrads how to run a simple gel electrophoresis. We’re on a direct research mandate from the State. Why do you think your mother thought this work was more important than remaining an active-duty hero?”

The blood was slowly draining out of Logan’s face. “I- she was taking time off for us, for me and Bea and Jem, right?” He looked at Portia, who smiled.

“Of course, dear, that too. But I’d been fighting for almost 20 years. I was practically a senior citizen in hero years. And I was so tired of fighting villains, over and over, knowing there would always be more. So when we were asked if we’d like to work towards ending the fight once and for all, I couldn’t very well say no!”

Virgil looked sick. “You- and what, you’d unmake villains? Like the Magician tried to make them?”

Atticus laughed. “Of course not! The Magician was so ham-handed, it was sloppily done and clearly had painful results. We wanted a painless way to remove the risk. Like declawing a cat.”

“Declawing a cat isn’t painless, it’s mutilation,” Virgil snapped. “It leaves them entirely unable to fend for themselves. Was that the plan? Non-heroes left defenseless?”

“In captivity, preferably, until we were sure they could re-enter society,” Portia said with a shrug. “It’s more humane that the life sentence they get now, except for those who break out.”

Logan had released Virgil’s hands, instead gripping the table until his knuckles had turned white. “You never told me,” he said to himself quietly. Shaking his head to clear it, he looked up. “You know more about Agent Whisper than you’ve admitted, too. Tell me. Now.”

Atticus made eye contact with Portia, who inclined her head.

“We examined bystander casualties directly after some incidents and were able to find electromagnetic signatures in the brains that resembled damper fields, but different in a very key way. They were equal and opposite. If the fields correspond to suppressed emotions, then these brains had their emotions intensified, instead.”

Virgil shivered at the thought, reaching for Logan once more under the bench. Without looking, Logan moved a hand to link their fingers once more. He kept his gaze fixed on his parents.

“If there was a heightened effect happening as collateral in bystanders, we thought, there was a chance we could recreate it deliberately,” Portia continued. “And if it persisted enough to show up in autopsy, that modulation in both directions could potentially be made permanent. We could replicate dampers without the tech! But we needed to look at side effects first. We had to wait for more casualties with exposure to extreme ability usage.”

Virgil felt a headache starting to drum in his temples, the ache of anger and tears that he refused to let fall as the pieces connected before him. “And you got the fucking golden opportunity, didn’t you. At the foster home. All of Pat’s rage and grief just created the goddamn ideal specimen.”

Atticus blinked at the venom in Virgil’s voice, but responded calmly,. “It was a tragedy. Heartbreaking, of course. But tragedy breeds emotion, and emotion is the lifeblood of your abilities.”

“We were only trying to use the fields to affect the brainwaves that hadn’t yet petered out,” Portia said, as if that excused it. “We shocked when we picked up a renewed heartbeat. But the brainwaves hadn’t changed. It was still brain-dead by any measure.”

“He.” Virgil’s voice was iron and blood as he spat out the correction.

Logan was paler than Virgil had ever seen him, even when he’d needed treatment for blood loss back in the earliest months of their heroing. “And you kept going? What happened to only experimenting on organ and science donors?”

Atticus smiled in confusion. “Lo, that was never the case. We didn’t perfect the EANSC with cadavers, we had villains to test with.”

“I’m sure they agreed to be lab rats, too,” Virgil accused.

Portia just shrugged. “Anyway, we kept the body in cryo except when running more tests. It still appeared to be brain-dead, right up until the day it- sorry, he,” she corrected exaggeratedly, ” He escaped. And started killing people.”

Logan looked ready to yell, his face yet, but he stopped and took a deep breath. “Are you familiar with his powers? Have you heard about what his memory of that time period is?”

“I’ve read the Index entry,” Portia replied blandly.

“He relived his entire life hundreds of times, and the accident at the foster homes thousands more,” Virgil said quietly, dangerously. “He saw everyone he loved die, then alive and loving him, then dying again. And when the memories were done replaying, new ones started being created. All emotionally charged, extremes of elation and sorrow and fury.”

Atticus looked at Virgil, eyes glinting with interest. “So you’re saying the prolonged exposure to the modified dampers actually created this power? Fascinating!”

“What the fuck, Dad?” Logan spat out. “This isn’t some mere curiosity! This is someone’s life. You destroyed the psyched of a real, living, breathing kid and all you care about is what it means for your fucking research grant?”

“Logan, there’s no need for such language,” Portia chided. Virgil shot a glare in her direction. She looked back, eyebrow arched. “It’s just research.”

“Research that you’re going to stop, correct?” Logan asked.

“When we’ve just gotten confirmation of the biggest breakthrough to date?” she asked incredulously. "We’ll take more precautions going forward, of course, but by no means will we stop. That would be illogical.”

Blood pounded in Virgil’s ears. “I’m sorry, what? You’re going to keep going? Hell fucking no.”

Portia narrowed her eyes. “Virgil, be serious here. This is too important to let a tantrum get in the way.”

