#the sticker that the protest group gave me is now on the back of my jean jacket

[kowboykiller]

this was from the dyke march but it’s pride 2 so you’re gonna get these photos anyway

the protest group that was there at the beginning of the parade was chanting “cops are not queer, cops are not dykes, fascists take a fucking hike”

and i don’t know much about the group protesting, but what i do know is that people have been characterizing them as violent and all sorts of other words, but the reality is that i saw butches getting yanked off their bikes by cops for “disturbing the peace.” i saw cops harassing two young trans women. all of the cops i saw there were men, almost all of them were white. the protesters had every damn right to scream and call them fascists.

[junicai]

frozen hearts.

| summary | Aria and Yuta bonding, feat. some less than pleasant discoveries.

| word count | 2.5k

| warnings | bad parenting (?), neglect

| era | circa. 2014 through 2017

Underneath a frozen river, the water will keep running in a steady flow. It doesn’t care for the layer of ice blocking it out from the world; it has a sole purpose. To continue flowing, to continue rushing down the side of the slight hill. Rivers don’t stop for a cold snap.

Similarly, frozen hearts still beat despite their layer of black ice covering the outer shell. They are hard, and cold to the touch - almost unbearable to carry for any length of time - but they have warm blood rushing through them regardless. 

The thing is, about frozen hearts, is one cannot be born cold. 

Each life begins flooded with light and love and happiness and warmth; it fills up each corner of your vision and everything is bright, bright, bright.

Like a pot slowly brought to the boil, or the temperature slowly dropped degree by degree - you’ll freeze without even knowing it.

Aria likes to believe that’s what happened, at least. She can’t resent them, not as much as her head begs her too, for her heart pounds against her chest screaming no.

Too many fond memories filed away to be taken out and gazed upon with a bittersweet smile curling her lips makes for an impossible task when asked to burn the bridge connecting them.

Part of her was reluctant to let go, because she still needed them, still wanted their care and their comfort like she had once received in mountains. Like a drug, it had been snatched away from her without warning, and now she was an addict weaning herself off of it, trying to ignore the pang in her chest.

The other part, was scared. Terrified even. Scared that should she burn the bridge, should she cut the final chord, that they wouldn’t even feel it at all. 

Call her cruel, but Aria wanted them to feel the pain she did when the bonds were snapped. 

But how can a frozen heart burn?

A new perspective. 

A new perspective can change the world, said her mother.

A new perspective is all that you need to change a catastrophe into something else entirely. Aria wasn’t sure if it was her that she was talking to, or if she was trying to convince herself. 

Packed onto a plane with her abhorrently bright suitcase and a handful of folded papers to he name, Aria was given a pat on the back by her father, and a one-armed hug by her mother. 

“You behave now, you hear me? Make your parents proud of you.” Her mother stood up straighter, brushing the non-existent dust from Aria’s shoulders. 

Aria nodded, letting her parents take a final once over before she was packed onto a plane, with a red sticker slapped onto her suitcase. 

Unaccompanied Minor. 

It felt like a tag, and Aria could feel the eyes following her around the airport as she just barely managed to navigate her way to her gate and onto the plane.

At the gate, she fumbled with the folded papers in her small hands, and yelped when two of them slid out onto the ground and fluttered open. 

Tucked inside one paper slip was her airplane ticket, the words INCHEON, SOUTH KOREA printed in bold across the top.

The airport hostess smiled kindly at the young girl, crouching down beside her to help collect the scattered things. 

“And where would you be off to? Are you meeting your parents?” She asked, smoothing out the creases in her skirt as she scanned Aria’s ticket through and the light flickered green momentarily.

Aria shook her head. Her parents lived in Dublin.

“Aria, don’t be ridiculous. You have a full career ahead of you where you are right now, why would you throw all that away for a silly little dream?” Her mother sighed lightly.

“You’d never make it as a singer - I just don’t think you have it in you, darling.” She shuffled closer to Aria, tucking the girl under her arm. “Let’s stop daydreaming, hm? You have an early practice tomorrow, you need to get some proper sleep before that.”

Moving past the questioning woman, Aria took back her ticket from the extended hand. “I’m going to become a singer.” 

Aria knew she was small. 

She was an inch short of average height, and normally it wouldn’t bother her but when surrounded by a group of boys all going through the various stages of puberty at once, it became glaringly obvious that she was, in fact, quite short. 

Kicking her toe at the floor of the practice room, she scoffed slightly. Stupid teenage boys and their stupid growth spurts and their stupid long legs and their stupid voice cracks. 

They’d recorded the same segment of the song four times, because one of the trainees kept shattering his voice box anytime he went above a middle C. 

Now, nearing ten minutes to twelve, the others had packed themselves away and left with a goodbye called over their shoulder - leaving Aria to pace the spring boarded floor mindlessly.

“Akari?” 

Aria jolted slightly, whipping around to face the doorway from which a boy was hanging from. 

“Yuta-san! Oh, hello!” Aria bowed a little shakily, startled from her own thoughts. 

Yuta moved through the doorway into the practice room. He scanned around, frowning when he only saw Aria alone in the room. “Are you here alone?” 

Aria nodded. “The others, they wanted to go home but I needed to stay so I told them it was okay.” 

“The others?”

“My team,” She explained. “I’m training with the boys right now, and we’re meant to be putting together a piece for the evaluation next month.”

He stepped forward. “You’re training with, Hyunjae’s group? Why?”

Aria shrugged. “I don’t know either. They just told me to come here now instead of the other practice room, so I did.”

Yuta still looked confused, but Aria spun the topic of conversation around before he had the chance to ask another question. “It’s late, Yuta-san, shouldn’t you be at home?”

He blinked once, shaking his head lightly and looking back at Aria. “I could ask you the same thing. It’s dark outside, I’ll walk you back.”

“Oh no it’s okay!” She rushed to protest. “I used to walk home at night a lot, I’m okay with the dark now.”

Yuta bit the inside of his cheek with how fast he turned. “They leave you here alone a lot?” His face had taken on an incredulous look, and his eyes had a dark tinge. 

“No no, that’s not what I meant,” Aria waved her hands about. God this was a mess. “Back home, I used to walk home after training. So I’m careful but the dark doesn’t scare me.” She emphasized home, not wanting an angry Yuta to come after Hyunjae in the morning.

It really was okay...

“Well the thought of you alone in the dark scares me.” Yuta said with finality, walking to the wall and picking up Aria’s jacket from the ground. “C’mon, it’s not getting any brighter.”

“You know, you said something. Years ago, and I’ve always meant to ask you what you meant but I never got the chance to.” 

Aria flipped over on the bed, lying on her stomach with one eye open as she peered over at Yuta. The laptop with a film paused was perched precariously on the edge of the bed, and was beginning to slide off the duvet just as he went to grab it. 

His fingers curled around the screen right before it fell off entirely, saving it from a broken spine.

Aria giggled. “Nice save.” 

Yuta smiled, and pushed the now closed laptop towards the head of the bed where it would be out of harms way. Hopefully. 

Not willing to drop the topic just yet, he sat up and put his hands on his knees. “You said something about walking home, that you were used to doing it in the dark.”

Aria hummed, half asleep with the warmth of the room. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket earlier on and it had kept her toasty - but now the warm air was slowly making her drowsy. “My parents didn’t really have time, so I just. Walked.”

“Your parents didn’t have time?”

“To collect me. From the ice rink, I mean.”

Yuta’s lips parted, but the words died on his tongue. His head tilted in confusion. “How old were you?”

“Mm, ten?”

“Ten?!”

Aria giggled, swatting at him and missing by a mile. “Don’t say it like that, it was fine! It was a ten minute walk, I wasn’t going to die.”

Yuta’s eyebrows were nearly touching at this point. “Your parents, made a ten year old girl walk home in the dark, what, twice a week?”

“Three times. I had morning practice three times a week, and evening practice three times a week.”

“You were ten?”

“Mhm.”

Yuta sat back. “What, were you training for the Olympics or something?” He joked, a half smile finding it’s way onto his lips. 

“Mhm.”

The smile fell. “What?”

“That’s what my father told me. H’said, I was going to the Olympics to make them proud.” 

“That’s, nice I guess-”

“To repay what they gave me.” She finished.

Yuta’s relaxed demeanor had disappeared entirely, and now he was staring in shock and slight trepidation at the sleepy girl lying on his bed. She had moved closer in the duration of their conversation, and was close to having her head pillowed in his lap.

“What did you say, Akari?” His voice was soft, hiding a more concerned undertone. 

Aria whined, shaking her head. “No, don’t wanna talk about this. M’tired, m’going to sleep.”

“Akari no, two more minutes.”

“Goodnight.”

“Akari,” Yuta patted her arm, pulling her up gently. “Two more minutes, then I promise you can go to sleep.”

She groaned, turning to plant her fact in the blanket beneath her. “What, what is it?” 

“Do you -” Yuta started then stopped. “Did you like ice skating?”

“I was good at it.”

“That’s not what I was asking.”

Aria rolled over, throwing an arm over face as she eyed Yuta suspiciously. “Okay, you’re acting weird. Stop acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird!” He protested. 

“Yes you are! You’re making me feel like I’ve done something wrong, stop it.” 

Yuta sighed, moving to lay beside her and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Okay, I’m sorry. You haven’t done something wrong, don’t worry.”

“Then what’s with the bloody interrogation?” Aria’s voice was ladened with sleepy frustration.

“I just...”

“You just...”

Yuta pinched her arm. “Don’t mock me.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you could string a sentence together.”

Yuta let his thoughts gather, collecting them together.

It wasn’t weird, was it? A lot of kids felt a responsibility towards their parents, wanted to repay them for taking care of them, that wasn’t unusual. But on the other hand, it was normally the child who decided to take on that burden, they were rarely instructed to do so by their parents themselves. 

Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember a single time where Aria has mentioned her parents; not at holidays, not during promotions. He doesn’t remember her ever stepping out to take a call from them. 

Had Aria spoken about her parents at all? It wasn’t a thing he would have otherwise taken notice of, but suddenly Yuta was wracking his memory, trying to find a single time where Aria had mentioned her parents, spoken about them. 

Yuta didn’t know why he was so worried about this. If there was a problem, surely she would have come to him? Come to someone? 

Regardless of the logic telling him that, yes, everything was okay, there was a sinking feeling settling in the bottom of his stomach. 

When asked about her family, Aria had always said NCT. Said that, NCT was her family; her home.

“Akari, when was the last time you spoke to your parents?”

Aria rolled her neck to ease the growing crick. She was still burrowed beneath the blanket, and Yuta’s hug was only pushing her deeper into a comforting sleep. “Last month, why?”

“What did you talk about?” He pressed.

“There was a problem with my VISA. Some of the adoption papers got mixed up or the name change wasn’t filed right or something.” Aria mumbled the words into the duvet. “Can I go to sleep now?”

Yuta didn’t respond. 

“Yuta?”

Aria lifted her head, blinking blearily at the older boy. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Yuta was not going to be sick. It was just a lot to process. Yeah.

“You’re adopted?”

“You didn’t know?”

He spluttered lightly, “You never told me!” 

“It’s not exactly a secret! Any article written about me has something about my adoptive parents written in there. ‘The heroic couple who gave a young girl a fighting chance~’” Aria snorted through her nose. 

Yuta’s head was reeling. Aria was adopted. That was fine. Nothing wrong there. 

But something still wasn’t sitting right with him.

“Is that what you ‘owe them’? The fact that they adopted you?” 

“The orphanage I was in was being closed down - I think I was going to be moved to a group home, but the week before it shut, my parents adopted me. It seems fair that I’d owe them something for that, right?” 

“No?” Yuta let out a winded chuckle, eyes wide. “Akari that’s not, how adoption works?”

“Sure it is. And anyway, I was good at ice skating. It’s not a big deal.” Aria rolled over back to her stomach with finality, clearly trying to signify an end to the conversation. 

Yuta wasn’t done. He had finalized on what it was that wasn’t sitting right.

“You speak Japanese. I thought you - did your parents speak Japanese?” 

Aria hummed. “No, I took lessons. They said it was good for the media - it changed their perception of me, I think. Made me more appealing.” The words were mechanical, and not her own.

“What does that even mean?!” Yuta’s voice was raised now, the boy sitting up.

It was like Aria was being treated like a show horse, trained in a few tricks and then sold on. What kind of people - 

“Yuta, please.” Aria’s voice was soft, and her eyes were barely open. “Please, I just want to go to sleep. M’tired, you can ask me about this tomorrow, okay?”

He sat back, mollified. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. You want to stay here, or?” 

Aria snuggled deeper into the covers in lieu of an answer.

Yuta ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Okay, that’s. That’s fine. Goodnight, Akari.”

Aria’s phone lit up from where the girl had tossed it earlier, making a small ping. He looked over momentarily, catching the two small notifications before the screen faded to black again.

Mother [1:48] The transaction should have gone through. Make sure to approve it quickly, we don’t want to be waiting like we were last month. 

[Bank of Korea] $850 has been withdrawn from your account by your contact “Mother”. Would you like to approve this transaction? 

[gojoscloset]

Damaged goods

Suna Rintarou x Fem!Reader Pt. 1

Suna confesses to reader who still dwells on their trauma

WARNINGS:

Brief mentions of Sexual trauma

Bad words

Not edited

Mayhaps really out of character

Self indulgent

Angst

Word count: 3k+

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Her?!”

“Yeah, her.” Suna confirmed, sharp eyes watching your expressions change as you interacted with your friends quite a few lunch tables away.

“Ha! Yeah, good luck Rin. I heard She’s prude as fuck” his friend patted Suna’s shoulder in a rough yet playful way. “I‘ve been school mates with her since intermediate, no good. She’s never dated anyone, rejects any confessions thrown her way, and immediately rejects people’s advances. You’re booking a room at the Heartbreak hotel if you’d ask me.”

“I didn’t ask, but thanks for looking out.” He didn’t expect his friend to react so negatively, immediately he changed the topic, no longer wanting to speak of you if it wasn't praise. Either way,Suna couldn't care less about who you rejected and why they got rejected. At the end of the day, they weren't him, and they didn’t know you.

___

You unknowingly planted a ‘parasite’ in Suna’s mind, as he likes to call it. He recalls the exact moment in which you were no longer blurred in the background, but right in his face the whole time; a small act of kindness that rotted his brain away with how much he thought about it.

He started noticing how frequent you two run into each other after the first ‘encounter’, now he quietly and stealthily looks your way in hopes of possibly catching you doing another kind act. Much to Suna’s surprise, he had the privilege of witnessing your integrity on multiple occasions which only made him want to be closer to you.

Of course he never initiated anything, nor did he make the effort to speak to you. He felt there really was no proper way to approach you without it being awkward in his eyes. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to initiate conversation?

“Hey, I have seen you do kind things for others and now I want to get to know you?”

“Hello, I saw you pay for someone’s items one time and now i can’t stop thinking about you, i’m Suna Rintaro”

Thoughts that kept him up sometimes. Thoughts that took up the free space in his mind until they started to affect his little day to day routines. It scared him to see himself willingly want to do things for you that were completely out of character. You. A person he only got to see a glimpse of, maybe that's what kept his infatuation burning. To think that the light that radiated from you was just what seeped through the cracks, a sample of who you really were, he only got a little taste and he was feening for more.

Suna was a quiet man, but he could only keep his head in the clouds for so long before someone noticed.

“So, what’s been on your mind?” Kita pulled him to the side after practice one day and that’s when he spilled everything to Kita. Kita himself was surprised yet honored to see this vulnerable side of Suna.

With a little encouragement from his teammate, he decided to tell you how he felt. He of course asked Kita and Aran for assistance,as they were the most level-headed members of the team and his friend group. They suggested the letter method opposed to the DM method Suna insisted would ‘be a lot easier’ to do. But they weren’t going to let him be a coward. “Things such as romance shouldn’t be done half-assed.” Kita damn near scolded him and reluctantly Suna obliged.

Somehow the twins caught wind of the plan, and decided they would be there while he confessed, in hiding of course. And after dragging Kita and Aran along, despite their protests and mentions of violating Suna’s privacy, the gang was somehow all there.

——

He practiced this very moment countless times in his head even preparing for rejection.

“Suna-San..'' you looked up from the envelope he handed you, you stared directly into his eyes, various forms of negative emotions displayed on your own face causing his anxiety to shoot through the roof, but the smile you gave him afterwards alleviated it just a tad.

‘Heartbreak Hotel…’ His friend's words repeated in his mind and Suna wondered if maybe he made a mistake, even if he barely said anything, did his actions come off too strong?

“...I am flattered, I really am…” You chuckled a bit, hiding the lower half of your face with the letter, slightly embarrassed but really flattered.

Oh how He wished you hadn’t done that. He wanted to see how you beamed because of him, even if the rejection would follow afterwards, he wished that smile reached him.

“But please don’t waste your time on me.” You laughed, examining the envelope, not looking at him while your fingers traced the large red heart sticker that sealed the confession.

He took the hit like a man, understanding that not everyone was going to like him in that way and rejection in life was inevitable, but he wasn’t going to let this go so easily, not when it came to you. Not when you called it a waste of time.

You were grateful that Suna didn’t do this in front of everyone, like all the others, Blissfully unaware that the devils were in the details and said devils were actually listening in and cheering for Suna silently on the other side of the lockers.

There were a million things Suna wanted to say but he couldn’t choose what to say in time before things went awkwardly silent. You couldn’t look at him for long before you shyly turned away, once again covering your face as you laughed.

“Thank you though.. but yeah… I’ll see you tomorrow in class?” You took a step to the side to walk past him, but before you managed to get away he took a step in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

He gave you a serious look once he finally grasped onto something to say , there wasn’t any hidden anger in his gaze, much to your relief.

“Pursuing you isn't a waste of my time.” He said plainly, his cool demeanor never wavered but internally his heart was doing flips. You were not expecting this kind of reaction honestly. Everyone else you had rejected always took it like a bitch, utterly offended and of course left you hurt with the slew of insults they used to mask their pain and to get back at you on their way out.

But not Suna, he had patience and was understanding. It hurt you that you had to reject him, but you couldn’t do that to him, not when you were still… fucked.

“That’s ‘cause you don’t even know me.” Your laugh was a pained one, and your fight or flight senses kicked in, he was stretching the moment as much as possible and it made you nervous.

“I know enough to know I want more.” he replied.

“And that’s a mistake on your end.” You snapped but you didn’t mean to. Your hands began to shake and your voice was beginning to crack under the pressure. You knew he meant no harm in prying, but you wished he would have reacted the way all the others have since It would have been easier to escape the situation.

His heart was heavy, but obviously not as heavy as yours.

“Look, Suna” you began, exhaling deeply. Your eyes finally met his. “I’m what they call damaged goods, okay? I won’t be able to give you what you want. Relationships require things that are difficult for me to give, and I think it’s best you trash the idea.” Your voice was small but the meaning behind your words was not.

“What is it that's required?” His hand rubbed the back of his neck, the nerves finally hitting him breaking his chill character. “Y-you never know..M..maybe you don’t have to give it to me...”

Your brows were knit together, confused at how oblivious he was. Did he really not get it? Or was this all an elaborate prank?

You opened up your mouth to speak but before you could mutter anything out, Kita came from around the corner, immediately you shoved the letter into your back pocket. Little did you know the letter was their doing. Well, Mainly Aran and Kita.

“Oh, there you are Rin. I hope I’m not intruding in anything, but we can’t start practice without you.”

Kita gave you a nod and a small smile, you returned the nod, and attempted with the smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes as it normally would.

Suna had a confused look on his face, but he played along. “Right…. “ He muttered, turning to look at you. You stared back at him but you were the first one to break eye contact

“Do your best at practice..I’ll see you around.” You whispered and quickly saw yourself out.

——

Atsumu, Osamu, and Aran stepped from the other side once Kita gave them the cue.

They rushed to Suna’s side, immediately bombarding him with praise and encouragement, and Suna hated it. He didn’t mean to feel this way, but Suna knew the praise came from a place of pity, it was etched on their sad smiles. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, even if he knew they were just trying to help.

Practice went on as it normally would, Suna was quieter though, as expected. He let his mind wander, the scene replaying in his head, trying to ping the exact moment where he messed up.

Kita pulled him to the side once again after practice.

“You are no coward.” Kita gave him a reassuring smile, Suna couldn’t return it though.

“It feels like I am.” He took a seat on the steps outside, Kita following suit.

“It’s understandable why you feel that way, romance is nothing easy. But you did what you could out there, you should be proud of yourself.” Kita threw in another one of his smiles but Suna wasn’t even looking his way, his mind everywhere but here.

Kita continued, knowing Suna was probably not going to say much to him. “ But the reason I pulled you aside today was to explain why I intervened. It seems that what she said went way over your head and I couldn’t continue to listen to you unknowingly pry.”

With those words Suna was thrown back to planet earth. He snapped his head in Kita’a direction, visible uncertainty in his eyes.

“It was when l/n talked about being ‘damaged goods’ and about what she couldn’t give you in a relationship.” Kita looked at Suna, searching his eyes to see in case the lightbulb finally flicked on. But it didn’t so he continued.

“I’m in a place I don’t belong, but Rin, I’m pretty sure she was referring to trauma...whether it be sexual or not, I suggest you refrain from prying.”

The cogs in Suna’s mind finally began to spin. He was able to put the pieces together and see the entire image for what it was. It made him sad to think that you referred to yourself as ‘damaged goods’ because of your past. He wanted to doubt the possibility, but the pieces to the puzzle fit all too well for it to be anything else.

Not only that- Kita, being as intuitive as he was, was usually never wrong about these kinds of things, nor would he lie to Suna. Especially about something like that.

He then remembered the ‘warning’ his friend gave him that one day. A wave of disappointment rushed through him knowing that his ‘friend’ made assumptions about you whilst being completely oblivious to the truth.

All of these things ran through his mind at a million miles per second. “Are you okay?” Kita snapped him out of his trance, he didn’t realize he hadn’t moved or said anything since he put it all together.

“Yeah.” He stood up and walked down the remainder of the concrete steps, Kita following his lead. “I’m heading home. Uhh...thanks for looking out, even if things didn’t go as planned” Suna rubbed the back of his neck and turned to watch Kita walk down the remainder of the steps

“And thank you for confiding in me, even though somehow the twins caught wind of it all.” They both chuckled at the last part.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, and chin up. You did your best” Kita waved him goodbye and headed home. Suna gave him a wave and headed home himself. Even though he got his feelings for you off his chest, he still felt like he couldn’t breathe. Like somehow the weight on his shoulders had increased.

—-

Reading the letter fucked you up. Of course it made your heart skip a beat, but it also made you hate yourself for familiar reasons.

Paragraph after paragraph of nothing but praise. You hated how you couldn’t see any of the things he said in yourself.

You fucking hated how being touched by someone without consent changed your entire life. You hated how much influence your past had on your future.

Moments like these and confessions like this made you question if you would ever live the life you wanted.

The concepts of marriage, children, sex, and almost all forms of physical intimacy made you cringe and shiver in disgust.

Things you once desired became things you hated, all because someone else fucked them up for you.

—

“Are you okay?...” your best friend, Hanako, asked as she looked up from the envelope you opened cautiously so as to not mess up the sticker.

You nodded, no longer having the energy to speak after all the crying. You didn’t even look at her while she asked, you just sat on your bed, staring at the wall mindlessly playing with the fur of one of your blankets.

“Your feelings are valid, I hope you know.” She rubbed soothing circles on your back and again you nodded, wiping your eyes again.

“It just sucks ya know? Because I want this so bad, but who the fuck is going to want to wait around for me? Imagine getting in a relationship with someone you can’t be intimate with because they’re scared. Like great, what a waste of their time.” You shook your head and went back to playing with the fur.

“None of those things are true, and the real world is wayyyy different. There are people out there who are patient and understanding and there is more to love than what you know. Trust me, take it from someone who’s graduated and has a little taste of real life .” She placed a hand on your shoulder and shook it playfully, trying to get you out of your funk.

“It doesn’t feel that way.” You muttered under your breath

“You feel this way only because you haven’t fully healed. And I don’t blame you y/n… the things you underwent require a lot of healing so please take as much time as you need and go easy on yourself.....” she grabbed your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

There wasn’t much left you had to say, but Hanako stayed by your side a while longer, watching a movie she knew was your fave to try and ease the pain. She had been here with you many times before and she would do it again and again because she loved you and wanted you to love yourself.

Hanako left long after the sun had set, she would’ve spent the night but she knew you had class the following morning.

But you couldn’t go to sleep, instead you reread the letter. Reading the paragraphs that made you feel like you were actually worth someone’s time over and over again.

‘There hasn’t been a day since that you don’t cross my mind. What started off as curiosity became something more. Your kind heart connected with that smile, that laugh, that face, It became too much for me to bear, I couldn’t go another day without telling you.’

Tears fell onto the paper, and you were quick to use your shirt to dab away the tears, not wanting to mess up the effort he put into it. After rereading the letter for what seemed to be the thousandth time, you decided it was time for bed.

After doing your routine you headed for bed, but as soon as your head hit the pillows your phone buzzed multiple times.

‘@2501Suna Sent you a message request’

‘Hey I know it’s late but’

‘It didn’t register to me what u meant by damaged goods until way after’

‘I’m sorry I’m kind of a dummy’

‘I didn’t mean to pry’

‘or make u uncomfortable’

‘And forgive me if I’m speaking in a place I’m not welcome’

‘But if what I think happened, happened’

‘I still stand by what I said in the letter’

‘And u are still deserving of love’

‘Have a Goodnight and see u tomorrow (^:’

He seemed to press enter with every Sentence causing your phone to buzz continuously.

You read the messages as they came in real time and just when you thought you’d stopped crying, fresh tears seeped out again.

You didn’t have much to say so all you did was double tap the messages, little hearts appearing at the bottom of each one, your way of showing your appreciation without having to say anything.

It was crazy to think that you had plagued someone's mind like Suna claimed you did. Even in the late night he still thought of you and considered your feelings, and even if you did reject him, Suna didn’t look for ways to kill the ‘parasite’ in his brain. If anything it fed it more.

You couldn’t help but smile at the messages, even if the horrendous self doubt clouded your mind, it was his efforts and his own kind heart that parted the clouds for you, you basked in the feeling, even if it was just for the moment.

A/N:

Trauma does not define you

Trauma does not get to influence your choices

Love is real

& Love is out there for you

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

[secondhand-trash]

Heart Knot

A/N: this is in honor of the whole 30 minutes in which I knew how to knit because I was bored at a school function and forced my friend who brought an unfinished scarf with her to teach me lmao

Description: You did not have much happy memories regarding both knitting and your past crushes, but the boy that had your heart now just so happened to be a great knitter. 

Pairing: Kita Shinsuke x reader

Word count: 7827

Playlist:

Permanence//Bears In Trees

The Way You Look Tonight//Frank Sinatra

Hiding Tonight//Alex Turner

-

Kita Shinsuke’s first exposure to the art of knitting was through his grandmother, who taught her grandson the ways you could weave anything into something from doing each repetitive action properly and with care.

Something beautiful, something soft, something that could bring warmth to someone else on a harsh winter morning.

Winter in Hyogo could be rough, with inches and inches of snow blocking the road from down the mountains and into the towns. Kita Shinsuke spent his winter days away from school still waking up at the first ray of sunshine beaming through the paper window, his body glued down on the sweet comfort of his futon but still, he never overslept even as other kids his age would protest just for a few extra seconds in the warmth. 

By the time he was done with the daily chores, it would already be way into the afternoon and his tiny hands, soaked in water to wet the towels, would be shaking under the cold. Grandma Yumie always brought out the kotatsu in times like this. “It is a luxury,” she said with a chuckle as her grandson watched in awe at how the tiny round table in the living room had now been transformed into a warm cave, shielding the winter cold out with the blanket draping down the sides, “a reward for those who worked hard in the cold.”

The days he spent with his grandmother was some of his fondest memories, to the point where years later, even as he was old enough to have his own house with paper windows and a round table perfect for being turned into a kotatsu, he still insisted that there weren’t any feeling better than laying under the warm blankets after a hard day at work with the tv playing and a cup of warm tea in his hand.

When he was small, very small, with his fingers still a bit clumsy and not quite able to aim at the little loops held together by the yarn, Kita would sit there and watched as grandma Yumie brought out the baskets and baskets of colourful yarn, all sorts of sizes and patterns, and let him pick which one she should use that day. The afternoon news was playing in the background, and baby Kita had his palms holding on the warm mug of tea that was far more diluted and with way more honey drizzled into it than the one sitting in front of the older woman. His golden eyes all round and focused on the needles going in and out of the woolen piece that grew longer and longer with each flick of her wrist.

He could not figure out what had happened in the quiet hours where he just stared, not yet worked out the way each loop and thread came together in holding everything together, but all he knew was that the scarfs grandma gave him were always the softest and warmest, and comes in all the colours that lighted up the roads of Hyogo that were covered in white.

Kita learnt how to knit when he was old enough to remember the sequence at which the needle thread through the yarn. One hook under the open loop, the other holding it still, before pulling it out and putting the neat knot in place. He started with the thickest needle and the yarn that showed every knot and pattern clearly, before slowly moving to thinner threads and fancier ways of knitting. Now, winter afternoon at the Kita household consisted of grandmother and grandson sitting side by side around the kotatsu, the afternoon programs playing softly at the background as the sounds of yarns brushing against each thread filled the air.

There had never been a single cast out of place in whatever he made, whether it be a scarf or a pair of socks or a little hat for the puppy next doors. Because knitting was about patience, the knowing that you just had to keep repeating and repeating to make sure everything holds together, until you eventually had something good in your hands. It was feeling the tiny bumps under your finger once you had the finished product laid out in front of you, knowing that you put time and care into every single one of them.

Grandma Yumie complimented her grandson on everything he had ever made, smiling until her eyes were just two thin curves as she watched the boy who wasn’t so tiny anymore with his golden eyes fixed on the needle going in and out of each loop, the knitted fabric growing longer with each flick of his wrist.

-

You could not knit to save a life.

But you had tried, you really did. 

Once, when you were 12 and sitting in art class, your eyes beaming at the many balls of yarn your teacher had brought in.

“Today, we’re going to learn how to knit!” The teacher, with pins all over her apron and a book of stickers for the kids who did well poking out of its pocket, said as she placed the plastic box on the table, “By the end of class, you can all bring home something you made to give to your parents!”

You liked art class. It was fun being able to play around with crafts supplies under the disguise of early creativity development, and the things you brought home were always somewhere around the house.

You liked the way you could walk past something you had made and know that it was good enough to be put up, and liked the feeling of showing people the things you were proud of.

You picked out your colours carefully, imaging the way your father would have fitted a dark brown scarf into his work clothes or how mom could have used something in that lovely cream coloured yarn that was ignored by the other kids who went straight for the blues and yellows. You ended up with balls of grey in your arms as you made way back to your seat, thinking that it would go well with, well, everything.

You did not quite remember how you felt about the knitting process itself, all you knew was the excitement budding up in your chest as you just kept repeating and repeating, until the grey bundle of yarn got smaller and smaller.

You knew you could make something they would like, you just knew it.

The outcome of the hour and a half where you did nothing but fidget with yarn and needle was a subtly misformed scarf, a bit crooked at the edges because you forgot how to tie up the piece by the time it was long enough to be thrown around your shoulders and back. It wasn’t exactly the most intricate piece of knitwear, with small ends of the thick thread clumsily tugged back within the grids and some places missing a loop or two. 

But still, it held together nicely with the softest texture, and you were proud of yourself.

Your parents took the gift graciously when you presented it to them like you were handing them something of the uttermost value, complimenting you on your hard work and thought as they felt the piece in their hand. You made your father promised to wear it out the next day and he complied with a grin as he threw the scarf around his neck.

Now that you looked back on it, it was definitely not something a proper adult would prefer to be seen in in the public since it was rather... wonky, to put it lightly.

But you were small, and you did not have any idea that even though you tried what you thought was your best, sometimes your best was just not enough.

Oh, the way you froze when your father handed the pile of loose yarn to you that was all bundled up with a worried stare, your throat tight while you used all the might in you to suppress the urge to let the tears just fall.

You soon learned that loose ends and hasty stitches meant that even the slightest tug would make the whole thing crumble, and hours of your dedication was not a match to even the most accidental pull at the widened hole where you tried to hide all the mistakes you made.

You told yourself you were never knitting ever again at age 11, with your face buried in your pillow at the late nights when you didn’t have to fear letting anyone know that you were crying over a few balls of yarn.

At age 15, you had your first real, serious crush, the kind that made the pitch of your voice go higher unconsciously and the corner of your lips tug up just at a passing thought. Your crush was popular, the type of boys that spoke each word loud and clear like they had endless energy. You thought he was dazzlingly good-looking, even though he still had a bit of the awkwardness of being mid-puberty left in the soft arc of his brows and loop-sided grin. He was the captain of the football team, always the first to dash out the classroom with a dusty ball in his arms during break. You spent a good amount of your recesses just looking out of the window with your elbows propping you up against the frame, pretending to listen to whatever your friends were saying when you were looking at him instead.

Occasionally, he would look up from the field as he jogged backwards, and your heart always skipped a bit at the possibility that maybe his gaze had stopped at you for even just a second.

Holiday season rolled around the corner as you looked out one morning to see dots of white landing on the glass, each speckle of the snowflake clearly visible as it plastered on the window, the one you always pretend to not be looking too longingly out of while doing exactly just that. The nearer your last day of school before winter break was, the more you felt the knot twisting and turning in your stomach at the thought of whether you should try and disguise all that feeling into what could be as simple as a normal holiday greeting, between normal classmates.

It was at a passing that you overheard your crush telling the group of people who were crowding around his table during one lunch break that he thought it was attractive when people hand out handmade gifts, earning a round of high-pitched responses from those who were smiling a bit too widely for it to be natural around him, each one of them claiming that then they would try to make something for him.

You shifted in your seat, pretending that you were just napping on your desk casually instead of pitifully eavesdropping on a conversation you both wished you were part of and was absolutely detested by.

You had long decided that you could not even pretend that you were crafty by any means, but sadly, you were also young and very much so head-over-heels in love with a boy who just announced to everyone who was, like you, trying hard to impress him that he basically preferred people who make their own presents.

So that was how you found your way back to the knitting needle that you had not touched since 4 years ago, after how every single trashy article in every single teen magazine that you, at age 15, read an unhealthy amount of, told you that there was no better present to give that would portray the amount of thought and care you were willing to put into something like a garment that was hand knitted with only the receiver in thought.

It should be quite clear that the editors of those articles were just too lazy to come up with something new and picked the safest, most conventional option to put in there, but you were too desperate to find something you too could do that you didn’t care.

You left school each day in complete darkness now that the sun was long gone in the middle of the day as the end of the year approached, and spent the little free time you had to yourself at home struggling to knit. Your hands were a lot more in control compared to the last time you knitted, but the lack of guidance in every step of the way as you relearnt how to knit all from the very beginning.

It was cold, and your fingers were already hurting from the chill, but it did not stop you from staying up each night trying to get the piece done before it was finally the holidays.

You had spent hours looking for tutorials only, always battling between the knowledge that your skill was not enough to replicate a good half of the videos you had bookmarked and thinking that the easy ones were too basic for you to gift to someone. You settled on a neck warmer, something you could imagine the boy you so pined after wearing while running on the court. And as you held the finished piece up under the light, you were proud of yourself for actually carrying through.

There were no messy threads in the scarf this time, and you were sure this was something that could at least be of use to whoever got it.

The day when you were supposed to gather the courage to hand out the present came sooner than you were ready for. You came back to school early that day, knowing that your crush was usually having morning practice at the hour and no one else would be around. 

To your surprise, there was already another neatly wrapped box inside of his desk drawer by the time you got back. Its tag was hanging out of the tray rather deliberately, like a sly wink and a wave. Your chest tightened that someone was already one step ahead of you, but quickly fed yourself the narrative that it was actually better this way. This way, your gift would not stand out and seemed like it did not belong there. 

It was just a scarf, but the little paper bag that you spent an embarrassingly long amount of time decorating the night before felt so heavy in your hands as you stared blankly at it, the nerves settling in your stomach as your throat tightened at the last minute conflict.

The loud footsteps that neared broke you out of your trance, and you threw the gift bag into your drawer before pretending like you were doing something else. You cursed inwardly when you saw that it was the last person you wished to see at this moment, a rare sentiment given how your eyes usually search for him in a crowd.

The group of boys didn’t seem to pay you much mind as they huffed, laughing at something you did not catch on to as they threw their bags down. You masked the pounding of your chest with a violent stroke of your highlighter against the notebook that opened up hastily in front of you when you heard them going near the table you had been eyeing all morning.

“Huh? What is this?” 

You buried your nose in your book, but glanced at the few boys gathering around the desk from the corner of your eyes. 

Your heart wrenched when you heard one of the boys snorted, before shoving the box into your crush’s chest. “It’s for you.”

The sharp tear made your scalp tingle, but you fought back the urge to sit up straighter in reflex.

Couldn’t let them know you were listening, couldn’t let them know you cared.

“Ah... it’s a scarf,” even in your most delusional mind, there was no way you could ignore the slight hint of annoyance at his voice. 

“Hm, they said they made it themselves.”

The density of the air around you was a stark comparison to the boys’ howling and laughing that followed. The recipient of the gift only shoved the garment into the box roughly before plopping the lid back on.

“So?” one of his friends asked, snickering, “what are you going to do about it?”

The click of his tongue that followed twisted around your throat until all the blood rushed up to your face, burning and suffocating you. “Do you want it?”

“Hell no, why would I want a re-gift?” The other boy yelled with a holler, “why don’t you just keep it yourself  

“Well, I can’t wear it, can I? It’s gonna give them the wrong idea.” The nonchalant way he so easily brushed off the undoubted hours and hours of effort whoever made the gift must have dedicated to the present that was now pushed to the very back of his drawer felt foreign to you. A pang of bitterness welled up in your mouth, running your tongue dry as your mind go blank. 

“Besides, don’t you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is a bit too suffocating?”

The gift bag in your drawer remained to stay right where it was when other people started rushing into the room, when the class bell rang, when the same boy who you now realised wasn’t as nice as you thought he might be rushed out with the same smile he had on when he came in that morning. 

You shoved it into your bag first thing when you were getting ready to leave, hoping that no one would catch on.

You were surprisingly serene when you tore into hours and hours of effort until it was just a bundle of yarn on the floor.

You were age 15, swearing that you were never doing crushes ever again and finally decided with determination that knitting was just not for you

-

But life has its ways of making you think twice about every promise you had made to yourself.

First in the form of a snowfall you had not expected, and then with a boy who was always prepared for the cold.

Waking up early in the mornings just to tread yourself through the chilly streets sucked, but having to rush out because the initial “5 minutes more” you told yourself as you pulled the futon over your head once more turned into you having to rush out the door with your coat barely even worn properly in the matter of a flutter of your eyes. 

Your mouth was dry and your stomach empty from skipping past the breakfast that had already gone cold on the table by the time you passed it by. It wasn’t until you felt the pain tearing at your skin from the few bits of your body exposed to the specks of snow flowing down onto the back of your hand, so cold that it felt almost like a burn when the feeling settled, that you remembered the mittens you had also left at the side of your dresser. 

Great, just wonderful.

Winter in Hyogo was forgiving on some days, brutal and mocking on the others. The grey clouds were thick and gloomy as you dashed down the road, pulling the collar of your jacket up desperately to shield your face from the wind that you were up against face first, slicing down like blades before you finally made the last turn into the comforting walls of your school building. Your face felt numb of any senses even as you brought your palm up to try and give it some warmth, only to hiss into your hand when the frosted tips of your fingers brushed against your skin.

The bell rang almost right on cue as you stepped into the classroom, letting out a sigh and salvaging in the temporary supply of warmth from your own breath. Your lips were so dry and so chapped from the cold, even just darting your tongue out to swipe over the rough edges had it almost tearing at the thin skin. You winced at the pain, which did not serve you anything other than making the ache worse.

You sighed as you sunk down on your chair, finally able to let your limbs go slack at your sides after being so tense all the way through your walk. The sudden release of the tension you had been holding on you resulted in a broken inhale as you tried to calm the beating dee under the many layers you were wearing, feeling as if you were suffocated in your core with the heat trapped in and only within the center of your body.

“Are you alright?”

Turning to your side was a struggle as you shrugged off the stiff coat you were wearing. You were sure you looked nothing short of ridiculous as the puffer jacket hung loosely around your arms, your arms extended awkwardly to hold it from sliding off the ground. Your state of being was a stark contrast to the boy who was sitting next to you, his back all straight and proper. 

You did not really think much about Kita Shinsuke, even though he had been sitting next to you for almost half a year now. There was something distant about him, like he was in a whole world of his own while everyone else just circulated around. He was always polite, never slipped up, getting back earlier than most and arrived at each function punctually. Your image of him was that he was always paying attention in class while everyone else was drooling off, his voice loud but calm when he was suddenly called to read out whatever passage you were supposed to have read at home but obviously didn’t.

It was strange, you were almost distancing yourself from him despite physically being next to him at all times.

He just didn’t seem so real, didn’t feel very human to you.

“Are you alright?” Kita asked again, this time tilting his head a little seeing that you were looking ahead blankly instead of responding.

You snapped out of your trance, quickly yanking off your jacket to place it on your lap in what you hoped was a swift motion to save the embarrassment of acting like a socially numb idiot.

“Oh, I’m fine,” you smiled, shoving your hands under your coat to try and warm up the fingers you still couldn’t feel under the fleece, “thank you for asking.” You added, almost like a second thought as you grew more and more uneased by his seemingly doubtful gaze.

Kita’s eyes went to your hair that was still not yet tidied up from being tangled up by the wind, the dots of water on your coat that was no doubt left from the snow, and your hands that were now rubbing together again and again under the coat according to his guess.

His brows furrowed at the way you were folding yourself smaller and smaller, pulling the heavy jacket that was about to slip off your lap up against your body desperately.

There was a rush of shiver to your spine at the way he pursed his lips together, and you gulped as subtly as you could while trying to maintain the smile on your face. 

There was a speckle, a tiny bud of warmth setting off in your stomach when he turned around and slipped his hands into his jacket, hung neatly at the back of his chair unlike yours, and took out a small packet. It was a white fabric pocket but you could see the black powder inside from the thin fabric. 

You did not react when he held his hand out, slender fingers holding on the hand warmer mid-air as he waited for you to take it from him. You blinked at the boy who you had never really looked at properly until now, and felt a strange twist in your stomach at the notice that there was a slight flush on his face from the cold, dusting over his cheeks and leading your gaze to his eyes that were looking at you patiently.

He must have thought that you were so strange, you grimaced to yourself when the pang of guilt rushed to your face and burning to the tip of your ears at the remembrance that you had assumed him to be the strange one when you were being so disrespectful right now.

You held out both hands in front of him, looking like a child when he dropped the little bag in your hand. Nothing could stop the sigh from slipping out of your lips when you felt the heat it was emitting, landing on your fingertips like coal in the snow and seeping into your skin.

The warmth travelled from your skin down to your veins, running slowly and slowly until it settled down as a fuzzy tingle in your chest at the thought that it was so warm because he had been the one keeping it in his pocket, likely trapping the heat within his palms when he was holding the warmer himself.

“Thank you Kita kun...” you said appreciatively, swallowing the whine that was threatening to come out with the last note of your voice when you felt your senses slowly returning to you.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, and your heart skipped a beat when he leaned his chin on his palm and gave you a tiny smile, “you should keep it, my hands don’t get cold that easily and I brought mittens.”

You did not speak to him again that day as class started and he, like the good student you never were, put his attention back to things that were more worthwhile. But you could not help but listen carefully for the first time ever when he was once again called to read out the lengthy piece of literature you didn’t study, and feeling a burst of exciting, nerve-wracking warmth budding in your chest.

-

At age 15, you promised yourself you were not doing crushes over dumb teenage boys again. At age 17, you realised that the pang in your chest when Kita Shinsuke replied to your greeting each morning (one that you tried hard to make it sound as casual as one could get, if you may add) with a smile was the same as that when you imagined your old crushed looking up from the ball court to lock gazes with you. 

But Kita was not a dumb teenage boy, he was nice and well-mannered and asked you if you were alright on a winter day. So you told yourself you did not exactly break your promise, even though there was a lingering fear at the knowing that there too was a time when you thought the boy who sneered at the carefully wrapped box on his desk was nice and beaming like the sun.

(You had, however, screamed into your pillow in frustration the day he told you they made him the captain of the volleyball team for the next year when you carefully suggested that he seemed happier than usual. “Captains,” you groaned into your make-shift punching bag, “why are they always captains?”)

Winter passed, and then it was spring. Spring was the time for a new start, but you were not excited about changes. You had been content with a simple “good morning” every day made possible by the convenience of your adjacent tables, but how were you supposed to conceal your yearning for a smile and a nonchalant word of care as nothing out of place if you had to go out your way just to even catch a glimpse at him?　

You had to force yourself, clamp your lips tight together to stop the pitiful squeal that was close to bursting out from the back of your throat when you saw the familiar kanji, the same one as the direction always pointing people forward and the brightest star hanging on the sky, at the “ki” column of the class list. 

Your third and last year and still in the same class, this was a sign, this had got to be a sign.

The anticipation was hard to conceal as you paced down the hallway until stopping at the sign of “3-7″ above the door. The embarrassment immediately followed the initial rush of glee at the boy who was, as expected already there. He was sitting at the first seat at the row leaning by the wall and even though your heart died a little at the conflict that you could not slack in class with the whoever it was standing in front of the blackboard so close to you, you still walked closer to the table right behind his with carefully controlled steps.