“Oh, you want a tantrum?” Virgil rumbled. He stood, bracing himself in a fighting stance. “Let me show you what a tantrum looks like.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not going to fight you,” Portia scoffed, though she stood too. She looked over at her son. “Either of you.”

“So you agree to end the program then? Because it’s one or the other,” Virgil snapped. He tapped his watch decisively. “The mayor is hearing about this. Now or never, Professor Polarity . End this madness, or get ready to see your precious EANSCs up close and personal for the foreseeable future.”

Portia’s metal hair tie popped out of her bun, letting her hair fall free as the tie flew into the air beside her. She lifted her hand, and a metal apparatus flew from the back bench to her grip. “Don’t be stupid, Virgil. I’m immune to it. It’s an electro magnetic field. You, however, aren’t so lucky.” She flicked a switch on the machine, bringing it to life. The familiar glow of dampers show out the front.

“I’m sorry, Lo!” Virgil shouted, and dove at Atticus, easily manhandling him and trapping him, one arm around his neck. “Don’t try it, Portia. I don’t need powers to be able to cut off his air. You turn that on me, you won’t like what happens.”

“You see, Logan?” Portia said, not turning as she scowled at Virgil. “You see what happens? Virgil’s spent so much time with those villains that he’s resorting to their tactics. It’s a contagion. This is why they can’t be forgiven. What reformation can there be, when their lack of morals spreads so?”

Logan was frozen, eyes flicking between his boyfriend, who had his father caught in an uncomfortable chokehold, and his mother, who was pointing a weapon at his boyfriend.

“You don’t exactly have the moral high ground here,” Virgil growled at the former hero. “Unless torturing a child is considered a virtue now.”

“Use it, Porsh!” Atticus rasped around Virgil’s arm. His fingers scrabbled to get a grip, but Virgil’s muscles were unmovable. “He’s bluffing!”

“Am I?” Virgil asked. “You said it yourself, I’m clearly infected by the influence of my other boyfriends. Who knows what I’m capable of, now? I know you love your experiments, but you just might want to not put this particular hypothesis to the test.”

Portia sneered, her face managing to look lovely even when twisted in scorn. “Atticus, dear. I love you very much. I apologize in advance if the max setting hurt you, too.” She aimed the damper squarely at Virgil and hit the switch.

Except she didn’t. And her arms were tied behind her back with pure rope, nothing metal. And the damper was secured in a plastic bin at the corner of the lab. And Logan was standing between his mother and his boyfriend, chest heaving.

“Mom,” he said, voice breaking. “How- how could you? Why?”

“I’m a hero, Logan,” she replied, as steadily as someone who'd just been bound by a family member could be. “I serve the greater good. I thought I’d taught you that, but clearly I failed.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, my love,” Atticus interjected. Virgil had released his neck, though he kept his arms twisted up behind his back. “We both tried. It turns out he wasn’t as much a Lancaster as we’d hoped.”

“Shut up,” Virgil snapped. “I’m tired of your bile, both of you.” He turned to the window, seeing the reflection of flashing lights.

Logan had his back to them all. Virgil saw the quiver in his shoulders and knew he was crying and trying to hide it. He quickly grabbed a stray zip tie and secured Atticus by the wrists to the lab bench. Then he crossed to Logan and wrapped his arms around him.

He didn’t speak. He just let Logan turn and cling to him, face buried in his chest.

Let it out, love. I’ll keep the world at bay.

~~~~~~ ~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #265345 Classification: A.2.i [Secondary Tier Hero, Legacy] /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Do we update this? - Talyn /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Let’s archive this one. Save the legacy. We can record the truth in clearance for now. We can at least save Logan some heartache. - Joan Name: Professor Polarity Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Retired /////////[CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Reason: Jailed pending trial Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] Portia Lancaster née Portia Price Affiliation: Hero ///////// H.A.T.C.H. Status: Blackout Only ///////// [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] H.A.T.C.H. Status: Inactive Partners/Sidekicks: DI#A-2305 - Forces of Nature Primary Foes: DI#265333 - The Mystic Magician; Powers: Magnetokinesis Costume: Jumpsuit patterned in red-and-blue rectangles; blue cape with Ampère model of a magnetic field; gold belt with a buckle in the shape of a horseshoe magnet Age: 54 Height: 5’6” Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class of ‘82 Note: Mother of DI#337255 - Dr. Vectorious; Co-inventor of the Enhanced Ability Neutralization and Stasis Chamber (EANSC) now in use at City of Harmony Enhanced Ability Containment Center (CHEACC). [Hall of Fame notes archived]. ///////// [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] As architect of the covert Project Charcoal, she attempted to discover a ‘cure’ that would strip supers of their abilities. Involved in reviving and creating DI#337501, see IR19-Z-0001

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a/n: It’s been over a year since I started this story, which is insane. So much has happened since I woke up with an idea of “what if royality were villains.” Thank you so much for reading and leaving kudos and commenting and particularly for theorizing. I’ve been in love with this idea, and knowing that anyone liked it too gave me incentive to finish it.

One last epilogue coming up. I promised the boys a happier ending.