“Good morning Kita kun,” you said, still fumbling to find a balanced tone between letting him know you were happy to see him but not too much, glad that you were in the same class but not in a creepy way, hoping that he also searched for your name the way you looked for his but not holding out too much for it.

your throat tightened when he smiled back at you, “Good morning, (y/l/n) san.”

“You are early,” you blurted out, praying that it wasn’t too sudden.

“Yes, I had to stop by the club room to prepare for the upcoming tryouts before coming back.” He had turned around to face you completely, and you searched for everything your brain could come up with to keep the conversation going.

“Oh right, you are the captain now,” you cursed yourself for stating something so obvious in your brain, absolutely loathing air-headed your own voice sounded in your head. You breathed in, mastering your courage to appear confident and charming, “I hope it’s alright if I sit here behind you?”

You were smiling, but your knuckles were hurting from how hard you had to grip at the handle of your bag just to hold yourself back from fidgeting. The chair was already half pulled-out, and you crouched down just slightly as you waited for a response.

You knew you were the one who asked, but what if he said no?

But he didn’t, and not even the fear of appearing like a fool in front of the boy you so wanted to impress could stop you from grinning ear to ear when he laughed. You didn’t think you had heard Kita laugh before. It was an addicting sound, crisp like bells and like the pink petals that were falling off the trees all around campus. 

You knew at that moment you didn’t care if this crush was just as dumb as the last one, or that you might end up looking like a fool for going against what you had so sternly told yourself when you were 15.

Screw 15 year old you, they knew nothing.

“Of course.”

-

Then winter rolled by the corner, as an angry current sweeping the dried leaves off the road and the temperature dropping and dropping until you were taking out your heavy coat from the back of your closet again.

It was with great regret and exasperation that you found out, one year after starting to learn more about Kita Shinsuke, that he was brilliant and absolutely so passionate about knitting.

The way you had a whole storm brewing in your head over something as simple as getting back to your classroom after lunch break to see a very calm, serene Kita at his table, with a ball of yarn on his lap and two needles threading with each other in his hand, was an absolute joke. You had tried to form an interest in volleyball just to have more chances to talk to him, going as far as to sit through the hour long practices matches that Inarizaki always had with other schools at the far back corner of the gym just to have something to bring up in a passing the next day. But of all the things, of all the things this person who seemed to be good at everything liked, it has got to be the one thing that you associated with nothing but bad memories.

“What are you making?” you asked, holding back the screaming thoughts in your head as you slid down into your own seat and leaned forward.

The little glimmer of joy in his eyes was hard to miss, and you were not sure if you want to feel triumphant for finding a new excuse to talk to him or cry because you had not looked at a knitting needle in years.

“I’m knitting socks,” he said and held up the tunnel of knitted fabric dangling off his needles, “it’s almost Christmas, and I wanted to make something practical for my teammates.” 

“Hm?” You nodded, urging him to go on as if your own scalp was not frying from the recoil of what happened the last few times you wanted to make something practical for someone.

“This is for Akagi from class 6,” he immediately added, thinking about how you might not know who Akagi from class 6 was, “he had been complaining about having cold feet at morning practices lately.”

(You did, in fact, know who Akagi from class 6 was, but decided to let him give you the information instead of exposing how much attention you paid to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club.)

Man, you had never wished you knew how to knit as much you do now.

“Can you teach me how to knit?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-

You froze at the words that went straight through your brain to your mouth and vocalised in the quiet classroom. 

“There’s something I want to make,” you gulped, stumbling to force a smile onto your face, “for someone.”

Someone as in, well, him.

You had already braced yourself to chuckle it off when he said that he was busy, or just some sort of well-intended reasoning that would all point to the immediate  conclusion in your head that you were just overstepping boundaries as no one but another classmate who just happened to sit near him for the past year.

But the screaming in your head stopped, leaving your world in absolute silence when he placed the ball of yarn onto his table and pulled another ball out from his bag.

“Sure.”

-

You did not notice, which was strange because you were usually the first to overthink on each of his miniatures, that Kita Shinsuke nearly dropped the needles in his hand when you quickly, in the middle of your inner panicking, suggested that there was someone you wanted to knit for.

He wavered for a brief moment, wondering if he really wanted to teach you how to knit for someone else, before feeling a sour guilt that he was being a bad friend by hesitating to help you when you asked.

He wondered who it was that you wanted to make something for, he thought to himself as he handed you the spare pair of needles he had.

Must be someone important to you.

-

So every day until you eventually go on break for Christmas and the new years, you would go back to your classroom early during lunch period to learn how to knit from Kita Shinsuke, who was coincidentally who the eventually finished piece that you hope you would finish was meant for.

You went into this with no thought other than to suck up on your own impulsiveness and just milked what had become of it as much as you could, trying to fish the opportunity of spending extra time with him. You were not even sure if you would actually give him the finished piece if there would be any, you were not sure if you were prepared to go down the progress of determination turned hesitation turned eventual heartbreak that last time you had to muster up any courage just to gift something to another person.

Even though this was all an excuse for you to talk to Kita, there was no denying that the 3 years in which you avoided knitting only made your hands even clumsier than before. He was always patient, always stopping his hands with whatever sock or hat or glove he was making to take a look at what would hopefully become an intact piece of knitwork dangling off of your needles.

“Let me see.”

The soft hum from his nasal every time you called for his assistant was enough to have you weak, and you were so glad that he put all his focus on helping you because then he wouldn’t notice you staring at him rather shamelessly.

On days when the weather was good, it was as if his eyes were the winter sun, the same one that was spilling in through the windows and casting a soft halo around him, all while his brows contorted in concentration over your work.

It turned out that Kita Shinsuke was great at teaching, and while much slower than him, you eventually managed to sit in comfort silent with him in the tender winter afternoons of Hyogo and let the sounds of thread pulling filled the air. You were trying but he was a natural, even though he claimed that it was just a direct result from years, a decade of practicing.

In the time you had struggled to focus on one piece, you had seen Kita worked on a multitude of things you were sure you should not even attempt to make. There was a nice thick pair of gloves for Ojiro, the trusty spiker who was feeling bothered by his dry hands from cold water. Another pair of gloves but this time fingerless because, to quote Kita, Suna Rintarou probably wouldn’t wear anything that kept him away from his lovely touch screen. You saw woollen hats twice but in different colours, and he had explained that he thought of making something different for the ruckus twin boys but figured they would just get into yet another fight over who gets what.

Crush aside, you wished you had a slither of his skills.

“I think anyone can be good at knitting,” he said, handing you back the row of maroon casts you had asked him to check up on with an approving nod. His fingertips just barely brushed against yours as he let go of the needles, sending shivers up your forearm that you were so glad was covered by your cardigan.

You laughed, brushing your finger at the few spots that you struggled to get right on the pattern, “I doubt.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?” he said, pointing towards the casts that got neater and neater as you progressed visibly, “you are already getting better.”

You pursed your lips, toying with the unfinished hem.

You had learnt a long time ago that sometimes you tried your best, but the best was not always enough. Sometimes, the best would get you a huff and a complaint that your heart and soul was too heavy, too suffocating. Sometimes the more and more you put into something meant that you did not know where to put it anymore once you tore it apart after no longer having someone to give it too, but it was too much to shove back into the hole in your heart.

You wondered if your best or your “better” was enough this time.

“Kita kun.”

“Hm?” he hummed, like how he always did when you look up at him from your hands. But you did not look at him this time, twirling the loose end of the yarn in your index finger instead.

“Do you think getting something handknitted from someone you aren’t with is suffocating?”

Kita frowned at the sad smile that was on your lips. You were looking at what he assumed would be a scarf from the casting and the patterns, rubbing at the slightly crooked cable. Were you thinking of the person you want to give it to? Were you worried that they wouldn’t like it? He had made himself stop speculating who it was that made you get back early each day and struggle so clearly with something you didn’t seem to exactly enjoy just to make something thoughtful for them, but he couldn’t stop the bitterness from welling up that it was someone who made you worry over them finding you suffocating.

He wanted to tell you that anyone who thought so was not someone who deserved your time, but swallowed it down anyways.

“No,” he said, and you finally looked up at him, “I think it is rude to think that of someone who put effort into doing anything with me in mind.”

And there it was again, the same warmth that tingled until it was all you could feel. Like a hand warmer, like a simple hello in the mornings, like the winter sun that was shining on you.

Right.

You smiled, a genuine one this time.

Because Kita Shinsuke was not just some dumb crush, because he wasn’t like the boy who never really did look up to see you, because you were ok with breaking every single promise you had made to shield yourself off just for a chance with him.

He seemed confused at your sudden change of mood, but you only shook your head and picked up the knitting needles again.

“You��re right.”

-

To say that everyone was hyped for winter break was an understatement.

But you, you were just really nervous.

You greeted Kita when you came back in the morning as usual, feeling the nerve bundling up in your stomach already just from knowing that if this went badly, you could not bear it to pretend to still be his friend from then on. Classes did not pique your interest in the slightest, and the only time you even diverted your gaze upwards from the book you were staring at blankly was when Kita’s voice rang in the classroom, blocking the blackboard from your view as he stood up to answer some question you did not know the answer to.

He looked warm, you remarked to yourself as your eyes scanned through the grey vest he was wearing.

Did he make it himself? Maybe you should ask him for a tutorial later.

And then you remembered that it was the last day before break, and your knitting sessions with him was already over. Your scarf was finished, he even complimented you on it. (“I’m sure whoever got this will be very pleased,” he had said, and you were just praying to whatever entity you could think of that he would still think so when you give it to him) It wouldn’t make sense for you to go to him anymore, and it would be awkward for both of you if he knew that you were only learning how to knit to be around him.

Your hands were so cold, nearly in pain as you grip on the box that you had been hiding in your bag all day long. You backed out of giving it to him during lunch when no one else was around, deciding that you would rather not stare at his back for another few hours after basically exposing yourself. But the day was about to come to an end. The winter sun was always gone early, and the sky was lit up in shades of orange and red as students rushed home for the start of their break.

You sucked in a deep breath when you saw him packing up his things after the end-of-class bell rang.

“Kita kun?”

“Yes?”

All you could hear was the beating in your ears and the hilt of what was a steady rhythm when he turned to look at you. His voice still made you melt, and heat spread on your face like the fiery cloud hanging on the sky from the setting sun.

Warm, bright, beautiful.

“This is for you,” you tried to stop your voice from shaking as you looked into his eyes, the same ones that widened when he saw the box on your extended hands, “thank you for helping me all through last year.”

You had to remind yourself to breath as Kita took the wrapped present. “Can I open it?” he asked, his hand hovering above the ribbon.

You tried to maintain the smile on your face.

“Of course.”

Kita knew the scarf that was sitting inside the box, he could point out which cast was his doing and which ones you had asked him for help even with his eyes closed. He had wondered about what you had done with it, whether the person who got it was worth your heart and soul.

He had wished, with sincerity, that it would go well for you but there was also a selfish part of him that pondered, contemplated how it might go if he told you he would love to have that scarf.

You grimaced when he didn’t say a word, before slowly closing up the box. You had prepared yourself for this outcome, but part of you still felt a familiar sting in your chest.

Until you saw him digging into his own bag and pulling out a tiny bag. You were still dazed as he handed it to you, his fingers holding onto the handle and a smile on his face as he waited for you to take it. You reached out with both palms, before the weight of it settled in your hand.

It was a pair of gloves, soft and sturdy in your hands without a single stitch out of place. Your finger brushed against the intricate patterns at the center before stopping at the elastic hem. You could not help but slid it on, gasping in awe at how it fit perfectly.

Kita was smiling at you, and he was throwing the end of the scarf to his back when you looked up at him. The one he had worn that morning when he made way back to school under the cold was shoved into his bag and replaced by the less well-made one you had given him.

But he didn’t care, he loved it.

“Should we go?” He asked, holding his own gloved-hand out, “They are closing the school soon.”

You finally got to be mesmerised by him without having to shy away, and the way his eyes were full of you could only be matched to the sun that was setting outside, rays of what would be the last of its shine until tomorrow reflecting off the snow.

Beautiful, soft, and had your heart all warm and gooey.

“Let’s go.” You replied, grinning ear to ear, before taking his hand.

And it was so, so warm.

[simplepotatofarmer]

would you mind if I ask how you became an anarchist? you said you've been one for awhile (?) and I'm curious.

sure! i don't mind at all <3

it's a little complicated because i didn't always know what the 'term' was for what i believed. but my grandpa on my dad's side was a huge influence on me. this man threatened land developers with a shotgun and often spoke about colonization (though i didn't know what it was at the time, just that he talked about his land being stolen and culture lost) and racism. he also grew and hunted a lot of his own food, giving it away for free to anyone who needed it, the leftovers going to food banks.

then i had this business class in freshman year of high school, second semester, and he had this phrase 'there's no such thing as a free lunch' which for some reason stuck in my 13 year-old brain like a bad song. i hated this phrase. i kept 'but why'ing him.

almost every day, i'd have a new question.

'but why can't people get free food if we throw so much out?' 'but why can't people just exchange services instead?' 'but why can't we have free housing?' 'but why do people need to make so much excess money when there's people starving or homeless?' 'but why--'

on and on until he kinda gave up on me, honestly.

it just didn't make sense to me and the next year when i took a social studies class, it just got worse.

and then 9/11 happened. and the iraq war happened. and my teenage brain practically imploded. nothing made sense!

i was an anarchist then i just didn't exactly call myself that. i didn't know it was a system. i had patches and shirts with the anarchy symbol on them. i had a sticker on my binder that said 'abolish prisons'. i thought climate change was real (back then it was practically a joke), i thought we should stop bombing other countries, i thought people should have free health care because it didn't make sense we had all this money and people were dying. i thought gay people should be able to get married.

but my family was conservative and i listened to bad religion and against me and had clothes with spikes so they assumed i was just rebelling. i probably was tbh.

then trayvon martin was murdered and i remembered rodney king and how, at the time, none of the white people i knew thought it was wrong and all the black people did (i lived in detroit then) as i watched my family come up with reasons why this kid deserved to be murdered.

and i thought 'fuck this'.

i put an ACAB sticker on my car along with the new 'abolish prison' one. looking back this is also when my family's abuse escalated even more but that's neither here nor there.

i still didn't know that anarchism was a thing so i just labeled myself as a socialist or communist. i started getting involved in community work and habitat for humanity and all that kind of stuff. i started a recycling drive in my area 'cause it was very rural (my car smelled so bad RIP). i kept doing that kind of thing, going to protests and marches and calling government officials even though i was like 'this isn't fixable is it'. i would babysit in exchange for things like food and a fan and sheets and towels.

i'm not sure exactly when i snapped and stopped being '''reasonable''' but i think it was when my daughter almost died.

see, i'm from the states and i live in canada now. once my family kicked me off their health care, i went without for years. i moved to canada about six years ago. around that same time, my daughter got pneumonia. at first it was just a cough and minor trouble breathing and if we were back in tennessee, i would've sent her back to bed.

then i remembered that i didn't have to worry about the bill. so i took her to the er. she stopped breathing about thirty minutes after we got there. if we had been in tennessee, she would've died.

while i was in the hospital with her, a friend invited me to a facebook group. it had a name in the title that i had heard before, kropotkin. it was for anarchists. i joined.

and i started realizing that more people felt the same way and not only that but they had ideas like mine.

i started a free lunch program for kids in my neighborhood during the summer. i'm still trying to convince the community center to start a garden. half my reason for building my chicken coop is so i can supply my neighborhood with eggs.

so i guess when it comes down to it, i've pretty much always been an anarchist because it's always aligned with my morals and beliefs. only now i have a name for it and not just a name but a way to fix all the things i've thought needed fixing since i was young.

[violetlou2020]

DAY 6 of @flufftober2021

Fireman's Carry

Title: Capture This [← ao3]

Author: Vividly_Violet

Fandom: Diamond no Ace

Relationship: Miyuki Kazuya/Sawamura Eijun

Rating: General

Word Count: 1644

⚾♦️

The cultural festival was in full blast in Seidou High School, students and visitors were milling about, each classroom occupied with whatever their class came up with, from cafe's, exhibits, game booths and photo booths. Miyuki was finishing up his last batch of yakisoba — their class opening up a simple Japanese summer festival themed restaurant — when a loud booming voice called out his name. The third year sighed before removing his apron and calling out one of his classmate to take over for him.

"You're boyfriend's looking for you," she said amused.

"I can hear that." he responded with a chuckle. Miyuki made his way over to the loud noise courtesy of Kuramochi locking the young southpaw in a headlock.

"I give up, please mochi-senpai!"

"Oi Kuramochi, there's food waiting to be served."

"Shut up bastard, I'm just keeping this loudmouth from freaking out our customers."

"You're the scary one kuramochi-senpai, if anyone's driving out customers It'll be because of your delinquent looking scary face." Eijun shouted ducking out of the other third years reach once he escaped Youichi's hold.

"Why you—" Miyuki laughed at the pair running around the semi crowded and busy classroom of class 3B until their class rep grabbed Kuramochi by the scruff of his shirt and glared at Kazuya.

"Seriously?" she sighed, "Kuramochi-san, the customers please and Miyuki-san you can go and enjoy the festival with Sawamura-kun if you'd like, you're off for today. You've done a lot of the prep work, the rest we can handle but be sure to be back before three for the clean up." Eijun let out a loud shout, thanking the class rep with a deep bow embarrassing both her and Miyuki while Kuramochi cackled at the background.

"You heard her, now let's go!" Sawamura grabbed Miyuki by his hand before dragging him out of the classroom. The catcher let the younger teen pull him from classroom to classroom, making sure to stop by some of their teammates rooms to see what their class was doing. From Kawakami's class doing fortune telling to Okumura's class doing an animal themed cafe (Eijun just had to snap a picture of Koushu with wolf ears, the growl the younger teen adding to his character).

They also visited Haruichi and Tojou's class which was doing a haunted house which Kazuya drag his boyfriend in. Sawamura jumped and screamed when he was greeted by the younger Kominato who opened the door from the other side. He wasn't even in costume since he was the one manning the entrance and Kazuya laughed at how easily jumpy Eijun is when they even hadn't even entered. After visiting each of their friends class the pair went jumping from one food stall to another to try out their foods and gamebooths much to the protest of the catchers wallet which was becoming lighter and lighter as they pass one room to another.

⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾

"Hey by the way, what's your class doing?" Kazuya asked after taking a bite out of Eijuns crepe. Both were sitting on a wooden bench under a tree just outside of the school building.

"Hey—" before he could protest Miyuki shoved his own crepe in Sawamura's mouth, taking the cue Eijun took a huge bite from the treat as revenge. Miyuki shook his head before taking another bite off his.

"Were doing a photo booth, the girls in my class kinda got obsessed with brides and grooms from this one manga that's recently became popular and demanded we have a wedding themed photo booth." Eijun answered his boyfriends earlier question.

"Wanna go take one?" Kazuya joked but Eijun jumped to face the older teen.

"Really!?"

"I was just joking."

"But—" the younger teen gave his best puppy dog eyes, a move that was greatly effective with getting whatever he wanted from his boyfriend except for catching for him more. He still needs to work on it to reach that level.

"Fine." the pair made quick work of their crepe and headed off to Sawamura's classroom.

Kanemaru greeted them by the door of class 2B, giving one look at the exasperated team captain and overly excited southpaw before ushering them in.

"So we get to have a costume change and have photos taken of us." Miyuki asked, eyeing the other couples who were having their photos taken.

"Pretty much, we have some backgrounds installed here and costumes that the theater club kindly lent us." the sandy blond teen said as one of their female classmate approached them holding the wedding attires.

"Shinji-kun we have a problem!"

"Huh?"

"We don't have an extra tux!" she exclaimed. Both Shinji and Kazuya paused to stare at her before turning their heads towards Eijun, a grin plastered both on their face. The south paw gulped and tried to make a run for it but Kazuya pulled him to his chest.

"Hey, where do you think you're going, wasn't it you who wanted to have our photos taken."

"I changed my mind." protested the teen, Miyuki's hold tightened.

"Kamemaru!" Sawamura wailed at his fellow first years for help but Shinji was holding up the white wedding dress and Furuya was standing behind the blond, coming out of nowhere, with a camera on hand.

The rest of their classmates seemed to ignore the screams from behind the changing curtain and echoing cackle of Kanemaru as he forcefully shoved the south paw in the dress.

"Haruno! Make-up"

"On it!" She replied as she went inside of the curtain.

"Wait— no one said anything about make-up! Hey—"

"Miyuki-senpai the other changing area is this way."

"Ahh thanks."

After fifteen minutes with Miyuki leaning across the rooms wall having changed into a black tux with a sunflower pinned at the lapel, the curtain to Eijun's changing area finally opened revealing Eijun in a dazzling white long sleeved wedding dress that hugged his lean body perfectly.

His hair was styled in a way that revealed his heart shaped face, white and bedazzled hair clips keeping his hair away from his eyes, clip on earrings with a yellow gems hang from the brunettes ear and his lips were glimmering with the light lipgloss Haruno put on him. His cheeks were pink in hue growing redder and redder the longer Miyuki stared at his boyfriend in awe, mouth agaped and eyes wide.

Eijun blinked, batting his mascara covered eyelashes and showing off the smoky eyeshadow lids at the starstruck older teen.

"Oi you bastard say something!" Eijun yelled as he tugged at the side of his dress, Miyuki snapped from his daze giving Eijun another once over from his head to his heel clad toes.

"Oi you pervert! Stop staring at me like that." the southpaw shrieked and the catcher just chuckled before taking Eijun's hand into his and giving it a squeeze before he pulled it up and placed a kiss on the back of Eijun's pitching hand.

"You're really pretty like this, you know? My lovely pretty bride." Miyuki said shamelessly causing the pitcher to combust. From behind, someone cleared their throat and the pair jumped in surprise, they forgot they weren't the only people in the room.

"Yo remember us?" Shinji said drily while the rest of his classmates were trying to busy themselves and not look at the flirting couple in the room.

"Ahh sorry about that."

"If you guys are done we can take the pictures now."

"Sure."

"So how do you want us."

The pair were led to the other side of the room where flowers were arranged in to an arch and one of the students handed Eijun a bouquet of flower while another fixed the veil on his head. The photographer snapped a picture of the two standing side by side with Eijun's hands wrapped around Kazuya's arm, another with a peace sign and a couple more with different posses all the while most of the female students gushed about how good they look together.

"Hey how 'bout I carry you in a bridal carry?" Miyuki whispered in Sawamura's ear.

"A wha–" but before the younger teen could get ready Miyuki began to lift him up. Sawamura squirmed around at the hold, trying to have Miyuki put him down and shouting how embarrassing it was. The older teen struggled to keep the brunette in place but to no such luck, instead Miyuki heaved a sigh before picking up Eijun again and putting him on his shoulder in to a firemans carry instead of a bridal one.

A couple of shuttering of the camera lens later and with no signs of Miyuki letting him go, Eijun gave up and held on to his catchers strong shoulders grumbling to himself as he heard Miyuki chuckle.

One last shoot, Miyuki brushing his hands across the brunettes thigh and a red hand imprint on Miyuki's face and dressed back in their casual wears later both were heading back to Miyuki's classroom.

"Uhhg I can't believe you did that in front of all my classmates."

"I know, did you see Kanemaru's face."

"That's not— uhhg you're imposible."

"Thank you!"

"Not a compliment."

"Haha love you too."

⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾♦️⚾

Later that evening, Eijun pinned the photo of Miyuki carrying him on his shoulder on the small corkboard over on his desk. Kuramochi who was lounging on his bed rolling his eyes at his roommate tossed his phone to Sawamura. The messenger app of the phone was open to their teams group chat and Eijun let out a squeak upon seeing tons of photos of him in both the changing area and in the photo shoot. When he looked at the name of the sender, he gaped. All were sent by Furuya.

Just then a grinning tanuki sticker was sent and Eijun just plopped down face first on Kuramochi's bed where said person was laughing at him.

[killercarmen]

Chapter two is up!

Steven went back into the gift shop and sought out Mister Myster.

He found him in the back of the gift shop, talking to a boy, and handing him a bunch of signs. He pointed at the door and the boy walked out.

“Excuse me,” Steven said, getting the man’s attention.

He turned around and smiled at him.

“Welcome back, my good sir! What can I help you with?” He asked.

“Well, I saw your sign,” Steven pointed at the help wanted sign in the window, “and was wondering if the position was still open.”

Mister Mystery nodded his head, “Yep! That spot is most definitely still opened. And if you want the job, you’re hired! You’re the first person to ask,” he turned and motioned for Steven to follow him. Steven followed him to what looked like his office, and sat in the chair in front of his desk.

“So what’s your previous job experience like?” Mister Mystery asked, rifling through some files in a cabinet by his desk.

“Well, uh,” Steven looked around nervously. How do you explain to a human that you were a galactic ambassador for two years of your life?

“Um, I was a sales clerk at a donut shop,” was all Steven was able to say. All of his other ‘professions’ were wrapped in gem stuff, and this road trip was about being human.

“Got experience in customer service I see, perfect,” Mister Mystery closed the cabinet he was looking in and opened the one below it, “now where is that stupid paperwork,” he muttered.

Just then, Steven remembered.

“Uh, so, the thing is, I don’t have a social security number. Is that okay?” He asked.

Mister Mystery looked up at him before closing the drawer he was looking in and smiled, “Kid, that’s perfect, less paperwork for me,” he held out his hand, “You’re hired!”

Steven smiled wide. He just got his first paying job! And it was a lot easier than he’d thought. He shook Mister Mystery’s hand.

“Thank you, Mister Mystery!”

Stan smiled, “Please, calls me Mr. Pines.”

Steven nodded, “Okay, thank you Mr. Pines!”

And with that, Steven became an official staff member of the Mystery Shack

—————

Steven got back into his car, buzzing with excitement. This was going to be his first job that didn’t include gems, and he was ready for it. Mr. Pines said he would mainly just be working the gift shop, trying to get customers to ‘empty their pockets,’ as he put it. Which seemed simple enough to Steven. He turned on the ignition and realized he had no place to stay for the summer. Maybe he can find a room to rent somewhere in town tomorrow, but tonight he had to find a motel. He pulled up maps on his phone, and searched up motels in the area. As Steven drove off towards his destination, the Mystery Shack faded into the distance, and disappeared as he rounded a corner. He made it to the motel, got a room, and sat on the bed. Tomorrow would be his first real day of work; work at a museum for the weird. Steven laughed at that. He knew first hand what was ‘weird’ to humans, and the idea that he, probably the weirdest thing on earth, would be working there gave him a chuckle. He turned off the lights and crawled into bed. This would certainly be an interesting summer.

The next morning, Steven woke up early. His excitement for what the first day of work would bring woke him up around 7 am. He spent a couple of hours searching online for rooms for rent, and had no luck. It seemed like there was no place to rent in all of Gravity Falls. He frowned, unsure of how to proceed. He’ll just have to stay at the motel until he can figure out what to do. At 9 am, his alarm went off, signaling to him that his shift would start in 30 minutes. He took a quick shower, ate breakfast, and headed out to the Mystery Shack.

Steven was buzzing with excitement as he walked through the door into the Mystery Shack gift shop. It was empty aside from Stan and a red headed girl, who sat behind the register.

“Welcome back, kid,” Stan said, giving him a little wave, “This is Wendy, she’s gonna train you.”

Stan pointed at the girl behind the register, and she gave Steven a little wave. Steven waved back. She stood up and walked over to him and Stan.

“Sup, I’m Wendy,” she said, giving Steven a welcoming smile.

“I’m Steven, Steven Universe,” he held out a hand to Wendy. She shook it.

“That’s an epic last name, did you have it changed or was that your parents’ name?” Wendy put her hands back into her jean pockets.

Steven scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, it’s my dad’s last name, but he had it changed. He was a musician and he thought Greg Universe sounded better than Greg DeMayo.”

Wendy frowned, “Greg Universe? Why does that sound familiar?”

“Well, he was a musician, maybe you heard one of his songs?” Steven suggested.

“Hm, maybe? But I feel like it’s something else…” she shrugged, “I’ll think of it later. But now I gotta tell you how to do stuff.”

Wendy proceeded to spend the next 2 hours teaching Steven how to run the gift shop. He got a little stuck on the register, but by the end of the 2 hours, he put in charge. Well, technically Wendy was still in charge, but she was sitting on the ground reading a magazine while Steven manned the register.

“If you have any questions, I’m right here,” she said before settling down to read her magazine.

Business was pretty slow, but that was a given considering it was a Monday. A few people had come through, but they mainly bought mugs and bumper stickers. Steven managed to sell a shirt, but that was the biggest purchase all day and it was already 3 pm. Steven drummed his fingers against the countertop of the cash wrap, trying to tap a tune to keep himself entertained. He found himself drumming the tune to Working Dead by Sadie Killer and the Suspects. It’s been a while since he has talked to them. He should call them after work. He started humming the lyrics, forming the song with the tapping of his fingers.

“Dude, are you humming Working Dead?”

Steven looked towards the floor to see Wendy looking at him.

“Yeah, I am. It’s a fun song.”

A huge smile formed on her face, “I love Sadie Killer and the suspects! Their music is so good, and I love their whole vibe!”

“I know right! Fun fact, that song was created while we were watching horror movies in Sadie's basement!” Steven smiled at the fond memory.

“Wait,” Wendy stood up, “We, what do you mean by we? You were there?”

Steven nodded, “Yeah! We were watching The Lurch and Sour Cream liked the background music, so he started mixing, adding drum beats and stuff, then Jenny started playing her bass, and I joined on the electric guitar. Buck joined on his acoustic guitar and then we just needed lyrics. Sadie had just gotten off of work, so she started singing about it. And boom! Working Dead was born, and Sadie Miller became Sadie Killer. And that’s how the band formed.”

Wendy’s mouth was agape and she looked stunned.

“You… were there… oh my god,” her eyes widened as she realized something, “your dad is Greg Universe! Their manager! I knew that name sounded familiar.”

Steven gave a little laugh, “That he is. He has some experience in ‘show biz.’”

Wendy pulled out her phone, “I’m soooo telling my friends about this,” she sat back down on the floor and started texting.

The next few minutes passed in silence, with only the faint clicks of a keyboard to break it. But that silence is broken by a shriek. Steven stood up quickly, worried that someone might be in trouble. Suddenly, a girl runs into the gift shop, followed by a boy. They both looked pretty young; probably only around 12. The girl was laughing, holding something in her hand as the boy chased her.

“Mabel! Give it back!” The boy yelled

“Come and get it then!”

The boy tackled the girl and they wrestled on the ground as the boy tried to grab the item. The girl locked eyes with Steven and shouted, “Catch!” before throwing the object at him. Steven caught it effortlessly and saw that it was an almost solved Rubik’s cube. Steven looked up from it to see the boy on the other side of the counter.

“Can I Please have that back? I’m so close to solving it,” the boy said.

Steven smiled at him before handing it back.

The girl, who he presumed was Mabel, pouted, “You’re not supposed to give it back to him!”

Steven shrugged, “Sorry.”

The boy scowled at his sister before looking back at Steven, “Thanks! I’m Dipper by the way, and this is Mabel,” he pointed at the girl.

“Whomp whoooomp,” she said.

Steven smiled and gave them both a little wave, “Hi! I’m Steven, nice to meet you.”

Wendy popped up from behind the counter.

“Hey Mabel, hey Dipper,” she turned to face Steven, “these are Mr. Pines’s twin great niece and nephew. They’re staying here for the summer.”

Steven looked back to see Dipper working on the Rubik’s cube while Mabel stared at him.

“That sounds like fun. I’m going to be staying in Gravity Falls for the summer too! Although, I have yet to find a place to stay.”

He looked at Wendy to see he had started texting again, “Um, Wendy?”

She doesn’t look up from her phone, “Yeah?”

“Know any places in town that are renting? Right now I’m staying in the Moonlight All-Night Motel,” Steven asked.

Wendy shook her head, “Not that I’m aware of.”

Mabel’s face lit up, “You can rent a room here!”

Steven twiddles his thumbs, “Uh, I don’t want to impose…”

“Pfft,” Mabel waved her hand dismissively at him, “It’s no big deal! I’ll ask Grunkle Stan right now!”

Before Steven could protest, she ran behind a door that said ‘Employees Only.’

Dipper sighed, “I’ll go talk to her.”

And with that, the twins had both left the gift shop. Steven mulled over the idea of staying at the Mystery Shack over the summer. He would certainly be closer to work, and it was better than the motel for sure.

‘If Mr. Pines says yes to Mabel, then maybe, but for now, I should get back to work,’ Steven thought just as a group of tourists came into the gift shop.

———

As Steven cleaned up the shop, preparing to close, Mr. Pines walked in.

Stan gives Steven a pat on the back, “Wendy tells me you did a good job! Congrats on your first day of work. Now, just because you did good today, doesn’t mean you get to slack off. I already got one lazy teenager, I don’t need another one. Wait, how old did you say you were again?”

“Eighteen,”

“Okay, so still a teenager, I was right,” Stan muttered.

He frowned, appearing to be deep in thought.

Steven waited for him to say something. When he didn’t, Steven went back to sweeping.

“Mabel tells me you don’t have a place to stay,”

Steven turned around to see Stan looking at him,

He laughed nervously, “Yeah, I rolled into town only yesterday. And I tried looking online this morning to see if there were any places nearby that were renting, but I couldn’t find anything.”

Stan smiled, “Well, there's a room open in this very house! Rent is only... $300 a month.”

Steven mulled it over. He’d only be staying here for around three months, and so $300 times 3 would be.. $900. He’d have to ask his dad to give him some more cash, but he has enough for at least one month.

Steven nodded, “Sound good, I can do that.”

Stan smiled. This kid was loaded!

“Great! Come back here with your stuff while I have the room prepped. Soos!” Stan yelled.

The ‘Employees Only’ door opened and in walked in who Steven suspected was the handyman, judging by the tool belt he wore.

“Sup Mr. Pines? Whatcha need?”

Stan gestured towards Steven.

“Get the spare room prepped for someone to live in, I’m letting this kid rent it.”

“Will do Mr. Pines!” With that, Soos turned and walked back through the door he came from.

Stan turned back towards Steven.

“The room will probably be ready in 30 minutes, be back by then. You can leave now.”

Steven nodded, “Will do!”

Steven put the broom away before waving a goodbye to Stan and fussing out the door. He hurried back to his motel room, and packed him. This summer was already off to a great start, and he was ready for everything else it would bring.

[bat-besties]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Remus is the most eccentric customer who visits Janus and Virgil's café. When he goes missing after talking to a mysterious stranger, Janus resolves to investigate further- and Virgil isn't letting him go alone.

AO3 10k 

Huge thanks to @mariniacipher, I could not have written this without her. She let me talk about the idea for hours, it has somehow developed into a series, and the story itself took a real twist because of talking to her! Another massive thank you to @5-crofters-jams, who did a marathon edit of the entire piece for me, and has made the story so much smoother and more effective (and much less British because my original dialogue did upset her American sensibilities XD) Also thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, who knew everything I needed about pigeon corpses!

CW: dead bird, touching the bird corpse, bird funeral, Remus levels of comments about gore and innuendo, drug mention, mention of vomiting, kidnapping and captivity, feeling nauseous from anxiety, light dehumanization, brief allusion to racist violence

- 

Remus was...

(There was usually a little gesture there: Virgil’s rolled eyes, or Janus’ helplessly fond smile, or a disapproving look from Remy-)

....Remus.

Their anarchist cafe saw its fair share of unusual customers but only one of them was, well, Remus.

Morning sunlight threw beams which striped the posters covering the walls- old propaganda posters mixed with ads for tutors, food banks, and drag shows. There was a quiet chatter of customers, occasionally broken up by bursts of laughter or a called greeting to another patron as they came in. Kids from the skatepark sat on a pile of beanbags charging their phones, having given up the comfortable chairs for a small group of elderly butches with stretched tattoos who were now speaking with slang from fifty years ago. A mother whose baby was trying to grab onto her braids was trying to feed him with one hand and hold her husband’s with the other. A college student frowning at their laptop screen and consuming coffee at an alarming rate was seemingly oblivious to the punk trying to discreetly read their laptop stickers. One of a Pan-African flag matched the full-sized one on the wall, swaying with wafts of coffee and baked goods along with spider plants and assorted pride flags. Old photos of a Black Panther group in the town, reprinted and signed by some of their patrons, were framed proudly on the walls.

Since everyone had been served, Virgil was taking a few breaths to check over the register and prepare for the next rush. The rhythm of checking, preparing, and letting the background chatter fade into the background blended into a pleasant, thoughtless routine. Cups out. Setting out more sandwiches. Look over the register. Maybe get something from the back-

“Morning, shitwad!”

Virgil ducked under the counter as something thumped into the coffee machine behind him, and a few of the regulars laughed in good nature.

“Oh, good morning, darling,” Janus replied smoothly, appearing from the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow shirt which contrasted with his deep brown skin perfectly, as well as a bowler hat and dapper bow-tie. He pulled plastic gloves over his hands with all the elegance of a debutante preparing for a ball.

There was a shrill wolf whistle. “Those are some sexy wrists!” was the next comment, followed by a squawking laugh, and Virgil rolled his eyes as his friend brought a flustered hand up to adjust his collar. Every day, he faced the deep attraction between the most sophisticated person he knew and the most outlandish, and he didn’t know which was more obnoxious. As Virgil popped back up, Janus reached over to the projectile on the back counter. It was the small, feathery body of a dead pigeon, carefully wrapped in cling wrap.

Virgil gave Janus a long-suffering look and got out a bottle of disinfectant. “Morning, Remus,” he grumbled, despite his irritation. “What can I get for you today?”

“My friend died at 3am last night,” he replied instead. “I need to store her in your fridge until you both get off work, and then we’ll hold her funeral!”

When they were alive, Remus treated the pigeons as gently as they did each other-

That is to say, he was ruthlessly protective of chicks, ready to grab and move anyone encroaching on territory, and, if pecked, was fully ready to bite back. Still, at his two-tone whistle a whole flock of assorted birds would fly down to meet him. His eyes would shine bright as they flew around him like a feathered whirlwind, and settled on the surfaces all around him like a hopeful congregation as he fed them with whatever he had. Despite their number, almost all had names and ascribed personalities.

Exactly how he could tell the difference between two seemingly identical pigeons Virgil had no idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Remus wasn’t fucking with him about it.

“Why did you throw her if you’re trying to preserve her?” Virgil said, but he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. In fairness, it didn’t look too damaged by the blow. It would take a lot to change the kindness Remus showed the doves, as roughly as he showed it.

“I thought you’d catch her, emo! It would have been a beautiful moment!” he protested, throwing his grey eyes open wide.

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what? Yeah, maybe it would have been. But you forget-”

“Fight or flight,” Remus filled in. He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

As usual, he was dressed in as many layers as he could be, with only a hint of pale skin showing on his face and through a pair of fingerless gloves he had cut himself. Everything else was an amalgamation of black and brown leather, denim, flannel, a puffy coat, a long flowing skirt in leopard-print, and fishnet tops over cotton T-shirts, leaving barely any Remus-outline at all. It didn’t matter what the weather was; his outfit might change components, but it never revealed so much as his neck.

Everyone had their reasons, Janus would quietly say at almost anything their customers said or did. It wouldn’t have crossed their minds to ask why he covered himself so much, but it was something Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about sometimes.

Maybe Janus was right and Remus was handsome, but his face was so obscured by his moustache, stubble, and makeup in purple and green- or whichever colours he felt like- that he seemed to be aiming for ‘gives you a headache after you look at him too long’ more than anything else.

His hair was almost literally a bird’s nest. He had completely rejected offers of a hairbrush or a comb, insisting he preferred it the way it was. The third co-owner of the cafe, Remy, with whom he was staying at the moment, had made many attempts to detangle his hair, all of which had been met with screaming and gnashing of teeth. After each clash, Remy would send Virgil a barrage of complaints by text. But while Janus had offered for Remus to stay at his own apartment, Virgil and Remy had made a mutual decision to save them from 24/7 pining by volunteering instead. Janus had refused even considering dating him the very first day he had barged his way into the cafe- and into its founder’s affection. As long as Remus came to them for food and shelter, it would be an unfair balance of power.

Remus reached into an inner pocket of his coat and slid a purple pin with a spider silhouette on it over to Virgil. “You could stab this into those big brown eyes of yours,” he said, widening his own at the barista.

“Sweet, thanks,” Virgil said, pinning it onto his apron string. It did match with his spider-web hair design. “Then I won’t have to look at Janus getting flustered any more.”

Remus grinned at Janus, who was trying to act as if he’d been so invested in carefully holding the pigeon that he hadn’t heard. He leaned on the counter and dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I think he’s sexy.”

“That’s disgusting,” Virgil whispered back. “I’m going to throw up in your coffee.”

He shrugged. “I’d still drink it. Then I’d just be able to judge you based on your stomach bile.”

“You’d be so fucking impressed by my stomach bile,” Virgil retorted. “It’s so acidic from anxiety it would kill you immediately.” He turned to start wiping down anywhere the pigeon had even possibly touched.

“Bartender!” Remus yelled in an exaggerated English accent, banging on the counter. “Bartender! I would like a coffee and a sandwich, please!”

“One moment, my dear,” Janus said in a more passable impression, opening up the freezer door and placing the tiny corpse into an empty ice-cream container well away from the rest of the food. “I’m just cryopreserving- what’s her name?”

"Her name is Loki,” Remus supplied, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone which was surprisingly tender coming from him. “She's good at stealing chips from tourists. And flying and shitting at the same time.”

Janus threw away his gloves, thoroughly washed his hands, then made a small note: "Loki: not for consumption." He glanced up at Remus so he could see the note, who repaid him by throwing his head back so he could laugh. Janus' mouth quirked into a snicker too, and the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fall away from the two looking at each other.

"We're going to get a violation," Virgil interrupted, because that was the expression of a Janus who would complain and pretend not to pine for hours after Remus left. He turned on the coffee machine to hopefully distract from the moment. "It's a dead fucking animal."

"So is the rest of the meat," Janus dismissed without looking at him. "And it is wrapped up and away from the rest of the food."

Ever since Virgil had joined the team and the cafe had begun to establish itself as a firm success, the city council had done everything in its power to shut it down. Each time, the cafe had won, even if their most recent fight was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life, and their personal lives had been dragged through the dusty carpet of every courtroom in the city. Each step of the way, Janus insisted that the risk was worth it.

After all that, Virgil was not letting the cafe close on account of a dead bird, as skilled a thief as she might have been.

"It’s a pest animal you let in here," he insisted.

Janus dismissed him with a shrug. "Come now, so is Remus."

The customer grinned. "You flatter me, rattlesnake." His eyes traced Janus' face as they scrunched up with joy. "Can you tell me about Dodgy Knees again?"

He closed his eyes as if pained. "Diogenes! Diogenes! I'll break your knees if you mispronounce-"

"Kinky!"

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, is that so?”

So Virgil tried to ignore the disaster scenario of the cafe being shut for good, fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Remus, and somehow got caught into a conversation about the pros and cons of leaving society to go feral in the woods.

“No, I do agree, but wolves-”

The door rattled, and an older white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit walked in. He wasn’t entirely out of place amongst the clientele, but he honestly looked more like the businessmen in some of the cartoons Janus had papered one wall with. Remus ignored the bell as he leant his elbows on the counter, gesturing with his sandwich as he talked to Virgil while the barista came up to the register.

“How can I help you today?” Virgil asked the man, who was glancing around the decor. That type of customer was almost certainly drawn by the coffee, all blends hand-picked by Remy.

“I’ll be in and out in just a moment,” he replied with a small smile, and Remus stopped talking. “An espresso to go, please.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, a moment-”

A blush crept up Remus’ cheeks, and he ducked his head with uncharacteristic shyness. As the man caught his eyes his entire expression softened, the hard lines of his face seeming to melt as his lips parted slightly, like he would say something. But, for once, he was speechless.

Janus looked as though he had been slapped in the face. “Are you acquainted?” he asked, in such a casual tone that Virgil knew he was deeply hurt. He arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“I- yes, I believe we are,” the customer gave a genial smile in return, his eyes fixed on Remus’. “Some time ago.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “Where do you know him from, Remus?”

There was a crinkle of plastic and leather as Remus shrugged. “Long story,” he said distantly.

Virgil slid a cup of coffee over to the man, who tapped a black card to the card reader and gave him a quick smile. “Keep the change,” he quipped. It was a tip some ten times greater than their recommended 20%.

“Thanks,” Virgil mumbled, but his focus was on his friend, who was drifting out of the door, as he tended to do at the end of a conversation. “Hey, Remus, we’ll see you later?” he called after him.

“Sure, Virgey!” he replied, giving him a quick grin before he held the door for the businessman, and the two of them walked out together. The older man ducked his head to whisper something into his ear, and Remus laughed and linked their arms as they headed into the street.

As soon as the door swung shut, a cloud settled over Janus’ expression. “Well,” he said, adjusting a sandwich which was just slightly out of line with the rest. “They say a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet. It takes all sorts. To each, indeed, their-”

Before he could utter another saying, Virgil interrupted with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” Janus asked caustically. “Remus was acting unusually, yes?”

“Sometimes people get nervous,” he ventured. “If they like someone-” There wasn’t a single trait Remus said wasn’t his type; a silver fox with money was as good as any.

“Don’t say ‘like’, it’s so middle school,” he snapped, and Virgil flinched at the tone in his voice. He grabbed a cloth and headed over to a table which some regulars he knew were just vacating to wipe it down. Poor Loki’s funeral was going to be a tense event.

Except, as night fell and the cafe began to glow with the golden lights and the warmth of the ovens, and as Remy arrived to help them with the evening rush, Remus didn’t show up for the body in their freezer.

The brief liveliness Janus had shown bustling between the kitchen and the front faded as the final family trickled out. He waved away most of their offered money, seeing as it was a birthday party and he knew them, and Remy and Virgil made meaningful eye contact but didn’t protest.

As they closed, Remy filled the awkward silence with chatter about the men he was dating, the new hair product he had tried, the fact Remus never washed up when he was told to, and he was, like, so sick of it-

But no Remus appeared to defend himself, even after they left half-an-hour late and each one tried to call him.

He didn’t appear at Remy’s to sleep overnight, and he didn’t come into the cafe at all the next day.

That next night, Janus disappeared into the back, leaving Virgil to clean up by himself.

His stomach was upset, and he couldn’t help but think about that man over and over.

Long story- what exactly did “long story” mean?

Remy used the phrase when it really was a complicated story full of exes and rumours and friends of friends-

Virgil used it when he was asked why he didn’t speak to his family any more.

But he’d never seen Remus look like that before, and the guy had seemed nice- and there was an obvious suggestion for why his friend was busy overnight.

He realised he’d been wiping down the same table for the past five minutes.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly behind him.

“Yeah?” he turned, and his brow immediately furrowed at his friend’s sombre expression.

He had his phone in one hand, and his hat in his other. “I’m going to ask you for a favour,” he said slowly. “You are quite free to decline it.” He paused. “I want to go to the house of the man who Remus went out with, and check that he’s alright.”

“I...don’t know that’s a good idea,” he said, twisting the spider badge on his apron so he could avoid the weight of his friend’s expression. “I mean...it could be an invasion of Remus’ privacy, if that was an old friend or-” Scared of causing further upset, he tilted his head to fill in ‘something else’.

“Yes, I know.” He sighed, looking out into the night through their plate-glass windows. “You know I’m not one for hunches-”

“Eh, you turned out a guy for being an undercover cop in like two seconds because he asked about ‘The Antifa’-”

Janus gave him a look with almost the level of exasperated fondness Remus engendered, and Virgil fell silent.

“I’m not one for hunches, but I’m usually right when I have them, then,” he finished lightly. “I have a very bad feeling, and a Google Search for anyone in the town who could possibly have a black card doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Anxiety coagulated in his stomach, but he tried for his final hope. “Are you sure it’s not...jealousy?”

He gave him a long, tired look. “The thought has never even been a worry of mine,” he said drily. “Still, I can go by myself, and make my own self a bother, worse, a fool.”

And it wasn’t really a question at all whether Virgil would let that happen. “Two of us is just a bother,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel, unclipping his badge from his apron and slipping it into his hoodie pocket.

Janus hung up his hat and put on a neat suit jacket over his outfit. “Thank you, really-”

He shook his head, opening the door so that a rush of petrichor and tarmac washed out the pervasive smell of coffee and food from the cafe. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the night, still damp from the earlier rains. The lights of the shops around them reflected against the wet tarmac, and music pumped out of passing cars giddy with the promise of the coming weekend. They headed to the bus stop, Janus politely greeting every person they passed, and Virgil ducking his head so he didn’t have to. He didn’t know if the people who replied were familiar to his friend from the neighbourhood, or just trying to be polite in turn.

As soon as the bus stopped with a hiss of steam, Janus led him down to the back, and sat by the window, checking the map on his phone again. “It will be some time,” he said. “But, I ask you to be patient.”

“Course.” Virgil rested his head on Janus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “Just tell me the stop before and I’ll be...right with you.” Moving vehicles lulled him to sleep anyway, and he would just worry the whole way otherwise.

“Of course.” Janus wrapped an arm around him, so he wasn’t jolted as the bus started again.

As Virgil dozed in fits and starts, the window changed from views of convenience stores and fast food shops to blocks of apartments, to anonymous offices and retail outlets, to high-walled parks, and then houses set back from the road by sweeping drive-ways or pavements almost as wide as the road was. Finally, his head was jostled off Janus’ shoulders, and he blinked as the stop dinged, too loud after the fog of sleep. Outside, it was pitch black but for the pools of light beneath the streetlights, and the golden glow which the mansions kept far behind barred gates.

They stumbled off the bus, and Janus checked his phone just once more before they headed off down one of the identical sides of the road.

Virgil pulled his hoodie close around him against the night chill. He considered putting his hood on to protect his ears from the nipping wind, but they were already two black men alone in a very white neighbourhood. It wasn’t worth it when his stomach was already rolling with anxiety. He rubbed his thumb over the badge in his pocket and tried to breathe the cold air in 4-7-8. They walked over empty roads, past rows and rows of similar houses, until they turned a corner and cars lined the road, piling into a single driveway which was illuminated like a Christmas lights display. A few fancily-dressed guests stood by the cars, but most of the noise came from inside. The house towered even its neighbours, and was built in the faux-Classical style which he hated.

Janus checked the address against his phone, then nodded. “That’s it. What did you call those, again? False temples?”

“Temples to dumb rich Americans and bad architecture,” Virgil supplied with a quirk of his lips.

“Quite right,” he replied, assessing the entrance. “And in all likelihood, Remus is stuck inside with his…”

“Yup.” He looked between his own patchwork hoodie and Janus’ dapper suit. “Maybe you could sneak in, but I definitely wouldn’t fit in.”

He straightened, and adjusted his bowtie. “Then we’ll go around the back,” he replied.

Virgil shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope, that’s- Jesus Christ, no, that’s a great way to get arrested or even shot. No.”

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly. “These past two months, Remus has visited us every day except that brief time after the fight over the milk cartons, or whatever it was-”

“I asked him to clean up a drop of milk and he poured the rest of the carton over my kitchen,” he said sourly, which he felt he was entitled to despite the situation.

“Yes, yes,” Janus dismissed. “Anyway- he always comes, doesn’t he? So now-”

“I have a really, really bad feeling- and bad thought, and bad everything-” he protested, backing away from the gate.

An orange sports car swerved past them, and parked horizontally across the driveway, and a young white man in a tracksuit the same colour as his car leapt out and gave them a wide grin. “Hey! Hey! Hello!” he yelled, and flashed them peace signs, to which Janus replied with a pained smile and Virgil a small wave. “Everything’s started- have they done the fireworks yet? Or the, shit, thing with the melted chocolate and it flows-”

“Chocolate fountain,” Janus supplied with the smile he reserved for his more aggravating customers. He slipped his arm into Virgil’s and pulled them forwards. “We were hoping to arrive for that too, ah-?” He waited for the man to supply his name, but instead-

“I like your hair!” he said to Virgil, admiring the spider web design. “Rad!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, subtly trying to pull them backwards as Janus marched him to the door after the guest. “Your car is...yeah, that sure is a car.”

“Sure is!” he replied with a blindingly white smile. He flashed something at a bodyguard at the door- who had sunglasses, earpiece, everything- Virgil noted with a sickening thrill of fear.

“And your friends, sir?” the bodyguard asked.

“Yeah, yeah!” The guest tossed his car keys at his chest and headed through to a foyer filled with well-cut suits and low-cut dresses, champagne glasses and trays of canapes. Marble floors reflected the lighting, which glinted out from chandeliers above. A wide staircase glided up to the hidden upper floors.

“Oh, hey! Hey, you!” the young man yelled as soon as he got in, bounding over towards a woman who greeted him with a grin, raising her glass like a toast.

Janus and Virgil just blinked at each other. “Are you...sure?” Virgil asked quietly. “Remus is here?”

“I’m honestly not so sure any more,” Janus muttered to him. “But let’s not rely on whatever chemicals are keeping our dear friend happy, and start looking around.”

They moved through a throng of people and out into a wide ballroom, filled with yet more guests and a live string quartet playing in one corner. Along with the music was the trilling of occasional birdsong from tropical birds fluttering inside several oversized golden cages dotted around the room. A few others held white marble statues, but they couldn’t compare to the shifting flurries of reds, blues, and greens. Without agreeing on it aloud, the friends first went over to a small party congregated by one of them, in case the birds had attracted Remus.

“No, but then I said-” A balding man was proclaiming. “I said, Rudy, that’s not the Dow Jones Industrial Average at all.”

The group burst into laughter, Virgil gave Janus a bemused look, and they moved on.

Everyone was well-dressed, in sparkling necklaces or ties in jewel colours or even in more casual clothes, like the man from the sports car, which still seemed to drip wealth. Wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t that fancy a look, but when even Virgil recognised that pair from an ad campaign for a luxury fashion line which would come out next month, he guessed it didn’t matter. Nobody looked at them twice. Still, there was nobody dressed in the contents of an entire rummage-sale bin with purple eyeshadow used as contour.

“There-” Janus whispered- “Is that?”

They both froze as they watched a man with a moustache waltz past in the arms of a lady dressed in black. It wasn’t Remus.

Virgil scanned the room again, eyes passing over the gilded cages, and the tropical birds and statues inside them- nobody in the crowd admiring them was any business of his-

As they parted, the figure inside the tallest gold cage became clear. It shifted position- an animatronic? He looked more closely as it moved after everyone had turned away, fiddling with golden chains around its-

“Oh God-” he whispered. “Look.”

Virgil was an avowed atheist, but if the person inside the cage wasn’t a statue, he must have been an angel. His shining hair was cut short to show of the clean marble lines of his face. His chest was sculpted too, covered in scars which looked like they must have come from a golden sword like the one he was gripping. He looked as if he would swing it into position if not for the gold chains wrapped around his arms, tethering him to the delicate bars of the cage. He was gazing out into the distance.

Most striking of all, dove-grey wings crested over his shoulders and trailed all the way down to his ankles. His white tunic contrasted the hints of pale purple, pink and blue shimmering in his wings.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Virgil had ever seen.

He glanced at Janus for his reaction.

He found only an expression of absolute horror. Janus was completely silent for a moment, struggling for words, before he gasped. "Oh, Remus- what did they do to you?”

A cold feeling washed over him.

No- those were their friend's grey eyes, and that was the shape of his face, stripped of his facial hair and usual tacky makeup. No wonder Virgil hadn't recognised him.

Compared to the usual chaotic spark in his expression, he looked blank. As if his mind was somewhere else entirely- or like he'd been drugged.

Still, Virgil couldn’t help but be drawn back to his wings; they were hyper-realistic, even twitching as he tried to tense his shoulders to alleviate the pressure of the chains on his arms. And the amount of feathers it would have taken to make that shifting, downy gradient...not even all of Remus’ flock had that many. It was compelling, but sickening.

It felt wrong to look over his arms and legs when he was usually so adamant about covering them, so he dropped his eyes and tried to erase the knowledge of how muscled Remus was beneath his usual shapeless outfit.

It wasn’t that Virgil found his friend attractive exactly, but with wings like that, dressed like that- he was a centerpiece, clearly, and even as his stomach churned with the wrongness of the display, it was a palpable effort to keep his gaze from snapping back to him. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to Janus.

“He’d never, ever choose to dress himself like that in front of everyone," Janus whispered, anger crackling red at the edges of his quiet voice. "And even if he did, he’d never shave off his moustache.”

He shook his head. “So...what do we do?”

In response, Janus sauntered over to the left, took a champagne flute from a waiter, and then gestured for his friend to follow. They zigzagged through the crowd until they got closer to Remus, whose eyes remained glazed and distant.

They stopped just by him. Up close, it was clear the tunic was some kind of cotton material, and the sword had blunted edges. He was wearing makeup too, and a lump in his mascara made Virgil feel another sharp pang of pity. As ridiculous as painting them on would have been, how real the scars looked in comparison to the rest of the outfit was jarring. He was built and scarred like a fighter, and all the little touches to make him look delicate only emphasised how roughened he was. Both were at odds with everything he knew of his friend.

“Remus,” Janus whispered. The name fell like a plea. “Remus, it’s us.”

All of a sudden, the man’s eyes snapped to them, his expression melting into disbelief. “Remus?” he echoed. It was as quiet as a whisper from a crypt. “You know him?”

“You’re-” Janus’ face fell. “Remus, that’s you-”

The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Twins, we’re twins- you know him? Please, is he okay?” He looked almost identical, though up close the differences began to stand out. He was probably more muscular, but who could tell under all of Remus’ clothes? The main differences were a gap between this twin’s front teeth and, more than that, his eyes. Even as he looked at them desperately, there was something missing from them, some jolt of hope or excitement which just wasn’t there. Their heaviness was an uncomfortable weight on Virgil’s face.

He wrapped an arm around himself. “Sorry, he went missing-”

“But we tracked the man he left with back here,” Janus filled in. “Isn’t he here too?”

The man shook his head again. “No, I- I’ll earn more information, after this. I don’t know anything,” he whispered. “I just know he found him, and he wants him to come back without a fight.”

Virgil never should have just watched as that man walked Remus out of the coffee shop. Long story his ass- “What the fuck is happening?”

Remus’ twin tried to shrug and then winced as the movement tugged on the chains. His wings fluttered with the movement. “They just tranqued us the first time. I don’t know why he’s delaying recapture-” He took a deep breath. “Just tell him to run away as soon as he can.” His grey eyes hardened to steel. “He might as well keep doing it.”

“I will if I can find him, thank you.” Janus took a small sip of his champagne. “What exactly was the capture for, if I can ask?”

The captive glanced around the room, and at the movement Virgil cut his eyes to the side. Nobody watched that he could see. “The wings, of course,” he said with a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’re real, go ahead and look at them.”

Janus’ eyes widened, subtly taking in the wings.

“My name’s Roman,” he continued in a low, urgent voice. “Tell him that Roman said to run, okay? Don’t listen to any of their offers or threats. I’m not a gladiator anymore; I’m here instead. It’s...not too bad.”

As Janus opened his mouth, Roman shook his head. “Don’t talk to me too long.”

“We can get you out,” Virgil said before he knew what he was thinking. “Whatever this is-”

“Go,” Roman insisted. “It’s not worth trying to do anything for me. And don’t call the police-”

Janus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about that.”

“Fine.” he lifted his eyes to the middle distance again. “You should go now. Please.”

Virgil gave a little nod, taking Janus’ arm. “Okay. We’re gonna go.”

“Thank you,” Janus added. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then let Virgil lead him away.

He steered them back through the ballroom with their backs to Roman, trying not to glare into the eyes of each of the guests they passed. It would almost have been easier if there was a big fuss and show about the captive man, rather than the chatting and dancing and gossiping with, oh, a living being as a conversational curiosity-

As they came back into the entrance, Janus began to turn towards the sweeping staircase.

“No,” Virgil said under his breath, trying to tug him back to the doorway. “No fucking way. I know you’re angry but-”

“I’m not angry,” he replied coolly. “I am, rather, curious. Because I don't think they tell everything to Roman, and we’re not going to get luck like this again. Any information will help.”

He glanced up at where the staircase twisted out of sight. If Remus was up there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And, despite his words, Janus was throw-ignorant-customers-out-of-the-cafe mad. Except, he wasn’t quoting memoirs of increasingly obscure activists or putting neat yellow gloves on in warning, so Virgil didn’t know what he would do.

On cue, Janus reached into his breast pocket and drew out the gloves. He slipped one on, tugging it into place. “Better for fingerprints, and more neat.” He glanced at Virgil. “You don’t have to come with me, in fact it may be better if you didn’t.”

It wasn’t fair for Janus to pull on his ridiculous gloves like a boxer about to face a much bigger opponent, and ask him not to fight by his side. Even if Virgil had decided to leave the party, it wouldn’t have been fair.

“I will,” he said, tucking his hands into hoodie paws. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as if it would break out- that was a thought to tell Remus when they saw him. “I’m gonna complain about it afterwards.”

Despite his apparent composure, it took Janus a moment too long to answer as his eyes traced Virgil’s face. “Of course.” He took his arm. “Shall we?”

He was half-expecting an alarm to blare as soon as they set foot on the first stair- but nobody noticed. They took another few steps, feet sinking into the thick red runner. The back of his neck prickled with stares, but he knew from long experience that those were imagined. Or were they? No, that was anxiety. Janus’ hand tightened on his forearm and he stopped. Above, someone paced past on a wooden floor in the measured rhythm of a guard. He gagged.

“Deep breaths,” Janus murmured.

“I hate this,” he replied. Then he forced a breath in his nose and out of his mouth.

After the footsteps faded, they kept walking until Virgil moved his heavy boot onto the polished wood floor as gently as possible. Identical two-panel white doors stretched along the hallway without any noticeable distinction, until the corridor took a right turn at the end of the row.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Virgil whispered, and Janus nodded.

With their footsteps echoing almost too loud on the floor, they each crept to the far ends of the hallway. There was nothing beyond the corner except another staircase, and thankfully no more doors.

He tried the door handle on the far right with his sleeve over his hand, and it turned. He nudged it open and peeked in to see a huge bedroom strewn with suitcases and clothes, and a sparkling necklace of diamonds carelessly draped over a black dress. But no Remus. He shut it and moved onto the next.

Locked. The next was too. His hands were shaking like there was a motor in them.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Okay. Next one- unlocked.

It was a bathroom, all white marble and gold like downstairs. He closed the door and glanced over to Janus, who shook his head.

He glanced at the staircase before crossing the corridor and turning the handle of the middle door slightly.

A voice rose behind the door, deeper and smoother than Remus’. “Hello?”

Virgil reached in desperation for the next door handle as footsteps sounded from inside, and tugged it open in time for Janus to walk in quickly and efficiently in the rhythm of the security guard. He followed with a few strides, shutting the door behind him in with a fumbled click. The room was an empty guest bedroom. Janus was hiding himself under the bed before Virgil caught his arm and pulled him out. He headed to the big sliding window.

“Please, please-” he whispered to himself, trying to lift it. Locked, locked, oh God-

Janus searched the mantelpiece for a moment before pressing a cold key into Virgil’s hand. He tried to put it in but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn’t-

Janus took it off him. It fit with a click.

Virgil pushed up the window in a rush of cool air. He climbed out onto the little ornamental balcony running between a few windows and stood flat to the wall, chest heaving, before Janus followed with a tumble. He reached over and shut the window while Janus crouched down below the sill. The room was still empty.

Virgil slid down the wall, trembling hands over his mouth. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was sure he would be sick-

Janus had curled into a ball, forehead to the stone of the balcony.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.

After a while, they ended up both sitting side by side in the space between the two windows, hands twisted together. It was silent.

Virgil glanced back into the room. “It’s empty,” he whispered. “We should leave.”

Janus nodded. “One moment-” He crept towards the other window and peeked in the bottom before he dropped to the ground, hand over his mouth.

Virgil widened his eyes. On cue, his heart finished its brief rest.

Janus pointed to his suit jacket, then made a rectangle shape with his fingers. Virgil frowned. His friend repeated the gesture, and it clicked. Black card.

He so, so badly wanted to run now, but instead he crawled over to poke Janus in the side so he would move over to give him space by the window. Their eyes met, and Virgil pulled his hood over his cold ears to settle in for a wait. He kept his head down, pillowed on his forearms, while Janus risked peeking up every few minutes.

Suddenly, Janus grabbed his arm. Virgil lifted his head. He could just about see Roman standing in the doorway, rubbing at the deep red marks around his forearms, and the captor leaning back in a leather armchair holding a glass.

Janus put his hands up to the window-

“Janus,” Virgil hissed, but then the window slid a crack upwards and voices travelled through.

“Quite the party, wasn’t it?” the captor said, pouring himself a drink.

Roman nodded too quickly. “Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice, attempting a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on a closed silver laptop on a side table. “Yes, it was...very grand!”

He rolled his eyes. “What did you think of the decor?”

“Quite magnificent! Like a- an aviary in a palace.” His wings were trembling as though there were a breeze running through them.

Tilting his head and looking Roman up and down, the captor spoke just as genially as he had in the cafe. “You really aren’t as interesting as your brother was. Too many blows to the head, no doubt.”

Roman’s mouth tightened. His fists had too.

Against the deep, comfortable, red-brown tones of leather and what must have been genuine mahogany, and the backs of books all bound neatly and sticking out of the shelf as though frequently read, Roman’s outfit stood out as even more fake. Gold accents in the sandals he was wearing matched the subtle gold trimmings of the room, but if the study were a convincing stage, Roman looked like a badly cast understudy.

The captor laughed. “Predictable. This isn’t the fighting pits.”

Virgil and Janus shared a look before watching again.

“Your brother’s been living like a tramp and he’s still more beautiful than you are, under all the mess,” he commented, as casually as if he was observing the weather. Roman’s eyebrows drew together, watching for the end of the statement. He brought up a hand to cover a scar along the edge of his neck. “He’s not as scraped up as you, of course. And he really-” He swirled his whiskey for a moment before taking a sip of it. “He really is genuine. You can imagine worse things than this, can’t you?”

He paused, then nodded.

He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s the difference.”

Janus grabbed Virgil’s hand. He curled over and pressed it to his own forehead. Virgil rested his hand on his back and bent to whisper in his ear. “Hey, only I need to listen, so-”

He shook his head and Virgil cut off, peeking back over the windowsill.

For just a moment Roman glanced at the window before he asked, “So, where is Remus anyways?” He seemed to freeze as he waited for the answer, a statue once again.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He held his hand out and Roman looked at him blankly. “The laptop,” he snapped.

“Oh!” He grabbed it from the side table and tried to hand it over from a distance.

He took it and flipped it open. Roman stepped back immediately, hopping from one foot to the other like a boxer. Virgil felt himself tapping on Janus’ back in sympathy.

The captor flipped the screen open and typed for a moment before he began to read something. Virgil felt Janus’ chest go still.

The captor laughed. “Oh, would you look at that- “Queer Eye’s Karamo Brown urged to cut ties with Salvation Army”.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing worse than a hypocrite- did you know about this?”

Remus’ brother’s jaw tensed and he shook his head.

He carried on reading for a little while, tutting, and then switching to another tab. “Okay, fine- come and look.”

He crossed the room to stand behind the man, hands gripping onto the back of the sofa as if he would fall over without its support.

“Don’t touch the furniture.” With a roll of his eyes, he reached his hand behind him, twisted his hand into his captive’s wing- then tugged. As he pulled a handful of feathers away Virgil winced, but Roman only reacted with a tightening of his hands. Then he took a measured step back from the couch.

“You know,” the captor said so softly that Virgil had to strain to hear him. “You know, Remus would have cried and cried at that.” He scattered the feathers, spotted with blood, over the floor. “That, or started swearing- and the crying would come after that.”

“You’ve told me before,” Roman snapped. As soon as he spoke, he froze again. “Oh, uh- I’m sorry-”

The laptop clicked shut. “I asked you to behave this evening,” the captor said, getting up and tucking it under his arm. Virgil and Janus crouched down further. For some reason, a tiny chip in the stone paving caught Virgil’s eyes. A tiny fissure ran from it into the rest of the solid slab. “That meant all of this evening.”

“Please-” His voice broke, and pitched high it sounded like Remus’. Janus’ hand tightened on Virgil’s until it hurt.

“Out.”

Virgil tugged on Janus’ hand and bent his head to his ear. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Janus looked up. His eyes were shining, and at the same time Virgil felt like a monster for not crying and a sharp annoyance that his friend had given into his emotions. He took a deep breath, and both feelings passed. He tugged on his hand again. “Okay, time to go,” he whispered.

He decided not to risk closing the window while the man was still in the room, just nudging Janus to the side. They crept across the balcony, slid up the far window, and climbed through one after the other, painfully slow.

They padded through the empty room, then opened the door and slipped out together. Downstairs, the last of the party guests were trailing out, either upright with exhaustion shining in their eyes to match the sparkle of their jewels, or with the help of a few discreet employees supporting champagne-soggy legs. Wordlessly, Janus slung his arm over Virgil’s shoulder, and he let his friend lean on him as they passed security and walked down the long drive to the dark street. He was heavy, but Virgil was careful not to stumble.

They carried on walking that way until the corner, when Janus straightened up and adjusted his jacket. Still, they crossed the road side-by-side and didn’t speak.

As they walked, the bottom of the sky was being washed out into greyness. The houses were unlit now, and they looked smaller in the dark. It just barely smelt of metallic dew. Virgil thought he might start screaming if he opened his mouth.

They reached the bus station sooner than expected. There was half-an-hour before the first early-morning bus. With a huff of air, he sat down on the pavement and leaned his back against the pole.

“Well that was just what we expected, wasn’t it?” Janus said lightly. He stayed standing, facing the mansion they had come from. Virgil looked up at him in silence. “I’m going to murder that man,” he continued in the same tone. “The security for that house is shocking. I’m sure it isn’t that hard. Perhaps I should let the twins do it, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll help bury the body.”

“You know, Virgil,” Janus met his eyes. “You really are the best friend anyone could ask for.”

"What?" he mumbled as he looked down. "He was a dick."

"Come now, you also broke into the house of someone connected to illegal fighting rings whose interior decoration tended to the alive and miserable.”

Heat flooded into his face. “Least I can do.”

“Quite a bit more than the least.” His lips quirked into a smile. “Especially for someone who was terrified of talking to customers a year ago.”

"Oh, shut up." He poked Janus' neat brogue with his boot. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes here figured out the whole thing anyway." His chest felt funny, and he hugged his arms around it.

"Well, Watson," He took a deep breath and decided to stop tormenting Virgil with his tenderness. "I have our final deduction- the man had no clue where Remus is."

"Really?"

Janus shook his head. “He was just looking for an excuse for Roman to slip up the whole time. Taunting him, the furniture, physically hurting him- it was all trying to push him to some tiny ‘infraction’ so he could bluff about the information.”

“Huh.” He replayed the events and nodded slowly. “Sure, I can see that. Still, we don’t know if he’s always like that. He didn’t deny the information when Roman touched the furniture- which is a fucked up rule, Jan- I don’t know if him not saying where Remus is was an excuse at all. He said Remus was better than his brother, and he gets pissed when you suggest cutting those clumps out of his hair. He must have been-” He regretted saying it to Janus, but it was deduction time. “He must have been really- cruel to him for Remus to act anything like Roman. He enjoys being cruel, clearly.”

“You’re right.” He twisted the finger of his glove. “Still, surely telling Roman about how scared Remus was would upset him. And he didn’t, so something doesn’t add up.”

Well, his intuition hadn’t lied before. “So what do we do?”

“We find Remus first.” He straightened his shoulders. “Remy would have texted if he went back to the apartment, we can assume he’s not at the cafe since he was found there, and he could have gone to his usual parks and streets but if he’s being watched he wouldn’t. So, where would he go?”

“It wouldn’t be anywhere with a lot of people,” Virgil added. “Or maybe even with a lot of birds, since they all come to him. Somewhere abandoned?”

Janus nodded. “I think we could check out some of the old warehouse districts.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a start. That one’s only ten minutes after the home one.”

They waited quietly, each caught up in their own thoughts. The bus to their district began trundling past until it slowed down for them and the door opened.

Janus shook his head at the driver. “Sorry, we’re not coming.”

She began to close the doors again without comment.

“Wait!” Virgil waved at her. “Wait a moment! Wait-”

She stopped with a huff almost as loud as the bus’ exhaust. Janus let Virgil pull him through the door by his hand, tapping his card dutifully.

He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled into some seats.

“Where’s the place we were talking about running to just before, uh, bird-friend left?” Virgil whispered, even though he doubted the tired commuters would be listening in for names and details. “And where can you bury the kind of bird friend in our freezer? And where wouldn’t be a place you’d search?”

“The forest?” he replied. There was only a scrubby patch of it outside the city.

“Yup. Look, we should go back to the cafe to get Loki, anyone asks and we’re just, you know, getting rid of the health violation in the fridge in a way which isn’t a health risk to a park or anything.”

Janus stifled a yawn. “That’s very smart.”

“Thanks, it was kinda impulsive, but-” Virgil shrugged as he looked out the window at the unrelenting row of houses. “I’m happy to be out of there.” He tucked his arm around his friend. “And you can nap until we get there.”

“I’m just fine, Virgil,” Janus replied, affronted. “Besides, I don’t want to rumple my outfit.”

Virgil gave an exaggerated yawn himself, and Janus immediately followed. He glared at him, which only made Virgil give him a small grin. “Bedtime.”

He was met with a head thunking onto his shoulder. “You had better wake me up in time,” he threatened.

“I will.” He readjusted so he was more comfortable. “We’ll be fine.”

*

By time they reached the cafe the sky was white and grey. Virgil waited by the bus stop, leaning his head against it as a half-asleep Janus unlocked the front. After enough time for Virgil to consider if he could sleep upright (five minutes), he reappeared with a canvas bag with a rainbow flag hand-printed on it, and a stack of three sandwiches, which he handed to Virgil.

The bus came soon after, and they collapsed into one of the back seats.

They had barely finished the sandwiches by the time they reached their next stop. They got out onto a cracked bit of sidewalk and looked at the trees rising above them. Silent, they walked forward until the concrete suddenly ended.

Virgil breathed in the stench of wild garlic and dug his toe into the slimy layer of dead leaves. Damp air curled in his mouth as though it would die peacefully there. Something chittered in the distance, and then cut off suddenly. He tried to tilt his head up to look at the trees and suddenly the vertigo of only sleeping for a few hours on the bus journeys hit him.

It was a world away from the gilded cage and the dizzying party.

He took a deep breath. “This feels right.”

Janus nodded. He tucked the bag under his arm carefully. “I hope…” he trailed off softly. “Well, Virgil, let us venture onwards.”

He touched his friend’s elbow for just a moment before he walked into the dark trees. After a moment, Janus followed, and they walked on together.

There was occasional litter, plastic bags and water bottles, but as they got deeper into the thick trees and tangled brambles along the forest floor it disappeared. Janus winced as he tried to lift his perfectly shone shoes over a muddy patch Virgil’s leather boots trudged through with ease. The trees were stout and gnarled, fungus protruding out of them like infections.

They wandered without any real direction, just trying to make their way further into the labyrinth of trees.

Virgil suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and he grabbed his friend’s arm.

It could have been a pile of abandoned clothes and torn out feathers-

But there was a glimpse of leopard print, and the vague outline of wings, and a low crooning coming from the figure curled there.

Janus crouched down six feet away from him, laying Loki’s bag by his side. “Remus,” he said so softly that Virgil barely heard it. “Remus, it’s Janus.”

Remus froze. Then his wings curved up around him. They were a lot taller than Janus was crouching. A pair of grey eyes came up to meet Janus’. His lips parted as he looked over the two of them. His purple and green makeup was smeared together until it looked like a black eye, and even his moustache seemed to have its own case of bed-head.

“We-” Virgil cleared his throat against a sudden lump. “Well, Janus, mostly, he found the guy’s house? And we went there, and, uh, we were worried about you so we looked.”

His eyes widened.

“We found your brother,” Janus said in a quiet voice. “Roman. He told us to tell you that he wasn’t a gladiator any more; he was there instead. That it, uh, wasn’t too bad.”

For a moment, Remus stopped breathing. Then he brought his hands up to his head, slumping his shoulders and letting his wings wrap around himself. “Bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “What else did he say?”

Janus bit his lip. “He told you to run away as soon as you could, and not to listen to anything they offered or threatened.”

Remus made a strangled yelping laugh which set Virgil’s teeth on edge. His wings were trembling so much that there was a slight breeze on his face. “Roman’s saviour goddamn hero bullshit-” He twined his fingers into his hair and started tugging. “He’s not- fuck,” he winced as he caught a matted section. “Not pathetic enough for that job.”

Janus tried to reach a hand out to untangle his hands from his hair, but Remus only stilled and leaned his head into his glove. Janus gently tugged at his wrist, but Remus wrapped his fingers around his hand and held it to his hair.

“Dude, you’re not pathetic. You broke out of that place all by yourself?” Virgil found his voice off-putting in the silence, but he kept speaking. “That’s hard. And you hid in the same town, in plain sight, for ages. And-”

“I ran away,” Remus said into his knees. “And I knew he’d get punished or die. He had to fight people. All goring out eyeballs and pulling out guts by the handful. Or the clawful. Depended on what kind of people were captured.”

“There are more people like you?”

He shrugged and, just like his brother, the movement made his wings move. “With the weird animal thing? Oh, sure. I would rather have a tentacle dick but you get what you get.” He spoke without humour.

Janus pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, not seeming to care about the smear of dirt on it. “Darling, I’m sure you’re well enough endow-”

“No!” Virgil yelled, holding his hands up. “I have risked myself too many times today for you two to have to listen to that from you.”

Remus shrunk back further into a ball. “Sorry.”

For a moment Virgil was struck genuinely speechless. Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, no, I was just teasing.”

Janus turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes in response. Maybe he should have guessed Remus would be more delicate, but, well, it was Remus.

“Anyway, it’s okay, alright?” he attempted.

“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smudged his makeup even more with the heel of his hand. “Fine.”

Virgil pulled the third sandwich out of his pocket and handed it over. “Figured you’d want that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Remus took it and began to carefully undo the wrapping. He took a small bite of the corner. “Mom and Dad are normal but Roman and I just were just born this way- oh there ain’t no other way,” he sang as he shimmied his wings. “But we lived in the middle of nowhere, and we stayed at home our whole lives, even though we talked a lot about hiding ourselves so that we could move. We kept ourselves to ourselves and we had a farm.” He threw his crust to the forest floor, seemingly by habit of having his flock around him. “Hope they didn’t search there for me; that would suck. Our parents saw us get captured, so at least they know what happened.”

Janus nodded as he listened. “How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Goodness,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”

The corners of Remus’ moustache twitched up into a smile. “Nah, you couldn’t. Thanks,” he said through the remains of his sandwich.

Virgil waited for him to finish eating.

“We brought Loki with us, in the bag,” he said. “We figured it would be a good cover, and we can hold the funeral here.” He reached into the bag to pull out a trowel. They definitely hadn’t had one in the cafe, so Janus must have stored it there after Remus disappeared.

Janus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a bag of classic Lays. He handed them over to Remus. “I do hope the flavour’s alright. I think it’s a classic.”

“Perfect,” he muttered. He stumbled up to his feet with a wince, holding his wings out for balance. Even without them fully spread out, the wingspan blocked the entire section of tree behind him. He rolled his shoulders back and flapped his wings.

Both of them stared.

Remus grinned and widened his eyes. “I can fly, you know. I could shit on you midair like-” All at once, his face crumpled and he held a hand up to his mouth. “Sorry, it all hit me again,” he said with a voice like sandpaper.

Virgil put his hoodie sleeve over his mouth as he swallowed back a guilty laugh. He started digging into the soft forest soil to distract himself.

He heard a flutter of feathers- had he been missing that under the whisper of all Remus’ shifting clothes before? - and then sobbing into a suit jacket. It was kind of scratchy on your face, Virgil knew, but it hid tears pretty well. He moved his whole shoulder into his digging, watching a depression form as the other two murmured words of upset and comfort to each other.

“I thought it was you,” whispered Janus against the shell of Remus’ ear. “And- my heart just stopped.”

“I wish it was.” Remus leant his forehead against Janus’ chest.

“But then how would I hold you, hm?” he replied, and there was the brush of fabric on fabric. “We’ll get him out.”

“You promise?” Remus said, and Virgil’s hand clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a good idea to-

“Promise. Split my chest open with a pickaxe and hope to pickle my heart.”

There was a wet laugh. “Kinky.”

“Come now, that was romance as well as kink.” His best friend’s voice was unbearably soft.

A warm feeling settled in Virgil’s chest despite the chill of the weather. Dammit. He stabbed the trowel into the ground again, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.

He kept digging, until a set of feathers nudged into his face. “Did you poke me from all the way over there?” Virgil asked incredulously. Remus’ wing was as wide as he was tall, and he used it to poke him in the cheek again. It was a little disconcerting to see how much it moved like, well, a limb of his.

A feather brushed over the tears on his cheek. The wing retracted, and Remus came over to kneel by him and take the trowel. He sunk it into the ground, gouging out a huge section of earth with a small battle-cry. He flung it over his shoulder rather than adding to Virgil’s careful pile and then grinned at him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bag. “I think you finished the grave.”

He carefully wrapped the pigeon in the canvas bag Janus had chosen for her and handed it to Remus.

He looked at the little bundle in his hands for a long moment. Then he took her out of the bag. He began to unwind the plastic wrap.

Janus winced.

“That’s not clean-” Virgil whispered.

“It’s going to pollute the forest otherwise,” he replied without looking away from the corpse in his hands. “This is more natural. Besides, they’re pretty clean birds.”

So they watched in silence as he carefully took it all off and placed her in the grave. She was still intact, though her body had stiffened. “Thanks for being here, even if you were technically using her to stalk me,” he said. “Um, this was Loki. She was mischievous, and bold, and really smart. I’m going to miss her.” He cleared his throat and nodded, eyes wet. “Okay. Ready.”

Virgil scooped a handful of dirt with his trowel and scattered it over her. It pattered softly against the earth. Remus was staring hard into the distance. A few rays of sun poked through the trees as he pushed the rest of the dirt back into place. “Should we leave some rocks or something?”

Janus nodded. “I can collect-”

“I thought Roman was dead until a few days ago,” Remus interrupted. It sounded like a statement from a scratchy vinyl recording. “Ghosties are easier to carry around than big living brothers who got jacked from murder. Whatever you need me to do to get him out, I’ll do it. Killing, going back- whatever.”

“I don’t need you to do those things,” Janus said firmly. “All I need you to do now is come to my apartment,” he turned to his friend. “I’m not putting you in any further danger, Virgil-”

“Bullshit.”

He paused, brow furrowing. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “This is the part where you’re you’re going to think you’re being really smart about everything,” he held his hands up, “but you stick to your principles too much and you risk yourself and maybe those two-”

“Thank you for your confidence, Virgil,” he said acidicly.

“Anyway.” This was a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m helping.”

Defensive, his voice grew more formal. “If this is about the court cases, or the job, I promise you that you owe me nothing-”

“I like you, and I like Remus, and I don’t like what’s happening.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing; it’s just as simple as that. Okay?”

After a moment, Janus gave a nod.

“Aw, you like me?” Remus cooed. He wiggled his shoulders and grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Course.”

Janus gave Remus a helplessly fond smile. “Then it’s decided. I think we could all use some sleep, then we start this evening.”

[alex-ruins-everything]

Turning Pages - Chapter 6

Intrulogical bookshop au! Read the whole thing on ao3 here.

“Roman, that’s no fair! I called dibs on the car days ago!” Remus argued, chasing his brother down the hall.

“And I told you! Virgil and I are going to the mall, so I need it!” Roman replied, dodging Remus’ attempted swing when the other got too close.

“Well it’s your fault for breaking your own dumb car!”

Remus had been waiting for this day since he had somehow miraculously gotten Logan to agree to go on a date with him. Logan, the uptight nerd from the bookshop with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes Remus wanted to be waterboarded in. He had texted the number on the back of the receipt immediately upon getting it. A simple ‘hey itz Remus ;-3’ to which Logan replied with perfect grammar and punctuation. Gah, he could be in love. They had gone back and forth about their plans for the aquarium and Remus had promised to pick Logan up. Then the conversation turned to other things and Remus got to know more about Logan other than the fact that he was gorgeous. He liked astronomy (which is different from astrology apparently),  he drank his coffee black, and he had been working at the bookshop since he was sixteen. Remus had never committed to anything that long, that was insane. For every question he answered he asked one in return and Remus couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone’s attention that long in a positive way that wasn’t Janus or Roman.

Roman, who was currently trying to sabotage their date it would seem by putting his own first. Remus had to resolve this quickly or he’d risk being late to pick Logan up.

“Roman, you know how pumped I’ve been for this. I’m taking the car,” Remus argued, watching Roman pluck the car keys off the hook and fully getting ready to pounce on his brother.

“Take your bike! You have options, I don’t!” Roman replied, holding the keys away from Remus.

“Fine! Fine. But you so owe me a big one.”

Roman cheered at winning the argument as Remus plucked the keys to his motorcycle off the hook and headed out to the garage, grabbing his jacket on the way. It might have been hot as hell outside but the aquarium could be chilly plus he never rode without his jacket. He shoved the helmet on his noggin and grabbed a spare for Logan before zooming off to the address his date had given him. It was an easy enough to find building, balconies lining the outer walls and large brass numbers over the front door. Remus parked his bike and pulled his helmet off, finding L. Berry on the doorbell system and pushing the appropriate button.

“Hello?” Logan’s voice answered after a while.

“Your noble steed awaits, Specs. You ready?”

“Ah, yes. I’ll be down in just a moment, Remus.”

Remus went to go lean against his bike, resting his helmet on the ground so it didn’t get knocked off. It really was just a moment before Logan emerged from the building’s front door causing a smile to break out on his face. The nerd walked over and Remus opened his arms for a hug to be met with a hand extended for a handshake. He laughed and went for that instead.

“We aren’t going on that...are we?” Logan asked, eyeing the bike warily.

“Ro totally hijacked the car this morning,” Remus explained. “You’ve never ridden one before?”

“No. Motorcycles are highly impractical and-” “Lemme stop you there,” Remus said, handing Logan the spare helmet. “It’s not as dangerous as you think it is. All you gotta do is hold onto me nice and tight and before you know it, we’ll be at the aquarium making kissy faces as the fishies.”

“That’s not generally how I spend my time at the aquarium...is that how you spend your time at the aquarium?” Logan questioned, taking the helmet hesitantly.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Remus laughed, sticking his own helmet on and getting onto the bike, motioning for Logan to do the same.

Once Logan was on and he felt long arms secure themselves around his waist Remus headed off to the aquarium. He looked in the mirrors every once in a while to check if Logan was okay and after about a mile of panic the other seemed to relax a little bit and almost looked like he was enjoying the ride. The only thing Remus didn’t like about this was that he didn’t get the chance to converse with Logan, but there was plenty of time for that once they got to the aquarium itself. Besides...silence was a pretty good payoff for having Logan hugging him from behind. It wasn’t a terribly far ride to the aquarium and they were there quite quickly.

“See? That wasn’t so bad was it?” Remus asked, getting off first and holding out a hand to help Logan do the same. “And now you can check that off your bucket list.” “No...it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be,” Logan admitted, accepting the hand offered to him for help. “Though I do not have a bucket list, I don’t think riding a motorcycle would be on it. I never had any desire to do that before...but it was rather exhilarating…”

“You use a whole lotta fancy words, Specs. I like it.”

Remus held out a hand for Logan’s helmet to secure it on the bike with his own. He thought he almost saw the hint of blushing on the other’s cheeks but that could have been the summer sun beating down on them. Logan didn’t have sunglasses like he did, just his regular ol’ glasses.

“I got a membership to this place so I’ll get the tickets, they’re free with it,” Remus said as they walked into the large building, the lighting inside much darker and slightly blue tinted.

“I’m a member as well, actually,” Logan replied. “I’m a member of all educational facilities in the tristate area.”

“Oh be still my beating heart...cute and a member at the aquarium? You’re really turning out to be the whole package here, Logie.”

Logan opened his mouth like perhaps he wanted to protest the new nickname or that he wasn’t any sort of package, but the duo was called up to the ticket booth before he could. Remus went ahead and asked for two tickets anyway, flashing his membership card and getting two stickers to show they had been cleared for admission. He stuck his own on his chest before sticking Logan’s on his tie and moving them off the line and towards the first set of tanks.

“So...you wore a tie to a date to an aquarium, huh?” Remus asked, starting up conversation as they looked at the colorful fish swimming around.

“Oh- yes,” Logan said, looking down at his now stickered tie. “Admittedly, I did have to research how to dress for a date and the articles I read mentioned ties. I wear them often so I thought it was the best route. Was I not supposed to wear a tie to the aquarium?”

“No, no. You can wear whatever you want, Lo. I was just curious,” Remus assured, pausing a moment. “You had a look up what to wear for a date?”

“Well, yes. I, ah...don’t go on very many. Or...any...”

“Aw…” Remus cooed, gently nudging Logan’s shoulder with his own. “Then we’ll make this a good one.”

The two of them walked around, pausing to look into the different tanks. Remus coulda sworn he almost saw a smile on the other’s face at some of his enthusiastic bouncing. Turns out Logan had a whole lot of fish facts to share and Remus eagerly listened, sharing a few of his own though they weren’t as cool as the ones Logan shared. When they got to the archway tank a shark swam right overhead of them and Re excitedly pointed it out, the pair stopping to watch the shark swim around for a while. Shockingly the aquarium wasn’t too busy on a Thursday afternoon, only a few groups of camp kids in brightly colored matching shirts. Finally they got to Remus’ favorite exhibit.

“Look!” he said, grabbing Logan’s hand and pulling him over to the octopus tanks. “God- aren’t they fuckin’ awesome…”

“You’re quite fond of octopuses, aren't you?” Logan questioned, nodding to the tattoo on display on Remus’ arm since the other had cut the sleeves off of his shirt at some point.

“I really couldn’t tell ya why...I just think they’re neat,” Remus explained, smiling when Logan pointed out his tattoo. “This octopus is actually here! He’s somewhere in this tank but y’know, camouflage and all.”

“You got a tattoo of one of the octopuses from this aquarium?” Logan asked for clarification, his eyes going from Remus to the tank in an attempt to find the creature in question.

“Yeah, Duke. When I was like twelve or somethin’ I won a raffle to name their newest octopus. I made the poor nanny drive me here like every day so I could see him.”

“That’s actually...quite nice.”

“Oh! There he is,” Remus said, pointing out a small bit of movement in the sand at the bottom of the tank. Now that they knew where to look it was easy to spot the octopus. “Did you know octopi have three hearts? Oh! And blue blood.”

“I did know that, but it’s very interesting,” Logan nodded. “They also lack bones and are quite intelligent.”

“They’re just so cool!”

They stood and watched Duke the octopus for a long time, swapping facts about cephalopods. The octopus eventually did move and Remus was able to show off the similarities between the creature in the tank and the tattoo on his arm. The resemblance was striking. Eventually they moved on, continuing to talk about they fish they passed until they ended up in the gift shop.

“I always loved the gift shop of museums,” Remus said, moving over to browse a rack of postcards. “It was almost like a reward for making it through the boring stuff.”

“You didn’t seem to find the aquarium boring,” Logan stated.

“Oh, yeah. Aquariums don’t count. I just...don’t like museums as much. They’re cool and all - especially the art museum that has all the medieval armor and weaponry - but no one will go with me because apparently I’m too loud for museum culture.”

“I quite enjoy that museum actually,” Logan said. “Perhaps we can go there together. I do have a membership.”

Remus thought he was gonna vibrate from excitement. Logan had just asked him on a second date, right? That’s what had happened? He gave an enthusiastic nod, his eyes catching on something along the wall. Ties!

“Oh! Oh, wait here,” he said, running over to the display.

Sure enough they had a few different designs. Remus immediately fell in love with a navy blue tie that had a green octopus towards the bottom. He pulled it off the rack, not bothering to check the price and moved back to show Logan.

“I’m gonna get this for you,” he said, holding the tie up.

“Wha- Remus, no. You don’t have to do that,” Logan replied. “It’s a very lovely tie, but you don’t need to buy me a gift.”

“I know I don’t need to. I want to...so I am.”

“I’m not going to be able to convince you to put that back, am I?”

“Nope.”

“Very well,” Logan nodded. “Your turn to wait here.”

Remus did as he was told, looking over the rack of postcards again. He found one with an eel on it and picked one up to give to Janus. Eels were like water snakes, right? Janus did love his snakes. Not too long after he walked off Logan came back with a small stuffed octopus in his hands.

“I’m going to buy this for you,” Logan said. “Is that- is this something you’d like?”

“Lo, I will literally cherish that for the rest of my life,” Remus grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. “Hell, I’ll be buried with it.”

Logan’s shoulders seemed to relax a little bit at Remus’ approval. Remus moved over to the register, flashing his membership card again for that wonderful 10% off he got as a perk. Once he was done Logan got rung up, showing his own card.

“For you,” Logan said, holding out the stuffed octopus.

“And for you,” Remus replied, exchanging the tie for the toy. “Y’know...all this walking around the aquarium has me heavily craving some coffee. You game?”

“I- yes. I would also appreciate some caffeine right now,” Logan nodded.

“It’s no Remy’s place, but there’s a cafe like a block away, c’mon,” Remus said, grabbing Logan’s hand again to lead him away from the aquarium and towards the sidewalk.

The coffee shop was much busier than the aquarium but the smell of roasting beans was pretty much divine as soon as they walked in. The seats inside were all full but there were a few spare seats outside that hopefully wouldn’t be snagged before they got their orders in. The two of them continued to chat during the walk and while waiting on line. Remus placed their order, getting a black coffee for Logan and his own personal drink which he liked to call the Gamble With Death.

“Surely that cannot be good for your heart,” Logan stated after hearing Remus say eight shots of espresso.

“It hasn’t killed me yet,” Remus shrugged. “If it ever does I promise to let you know.”

“How would you let me know? You’d be dead?”

Before Remus could think up an answer for that his name was called out and he went to go grab the two cups, handing Logan his. They grabbed a table outside and Remus stuck his new octopus in the middle of the table.

“He needs a name,” he said, gesturing to the stuffed toy.

“It does?” Logan questioned, sipping his coffee.

“Of course he does!”

“You could perhaps go with a nod to H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu and name him that,” Logan suggested.

“Hm...I like that, I like that,” Remus nodded, getting an idea. “Cthuwu. Y’know, like ‘uwu’?”

“Tell me if I use this wrong but, ah...cursed.”

Remus broke into laughter at that, assuring Logan that was the right context but it was more the delivery that caught him off guard. Apparently Virgil works with Logan to get the adorable nerd up to date with modern slang. The guy had flashcards which Remus absolutely needed to see now. They stayed at that cafe table long after their coffee cups had been drained, until suddenly the sky was a mass of pinks and oranges.

“Ah, shit. I totally kept you out longer than I had promised,” Remus said, stretching in his chair.

“Oh,” Logan looked up, blinking like he had just been pulled out of their little personal bubble. “Yes. I should probably get home. I do have work tomorrow and I have my nightly routine to keep up with.”

“So...organized,” Remus grinned, standing up and tossing his empty cup into the trash bin. “Then home we go, Logie.”

Logan stood up as well, discarding his cup and following Remus back to his motorcycle. Remus was able to fill any void of silence by running his mouth. He was currently telling Logan about the first time he took Janus on the bike. He hadn’t been too fond of it. Remus handed Logan his helmet and stuck their purchases in his side bag, before long they were back off towards Logan’s apartment.

“Y’know, Lo...I had a lot of fun today,” Remus said once the engine was killed and they were parked by Logan’s front door.

“I...actually did too. You were certainly a wonderful companion for the aquarium,” Logan replied, handing back his borrowed helmet. “Thank you for not letting me die on the back of the motorcycle.”

“Nah, Specs...I would never let someone as cute and clever as you die,” Remus winked, pulling the tie out of the side bag and sticking the helmet in there with Cthuwu. “I’ll see you around, yeah? I’m almost done with that book you recommended.”

“Oh? I’m so glad you’re liking it,” Logan grinned, books seeming to be a topic he rather enjoyed talking about. “Well...I’ll start building a list of recommendations for you.”

“Absolutely cannot wait,” Remus returned the other’s smile, pausing for a moment before taking a step closer and kissing Logan on the cheek. “Bye, Specs.”

He shoved the helmet on his head and sped back home after making sure Logan made it inside alright. He looked a little dazed after that kiss on the cheek which was just so damn adorable. Remus was absolutely on cloud nine. Now he got to go home and gush about it all to Janus over the phone.

TAGLIST:

@theiwatobiicepic

[chanquill]

⋉ aмor odιѕѕe ⋊

aмor odιѕѕe; тнe love тo нaтe

A/N: yes. we’re PG in this household so no swears, only creative insults. those, and those only.

Pairing: Chan x Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: none, but creative insults???

Rating: PG

Genre: Fluff, Angst

──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────

Everyone on campus always thought that you and Chan would make the cutest couple; the King and Queen of Clé University, but they also knew that you two weren’t on the best terms. The smug-faced rat in question was always right behind you, whether it be handing in assignments, test scores or even standing in queue. Whenever you turned around you felt those condescending eyes searing into your skin. “Ugh!” you exclaimed, ”JESUS CHRIST I WISH THAT COCKY LITTLE SWINE WOULD STOP IT. HE’S SO ANNOYING!”

Your best friend Jisung patted your shoulder and tried to reassure you, telling you that it was going to be okay and that it’ll all get better. “‘Sung, I swear there are a couple of screws that aren’t put in right in your head. What the hell are you on about I-“ Before you could finish your sentence, a hand cupped around your mouth from the back and muffled your cries. “WHAT THE- JISUNG, THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” you protested, peeling the hand off your face. As you turned around, you began to realise that the hand that cupped your face didn’t belong to Jisung, much to your dismay. It was the one person you really, really didn’t want to see at that moment. It was Chan, his trademark smirk plastered across his infuriatingly perfect face. You rolled your eyes in disgust and asked, “What?! What do you want now? Do you want me to fall at your feet and grovel? You want me to give you my notes?”

His smirk faltered a little, but returned to its original state as quickly as you had seen it waver. “Well, you see, I wanted to ask you something, but I can see that I’m not welcome right now (or at any other time actually) so...I’ll just...leave? Bye.” Sighing, you grabbed onto his hand with both of yours, pulling him back towards you and Jisung, who was still staring at you and Chan with his mouth open in disbelief. “Fine...FINE. Okay, fine I’ll hear you out. Just don’t pull another kidnapper move like that and you’ll be fine, okay?”

He took a deep breath and slipped his long, slender fingers out of yours, overworked and covered in plasters. “Um, so... basically...I uh... c-can we study together? I’m having t-trouble with this particular part of code and i’m not sure what’s wr-wrong with it. Can y-you help? Please?” The stuttering mess stood in front of you wasn’t the Chan you knew. The one you knew was the arrogant little son of a seahorse-faced cashew, fricking little- You sighed and stroked his hand. “Okay buddy, what’s up? Is this your idea of a joke? Why are you shaking; what happened? Talk to me.” This wasn’t usually you; you never cared about him, and you thought you never would, yet here you were, putting your arm around Chan’s shoulders, guiding him to the nearest bench. After sitting him down and ruffling his hair, you took your water bottle out of your bad and handed it to him. “Here, drink some water.” He grimaced and looked at you weird. “Really? A Bokémon waterbottle? We both know that Migimon is better, right?”

“Are you going to drink the water or not, huh?” you snapped, aware that he was right. Turning your head to face Jisung, you mouthed, “Go! I’ll find you later! GO!!” and shooed him away. “Um so...What did you need help with then?” you asked Chan, “Also did you write the code in Javascript or Python?” You looked back at Chan, not expecting his deep brown eyes, now filled with worry and warmth. He inched closer to you, returning your water bottle to your bag and sighed in relief. “T-thank you, y/n, and uh, I wrote the code in Python,” he mumbled, still occasionally stuttering and stumbling on his words. “Hm okay. Meet me at the library in an hour. I’m just going to drop my bags off at my place and I’ll be back, okay?” You were just getting up to leave when Chan grabbed your hand and pulled you back down, turning your head with one hand, while holding you down with the other. You knew he went to the gym regularly (unfortunately, you had encountered him enough times at the on-site gym to know), BUT BOY WAS HE STRONG. “Uhhhh...Chan?” you asked, unpleasantly surprised, “You need something?” With a puppy-like glint in his eye, he said, “Let me drop you off! Where do you live?” You were puzzled but...something felt wrong about turning him down, and as much as you wanted to refuse, your body somehow urged you to accept. “Fine, I guess...,” you trailed off, unaware of the events that were about to unfold.

————————————————————

As he drove up to the house, you slowly took off your seatbelt and slung your bag over your shoulder. “Give me 20...actually no, you can come in. You wanna come in?,” you asked, not too sure of what to expect. Chan nodded and grinned, a sight you were startled to see.

“Is he usually like this? Am I the one being mean? Oh my god. What if I’m the one being mean. Oh frick oh frick oh frick oh frick. Wait, hang on, AM I IMAGINING THINGS?! Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. C a l m. I am CALM. Wait but-“ you thought to yourself, trudging up the stairs to your apartment. You pulled a key out of your pocket and jammed it into the keyhole. “I- Wait, wait, I swear this was the right key. Hang on-“ This was not going well. Welp. Chan couldn’t hate you any more than he did already so... oh well. After jiggling the key around for a while, Chan offered to open door for you. With a strange mastery, Chan jammed the key into the hole and turned it while pushing it in. Click. “HANG ON A DAMN MINUTE- I’VE BEEN LIVING HERE FOR WHAT? OVER 8 MONTHS NOW? AND I CAN’T EVEN OPEN MY OWN DOOR??? BUT THIS GUY- FRICKING ALMOST 6 FOOT WORM- HE JUST MANAGED TO CLICK IT OPEN???” you wondered to yourself, trying to suppress a scream inside of you. He cracked a smile. “There, the door’s open now, just had to give it a little strength,” he proclaimed, “I’m happy to help any time.” With a humoured look on your face, you pushed Chan into the apartment and locked the door behind you. You threw yourself on the couch and sighed, you didn’t usually invite people in, especially not people you hated.

One of your roommates, Ryujin, walked in, drinking yet another bubble tea. You turned to face her and gave her a long, hard stare. “I swear you run on bubble tea and that’s not healthy, you know? I swear if you get diabetes from the amount of sugar you consume, I’m not coming to funeral because I warned you,” you sighed, massaging your temples. Ryujin stopped sipping on her tea and sauntered up to you, “Sir, whether I’m addicted to boba or not, I’m still the crazy (but cool) kid that you picked up in middle school. You’re never getting rid of me. Ever. And anyway, who’s this guy?” she asked, gesturing to Chan, “Your boyfriend? If so, damn girl, you have TASTE.” You and Chan blushed in unison and started muttering excuses. You stood up, still embarrassed, and stuttered put something along the lines of, “Y-yeah I’m going to go ch-change and I’ll be b-back, okay? Chan, you can sit down, ‘Jin, get him s-some water or juice or w-whatever.” You ran into your room, and quietly slammed the door behind you. “FKSJKDS SHIN RYUJIN YOU’VE REALLY DONE IT THIS TIME I- GAHHHH I CAN’T EVEN DENY THAT HE’S PRETTY- GOD FRICKING DAMN IT!” you thought to yourself, throwing on the closest set of comfortable clothes you could find.

Opening your door ever so slightly, you made eye contact with Ryujin and hissed at her to come over. From across the living room, she shrugged and made her way to you in the least inconspicuous way possible; ‘accidentally’ knocking over a lamp, tripping over Chan and almost spilling her tea. “Ryujin why would you- BRUH THAT’S NOT COOL! YOU DON’T JUST ASK US IF WE’RE TOGETHER! HE’S CHAN. AS IN THE GUY I HATE. YES, THAT GUY!” you exclaimed with an air of exasperation. “U-uh huh. Keep going, you aren’t fooling anyone. This. This is peak whipped behaviour. Face it, y/n, you have a lil pash. oOoOohHh THINK OF THE BLACKMAIL MATERIAL; THERE’S TEA TO LAST ME MONTHS, LITERALLY!” Ryujin made kissy faces and walked back into the kitchen after announcing that she was the official third wheel and no one, not even Lord Changbin himself, could stop her. And the worst part was that you knew deep, down inside, that you really had taken a liking to that raw salmon. Well, it was more of a pash. A strong pash.

You waved your hand and choked. “pSh, ‘Jin’s got nothing on me, I don’t have a small crush on THAT guy; hell, I don’t even like him as an acquaintance...maybe-“ You were confused but nonetheless walked out of your room with fake confidence.

————————————————————

Sitting down next to Chan, you pulled out your laptop from your bag, a pretty new Macbook, plastered with stickers of Stray Kids, a new and upcoming group that hadn’t debuted yet. Chan had a slight bewildered-but-shocked-but-proud expression on his face that was quickly wiped off as you told him to show you his code so far.

————————————————

Both you and Chan had spent hours and hours finishing the project, and it seemed as if it would never end, but at long last came a sigh of drained relief from Chan. He threw his laptop onto the cherry wood coffee table. And leant back into the sofa, a soft murmur of fatigue muttered. You stood up and glanced at the clock by the door, rubbing your eyes to make sure you hadn’t read it wrong; it was one in the morning. That’s right, you and your not-so-much-enemy-anymore had spent all night working on some code. Some stupid code. “Chan? It’s uh...it’s one am. And I’m pretty sure the dorms won’t be open now, and even if they were, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t let you in, considering the grisly state you’re in, at the moment. I really would let you crash this one time, but uh, where would you sleep??? CHAN GET UPPPPPP!” you urged, a small part of begging him to stay. Brushing those thoughts away, you started stepping over Chan to get to your room, when he grabbed your hand pulled you back down. But not back to where you were sitting, oh no no no, he pulled you down to his lap. Wrapping his arm around you, he begged to stay the night. “We can stay like this forever, if you want to. Do you want you?” you joked. “Absolutely,” replied Chan, a slight beam coming across his face, “Good Night.”

──── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────

END.

A/N: hM yeah okay, i could’ve done better but y’know. i’m satisfied. thank you for reading!

[whatisthiscontentyouspeakof]

Guardian of Light

So for anyone wondering, I don’t have an update schedule at all, just posting when I feel like it, mostly to avoid going to bed. This chapter gives you some information and a flashback to Marinette’s past before she was found unconscious in Paris. 

Would it be helpful to you guys if I put Marinette’s age at the beginning of each section so you have an idea of how much time has past between each part of the story.

AO3  First  Previous Next

Chapter 4: First Days

(Age 3)

Marinette was used to her colourful bedroom so when she awoke in a room that was completely white she was confused. There was no blue ceiling with fluffy white clouds and glow in the dark star stickers, no lush green mountains or fields with fun little animals running around, no giant stuffed animals or anything of the other things that were in her room.

Confused, she was about to call out for her Maman and Papa when she remembered the birthday party in the park and the strange man that had taken her away. Tears started to form in her eyes as the fear came back.

“None of that now.” A voice said. Marinette turned her head to see the man who had taken her standing in the rooms’ doorway. “Crying is for the weak and the weak are unacceptable here.”

“I want to go home,” Marinette said. A part of her wanted to suck on her thumb but that was something babies did and she was three. Not to mention she had a feeling that if crying wasn’t allowed, then neither was thumb sucking.

“Whining is unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself,” The man said. “As for going home, there is no need; this is your home now, Niu.”

“Niu?” Marinette repeated, having never heard the word before. The man had pronounced it ‘nee oo’.

“Your name,” the man said.

“My name is Marinette,” she told him, confused. He had called her it in the park after all.

“That was the name of a weakling, of someone insignificant and worthless,” The man’s voice was cold and mean sounding. “Niu is your name now. You will respond to it. You will not ever respond to Marinette ever again. If you do not follow either of these rules, you will not like what happens. Failure is not acceptable here. Marinette is dead as of today. In her place stands Niu, someone who will be worth something, who will make a difference in the world. From this day on, you will be training with me and the other Guardians so that you can reach that goal. When you are done with your training and have shown us that you are worthy of the title of Grand Guardian you will be able to earn your own name.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Guardian Zhu. I will be your teacher from this point forward. To fail or to be weak here isn’t just a short coming on your part but it also negatively affects me. As such, I expect nothing but perfection from you. If you do not perform to perfection then you will have to face the consequences, and trust me when I say, you will not like them. Now get up. It is time to eat and then I will be showing you what chores I will be expecting you to do every day upon waking.”

Marinette’s chest felt like lead. She swallowed before swinging her legs over the bed and standing up. She walked over to Guardian Zhu, her head looking down at the ground as her heart pounded; her entire body trembling as she walked.

Guardian Zhu whipped around, his hand reaching out and slapping her straight across the face. Marinette fell to the ground, one hand reaching up to touch her face in shock. “You will answer me with a ‘yes Master’ when I speak to you.” Guardian Zhu said sternly.

Marinette looked up at him, her heart pounding. “Yes Master,” she whispered.

(Age 12)

Marinette walked calmly down to the bakery, her parents already down there and working for the day. She would have normally been down there, learning their trade the same way she had every other day, but today marked the first day of school for her. Her parents informed her that she had been in school and with her class the day she was taken but as far as she could remember she had only been taught by a parade of different tutors from across the world. The largest group of peers she had learned with had been four, and that had only been on the one occasion, with most of her other classes either being just her, her and Nuri, or her, Nuri and his cousin, though it was rare that Mara was allowed to learn with them. The rest of the Fist weren’t allowed to ever train with her or Nuri since they were seen as so below them. Never had she been in a class full of strangers.

“Morning Marinette,” Her father greeted from where he was kneading some dough.

“Morning Tom,” she greeted. She and her parents had agreed that it was a bit too soon for her to call them anything but their names. She was waiting for some sort of ‘special’ occasion to call them by any paternal nicknames, though she was unsure if she would ever truly view them as her mom or dad. She wished she could talk to Nuri about this. He would know what it was like to suddenly find himself living with a biological parent that was more stranger than parent.

“Are you ready for your first day of school?” Sabine asked her, having just finished ringing up a customer. The only one that had been in the bakery. The calm before the breakfast rush.

“I have all the suggestion supplies and a few of my own,” Marinette told her. She wasn’t sure what she expected from classes, she didn’t need them after all since she was guaranteed to be farther ahead in her own studies, but they were going to make her seem like a normal kid. She just had to remember to get a question wrong every once in a while and not to see eager to answer questions.

“I meant mentally, sweetie,” Her mother said.

Marinette shrugged, something that would have gotten her smacked at the very least if she’d done it at the Temple or League, but was something she’d seen Chloe do regularly enough that she assumed it was something common among Paris school children. “I see no reason not to be ready. It’s school. I listen to teachers talk about subjects, I socialize, I eat, I go back to class, I come back here.”

Sabine just smiled at her like she was missing something. Why would she be nervous about school of all things? It’s not like she was scaling a cliff wall during an earthquake without any equipment. “If you get overwhelmed or anything like that you can come home right away and we’ll let the school know you weren’t feeling well or something,” Sabine offered.

Marinette smiled at her and thanked her for the offer even though she was sure she wouldn’t need it. It was the polite thing to do after all.

“Here’s your lunch,” Tom said, handing her a stack of tupperware. She placed it in her bag and looked up to see her father handing her a box with the bakeries logo on it. “A little treat to share with your classmates on the first day of the year.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said smiling up at her father. He just offered her the perfect chance to get to know her classmates and decide which ones would be the most useful to be on friendly terms with.

Marinette was about two steps out the bakery doors when a limo pulled up long the crub. The window rolled down to reveal Chloe.

“Get in,” she said.

“The school is literally across the street,” Marinette protested. “Why don’t you get out and walk?”

“Because I’m wearing heels,” Chloe said. Marinette couldn’t really argue against that. Even the Temple didn’t make her wear heels unless absolutely necessary.

Marinette climbed into the limo, realizing there was someone else in the limo. “Hi I’m Marinette,” she said, putting her hand out for the other girl, a red head, to shake.

The girl gripped her hand, firm and professional. “I’m Sabrina Raincomprix. Sorry we haven’t met yet but I’ve been with my mom in Scotland. Divorced parents and all that. But Chloe told me how she made a new friend. I can’t wait to get to know you.”

Marinette smiled at the girl. “Same.” she said politely.

She looked the girl over noting that she looked a bit uncomfortable in her skin, though Marinette couldn’t tell if that was because she was self-conscious or she wasn’t comfortable in the clothing she was wearing. She’d bet that Chloe had picked this girls outfit out for her the same way she had for Marinette. Not that Marinette minded; it gave her a better idea of youth fashion in Paris.

Sabrina was wearing a pair of purple flared dress pants with a blue button up and dark grey blazer. Her shoes were mainly white with black toe covers, laces and soles. She had a white headband in her hair and a pair of red toned brown glasses sitting on her nose.

Chloe, on the other hand, wore an outfit of black and yellow. Actually, Marinette couldn’t think of a time in which the heiress wasn’t wearing black and yellow. At least it made buying gifts on her birthday easier if Marinette went the clothing route. She wore a black pleated skirt with balck tight and black belt. She wore a ¾ sleeve yellow shirt topped with a shiny black tie. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail and with a pair of black sunglasses sitting on top of her head. Her heels were black with gold little bobbles that suggested buttons, and red underbottoms hinting to their designer origins.

Marinette had decided to wear the outfit Chloe had sent her. One, she was still trying not to rock the boat, and two, Chloe would know better than her what would be popular to wear on the first day of school. Marinette could study all she wanted but there were only things you could learn first hand. She wore a dress which had two different colours, separating the top and the bottom to give the appearance of her wearing a skirt and top. The skirt of the dress was royal blue in a half circle style. A black belt, it was really just a strip of fabric sewn into the dress, sat just below her waist, creating a drop waist silhouette. The top of the dress was also black with ¾ sleeves and a large curved neckline. Chloe had sent her a pair of black kitty heels but she had decided to wear flats and her hair was pulled up into what would be a ballerina bun if Marinette’s hair wasn’t several feet long, the layers in her hair creating a messier, more teenage, version to the perfect bun of professional ballerinas.

The limo pulled up to the curb in front of the school. The three of them got out and Chloe’s driver pulled away. Sabrina and Chloe started to head into the building but Marinette grabbed Chloe’s arm before she could get too far away.

“Why does this place feel familiar?” she asked the blond, the only person outside of her parents who knew of her kidnapping and knew her before it had happened.

Chloe looked at her paling a bit as she came to a realization. “Our old school, where we attended Maternelle, used to be here. They bulldozed it the year after you were taken,” CHloe whispered to her. “They built this school here last year when they decided to decrease class sizes in Paris and needed another school.”

“Oh,” Marinette said. After a moment she shrugged. “Hey, what better way to start a new chapter of your life then to close an old one.”

(Age 13)

There was an energy in the air when Marinette awoke that had not been there before. Something was going to happen today, she just knew it.

Marinette glanced over at the clock seeing that there were only a few minutes left until her alarm would go off and decided to get up anyways, knowing she could just say she was excited to start the school year if her parents made a comment. She didn’t know what they had against her waking up so early, they were bakers after all, but she tried to seem like she was sleeping in during the school year. She’d already been up at the wee hours of the morning to go for a run, both on the ground and across the rooftops. She wasn’t about to let herself get out of shape.

Marinette got dressed for her first day of class, slipping on the outfit that Chloe had picked out for her, once again gifting her and Sabrina with new clothing for the first day of school. Unlike the year before, Marinette’s style no longer shifted towards dark clothing, instead taking on a brighter and more colourful and inviting colour scheme, finding that it helped her fit in more and make her seem kinder and more inviting instead of cold and aloof. Not to mention she no longer had a tactical advantage with wearing darker colours that she needed to concern herself with.

This year Chloe had gotten her a pastel pink chiffon floor length skirt, something Marinette would never have picked for herself, but found herself liking it. It was also easy to hide her throwing daggers beneath the flowing skirt. She wore a whtie tank top that she did some white on white embroidery on since the outfit had arrived a couple of days before school started and she wanted to experiment with something new. She wore a light grey fisherman rib knitted sweater over it, which had actually been a hand knitted gift from Sabrina for her birthday. Judging by the texture of the yarn it was cashmere, and had likely been bought by Chloe. She had slept with curlers in her hair, leaving her hair in a nice wave before she pulled it back into one of her favourite styles, a messy bun. It hid the true length of her hair well and kept it out of her face while she worked, the messy nature making her seem more like a busy youth.

After a quick breakfast Marinette heads off to school, a box of Macarons from her dad for her to share with her classmates. She had convinced Chloe that they could just meet at school this year instead of having the blond pick her up in a limo, which meant she had to follow things like crosswalk lights, the one leading from her parents bakery to the school having just turned red when Marinette arrived. Sighing, she moved into a more relaxed position to wait only to see an old man half was across the street and a car speeding towards him.

Not about to let an old man be squished, it would put a bad spin on her day and she didn’t feel like dealing with the police, Marinette rushed forward and grabbed the man by the arm. A slight spark went through her and she glanced down spotting a bracelet on a leather string with a turtle in the middle. The spark that had come from the man could have been static shock but Marinette had trained long and hard enough to know what it felt to make contact with someone else who had trained to be a Guardian. This was the man who had all but destroyed the Order of Guardians, running off with the First Miracle Box and apparently wielding the Turtle Miraculous.

Marinette dropped her pastry box, making it appear as if she had stumbled a bit as the two of them made it safely back onto the sidewalk, reaching into her pocket to grab a tiny tracker that would look to the untrained eye to be a small pebble and slipped it into the man's pocket. She couldn’t let on that she had sense anything different about him but she wasn’t about to let him get away.

Marinette picked her dessert box off the ground hoping she hadn’t destroyed too many of the delicate macarons with that little trick before offering the man one out of politeness before crossing the street with a quick ‘stay safe’. If she found out where the man worked, most Guardians were to be self employed, she could ‘stumble’ upon it and try to gain the man's trust, at least until she found where the First Miracle Box was and could claim it, though it would be better if she could manipulate the old man into giving it to her since it would create a stronger bond right off the bat. She would stop at nothing to get the box however, even if it meant taking years to create a strong enough bond with the box and the Kwami’s inside. After all, the only reason the Guardians had not tried to contact her or bring her back to the Temple was because of their belief that unseen powers brought things to be and that one of those unseen powers was one of the reasons Marinette reunited with her parents and thus there must be a reason that she had to stay in Paris. Reclaiming the First Miracle Box and becoming Grand Guardian was her destiny and now she knew for a fact that it was in Paris, within miles of her, and she’d rather die than let it slip through her fingers then fail her destiny.

Heading over to the school, Marinette pushed thoughts of the First Miracle Box from her mind, instead focusing on being just Marinette, the daughter of two bakers. She smiled as she climbed the school steps instantly spotting Chloe standing just inside the entrance.

“I thought I’d have to make my way to our classroom before I found you,” she told the heiress. “What are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for you obvious,” Chloe said, lying to her. Marinette decided not to push it at the moment, mainly because the bell for them to head to class sounded, and she had all over lunch to interrogate her friend.

The world was apparently against her finding out what Chloe was lying to her for because after their first class during their study period, a massive crash sounded around the school. The surveillance showed one of her classmates, Ivan, transformed into a stone being. Marinette could have waved off the sudden attack as one of a pissed off Meta the way a lot of her schoolmates were doing, but with the meeting between her and the shameful Grand Guardian trainee had her thinking it was all too much of a coincidence for it not to all be Miraculous related.

Marinette made her way home and up to her room to formulate a plan on how she could be involved without bringing unwanted attention to herself but the second she stepped into her room she sensed something off. A quick glance around the room showed that someone had been up there and had left a black box on her desk. Someone who wasn’t her parents since they’d be too busy with the bakery to step out.

Slowly approaching the box, Marinette started going over all the possibilities of what the box could be when she saw a familiar symbol, one she had seen all her life.

The symbol of the Order of Guardians

A miraculous box was sitting on her desk.

Stepping forward she picked up the box and opened it, closing her eyes so as not to be blinded by the bright light that it omitted as the Kwami inside formed its physical body.

She opened her eyes and had to blink, not quite believing what she was seeing.

“Hello Marinette, you are the only one who can stop Stoneheart and save Ivan and the rest of Paris,” The Kwami, the Scarab Kwami, said looking up at her with wide eyes.

She was chosen to be the next Scarab wielder.

Well shit, she hadn’t been this put off by a surprise revelation since she’d woken from the coma to find her birth parents waiting for her. Who knew that this was how the day was going to go.

Next

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[pengychan]

[Coco - Gravity Falls] Three Part Harmony

I wrote this for @perlogannwyl in exchange for her donation to BLM. Her prompt was Miguel interacting with Dipper and Mabel from Gravity Falls, discussing the weirdness around them. It took me... much longer than planned to write this, so I made it into a longer fic to make up for the delay. Sorry for the wait, hope you like it!

If you’d like to request a flash fic in exchange of a charity donation, here’s how.

It took Miguel roughly half a day to realize that primo Jésus - “Soos, dude, call me Soos. Unless I have the fez on, then I’m Mr. Mystery. Want some pizza? I’ve got this slice that never ends!” - was not the oddest person he could possibly meet in that town. Not by a long shot. 

“The locals are not odd, Miguel,” his father had told him, bouncing Socorro in his arms while his mamá caught up with her tía. Or at least tried to, because she had her attention split in three different directions: a third on her grand-niece, a third on the telenovela playing on the TV screen in the corner, and another third on cleaning every surface within reach as visitors walked through that… Mystery Shack his cousin apparently ran. 

Miguel didn’t answer as much as he gestured wildly at their surroundings. Somewhere on his left, a man wearing a tinfoil hat was taking a selfie next to a fur-covered trout mounted to the wall. His papá opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it again, and cleared his throat. 

“They’re Americans,” was all he could finally say in their defense as Socorro tried to get back his undivided attention by attempting to rip off his mustache.

Miguel had expected Americans to be kind of weird, just not that kind of weird. Still, as he wandered around the Mystery Shack - previously named Murder Hut, a plaque read, which made him… slightly uncomfortable - he had to admit that stuff was actually kind of cool. Also, Soos’ girlfriend was nice and had shown him how to get snacks for free from the distributor. 

“Are you sure it’s not a problem?” Miguel had asked, causing Melody - nice name, that - to shrug while she gave a customer change with one hand and made notes for the table disposition at the upcoming wedding. It was the reason why they were there, but as Miguel’s mamá hadn’t seen her tía since she married herself, she had wanted them to arrive a few days before the ceremony to meet properly.

“Of course not, don’t worry about it. Soos shows how to do it to everyone who walks in.”

“Ah.” Miguel had taken a snack, and wandered out to eat it without being chased with a vacuum cleaner, walking past a group of people holding up cameras and trying to figure out whether what was before their eyes was a rock that looked like a face or a face that looked like a rock. 

And then he’d seen it, just as it disappeared behind the trees. Something tiny, with a white beard and a pointed hat and… and…

Miguel blinked, and looked again; nothing but trees, now. But he was… fairly sure he had seen something. As per what that something was-- ay, he must be hallucinating. Was the snack he was eating past the expiry date?

He’d just turned it around to check when a truck screeched to a half right beside him, tires leaving marks in the grass and giving Miguel a mini heart attack. The driver’s door was thrown open, revealing primo Jes-- Soos at the wheel, grinning widely. 

“Back from the bus stop! Dudes, this is my second-something cousin Miguel!”

The very first impression wasn’t stellar, mostly because most people he met didn’t greet him by smacking a hand on his forehead to put a sticker on it. Or trying to ask him if he was single. Trying to, because her brother very quickly and very loudly began introducing himself before things got awkward, moving the chat to more normal grounds.

Well. Relatively normal. 

“... And I’m going to be a bridesmaid and - they still don’t know it, but I’ll throw glitter everywhere,” Mabel announced, spreading her arms. “It will be a huge surprise! I mean, if you tell no one, it will be a huge surprise. But you won’t tell anyone,” she added, her smile huge. 

Miguel wasn’t entirely sure if she meant to come across as slightly threatening or if he was letting past bad experiences give him the wrong impression,  but either way he responded with a smile that he hoped was convincing. 

“I’ll be silent as--” a grave? “... As, uh, someone really silent.”

“Soos’ abuelita will probably vacuum it all up immediately,” Dipper pointed out, causing his sister to frown.

“Right,” she muttered, rubbing her chin like a general devising an attack plan. “We need to find a way to keep the vacuum away from her.”

“... You don’t really think she’d bring it to the church during the wedding, do you?” Miguel asked, only for both Dipper and Mabel to nod. 

“You have met her, right?” Dipper asked, and Miguel had to concede that they had a point. 

“Fair.”

“We should sabotage it,” Mabel declared, and suddenly snapped her fingers. “Oh! I know! When our Grunkles get here tomorrow--”

“Our great uncles,” Dipper supplied helpfully before Miguel could voice his confusion. 

“-- We’re going to ask them to help us turn the vacuum into a leaf blower! So that if she tries to clean up, she’ll only spread glitter even more! A double surprise!”

To Miguel’s worry, Dipper - who’d struck him as the most sensible of the two - began pacing, giving the matter some serious thought. “We would need to do it right before we head to church, if she tries to use it before we head off she’ll know. Someone will need to distract her.”

“Miguel volunteers!” Mabel exclaimed, grabbing Miguel’s arm and lifting it with a surprising amount of strength, almost lifting him off his feet. “He’ll distract her!”

“... Are you sure this is a good idea?” Miguel asked cautiously. It seemed pretty nonsensical, but then again, his own solution to a problem a couple of years prior had been grave robbing, so maybe he wasn’t precisely on a much higher ground. 

“It’s a great idea! Leaf blowers always worked well for us. We used it to blow away some gnomes once.”

Miguel blinked. With the mind’s eye he saw it again, something really small with a pointy hat running over some bushes. But he’d just hallucinated that… right? “... Qué?”

“Nothing!” Dipper exclaimed suddenly, trying to elbow his sister in a way that couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d tried. Mabel waved a hand. 

“Come on, Dip Dop, it took us… days to realize this place was weird. I’m going to be surprised if he didn’t notice--”

“... Was that a… gnome?”

Mabel gave her brother a classic Told You So grin.  “Did you see a very small guy with a beard and a red pointy hat, or a brooding mysterious stranger?”

“Uh… the first one you said. About over there, running back into the forest.”

“Then it was a gnome! If you'd seen the brooding mysterious stranger, then it would still be gnomes but, like, five of them stacked on top of each other. If you see a giant creature of unimaginable horror, that is still gnomes. Just a lot more than five.”

Miguel’s gaze shifted to Dipper, half-hoping he’d laugh and admit it was a joke. Instead, he shrugged. 

“Don’t worry, they don’t do that anymore,” he informed him.

“Ah,” Miguel said, faintly wondering if they were making fun of him or were just insane. But then again, he had seen a tiny man running off into the woods. Plus something even more incredible, too, a couple of years ago. 

Unaware of his thoughts, Mabel was frowning. “Come to think of it, the giant Gnominator would have been useful during Weirdmageddon.”

Miguel, whose English classes had never included terms like Gnominator and Weirdmageddon, settled to just nod as though what she was saying made sense. “... Right.”

“Or when Dipper raised the dead.”

“Of cou-- wait, what?”

“It was an accident, Mabel,” Dipper protested, crossing his arms. “You know it won’t happen again.”

“I know, I know. Oh, don’t worry, Miguel! We know how to beat them! A perfect three part harmony, and they’re dead again. Soos told us you like music, so you can sing, no?”

“I said I won’t raise them again, we don’t need Soos to turn into a zombie again right before his wed--”

“You met the dead, too?” Miguel blurted out, causing both siblings to trail off and turn to look at him. Suddenly it was Dipper step right in his face, taking a notebook and a pen out of… seemingly nowhere. 

“You met the Undead, too?”

Miguel blinked. Undead? “They were all… pretty definitely dead.”

“Yes, yes, but like-- zombies?”

“Uh, no. Just… skeletons.”

Mabel nodded, extremely serious. “Thin zombies,” she declared.

“What-- no, they were not zombies at all.”

“No eating brains?”

“... They seemed to prefer Pan de Muerto.”

Dipper wrote that down. “No biting?”

“N… no?”

“Trying to drag you in your grave?”

“No, they just all kind of… really wanted me to go back home.”

"So they didn’t try to kill you?"

"N--" Miguel paused. "... Well, one did. But most of them wanted me to go home. They were my family.”

Mabel sighed. “Aww, you raised your family from the dead!”

“No, I was just robbing a grave and--” he paused, and rubbed his temples. “I really think we’re talking about two entirely different things here.”

“Yeah, sounds like-- wait. Grave robbing?”

Miguel shifted. “Not my best decision,” he muttered. Only that it had been, in the end, if anything for how things had worked out. Had he not been in the Land of the Dead that night, then…

Dipper lifted the notebook again, clicking his pen with a slightly manic look in his eyes. “We have a lot to talk about,” he said, and they did. 

That place was weird, the people were weird, but Miguel found that talking about what had happened in the Land of the Dead, with someone who believed him, wasn’t too bad at all.

[freewheelshippin]

FIC: “What Do I Call You?”

There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes. 

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening. 

So! I had some fun writing for the roleswap AU, where I’m the punk rock idol and Ranmaru’s the freelance artist getting some juice from all the love and music.

Not much by ways of content warnings -- lots of eating, a fair amount of alcohol, too, and you know, we utter the word ‘fuck’ a few times.  

Ranmaru swore as he dropped the case on his toe. He could tell immediately that this was one of those jammed toes that would hurt for days from the bruising, especially when he still had half of the city to cross before he could get back home. And what was home? His shithole apartment and limping around while he went on his rounds for the local cats? 

At least the train was empty enough he could sit alone, even comfortably with all his equipment. He was still cross that the live house didn’t have it themselves. Weren’t they professionals? Stupid. The show had sucked, too, with the band spending more time fucking around then putting on the damn show they were paid for, that their fans came out to see, that Ranmaru had put such care into getting the tech just right to enhance. And that one jackass trying to throw hands with anyone in the crowd. Nobody on staff did a fucking thing to kick him out until Ranmaru dragged him out himself, and now he had a black eye and the stink of shitty beer and stale cigarette smoke hanging on him to show for it.

Thirty minutes ‘til his stop. He could listen to some music to smooth over this shitty...everything. He slipped his headphones on, ready to mute the rest of the world and stop anyone from entering his. 

Reiji (12:42 AM) : Iiiiiiiiiit’s dropped!!!!!

What, your balls, Ranmaru thought ruefully to himself, unconsciously clicking his tongue in annoyance. He moved his finger to swipe and mute him for … a week, maybe, from how shitty he was feeling right now, but Reiji was too fast. The link appeared, and Ranmaru hit it, if only to have something concrete to be annoyed with him for. 

It was a preview for a new PV. That’s right. It was technically tomorrow already, the day this content was due, but this was still early. Reiji must have found a leak. Lucky he was such an otaku, Ranmaru never had to go hunting for sketchy files or talk with weirdos he knew he wouldn’t be able to level with outside of the crowd. There was a long windup before the music even started playing, the visuals building dramatic lighting and obscuring anything but their silhouettes, but there was the low fuzz of an amp before it all hit at once. 

Ranmaru didn’t want to admit that his eyes darted right to that flash of turquoise as the lights came up in the PV, because it would mean that he might’ve smiled at just the sight of her. No, it had to be the sound. That clean, driving guitar, that strong bass, it felt like Deep Purple and Iron Maiden, but pushed to be danceable and idol-friendly with synth and a digital drumkit beat Ranmaru could vaguely recognize parts of.  

His toe and face didn’t stop hurting and body didn’t stop aching, but he stopped feeling so mad about it for the minute he watched and listened. There was professional polish there he’d missed seeing at the shitshow that was tonight’s gig, but there was still that rawness there of a good, irreplaceable concert. Something less precise than other idol groups’ practiced, saccharine perfection, but Ranmaru found it more welcoming than any other group he’d seen or worked with. 

The camera cut to a focus shot. Her hair was as bright as ever, styled like she were one of those princely girls from anime, just somehow made real, and she turned to look right at him-- 

Reiji (12:44 AM) : Ranran~~ how are you liking your girlfriend in this one :3c 

Ranmaru actually growled a little. He only realized he had been smiling because of how intensely he frowned at that bastard, barging into his texts --  

Ranmaru (12:44 AM): shut the fuck up and let me watch it. don’t call her that   

Reiji (12:44 AM): Isn’t she doing all the things you like??? 

Reiji (12:45 AM): So handsome! So rock! So passionate!

Reiji (12:45 AM): Feels tailor made for you ;o 

Ranmaru (12:45 AM): I told you to shut the fuck up. go text natsuki if you have to annoy someone

Reiji (12:46 AM): Aww Ranran did the show go bad? :(

Reiji (12:46 AM): But I already did, you know! And I’ve already gotten twice as many sparkly sticker replies than texts you’ve sent me in the past week!!! 

(He had to admit he laughed a little at that. Reiji was probably getting another onslaught as he was typing, his own push notifications as clogged as he was making Ranmaru’s.) 

Ranmaru (12:47 AM): I’m muting notifs since you won’t learn how to fucking shut up 

Reiji (12:47 AM): ohhhh she’s getting ranran’s full attention~! You must really like this preview, huh? I guess it’s true love 

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): WILL YOU SHUT UP ALREADY   

Reiji (12:48 AM): You’re right, I should, I should be listening for wedding bells! 

Ranmaru (12:48 AM): go make out with your gacha girlfriend body pillow and leave me alone 

Ranmaru (12:49 AM): hypocrite 

He finally muted all his notifications. An hour should be enough to ride it out, he thought as he settled a little into the hard plastic of the seat, restarting the video. The anger from the past couple hours melted away as he watched, uninterrupted, and replayed it with eyes closed as the sound flowed in through his headphones and released the tension in his body bit by bit. 

--- 

The hour ran out when Ranmaru was squatting over an especially runty kitten, eating noisily while the others watched from a couple feet away. Why stray cats could understand him better than anyone else when he said to piss off, he’d never know. He swiped around to turn his notifications back off for the rest of the night before pocketing his phone again. 

“...Oi. Slow down.” He pulled the plate of food away from the kitten. It shook with hiccups as it watched carefully, almost fearfully, before it pounced back onto the food, gobbling it down like it was going to be its last meal. Ranmaru sighed but couldn’t blame the little thing. He dumped out the last of the food, gave the rest of the cats one last look as he stood up to walk away, and he heard the frenzied scratch of their claws against the pavement as they swarmed the plates of food. 

 Maybe it wasn’t so much they understood him as he understood them. To hunger like that, both literally and for something less physical but just as carnal.  

He plugged his headphones back in, listening to the leaked preview a few more times on his way back to the apartment. 

--

He liked this group to begin with mostly because of her. She dressed, talked, and acted more like someone from a band than an idol, and something about that felt weirdly familiar and good. The rest of the group were more unique than a lot of other idols -- you’d expect that from a unit made up of a pack of ragtag international recruits, sure, but it was refreshing how they’d made everything about their presence wholly their own. 

Hers just made the most sense to him. The brashness, the way she talked about music, the way she performed, it all felt like someone who was chasing and understood the same things he did. She even said her music was about giving people power in an interview Reiji’d dug up for him. 

“Beyond language, or the way words reach people,” she’d said in decent but definitely non-native Japanese; she’d grown up some in Okinawa while her family lived on the military base, but mostly shuttled between America and Bangkok before getting recruited by chance here. “I want to give everyone a home that makes them feel strong through my music.” 

He wondered, dimly, as he took a hot shower and stared down at his swollen red toe, if he felt drawn to the group because he wanted that for himself, or because it reminded him why he kept picking up jobs that made him as angry as tonight’s did. 

He went to bed that night with an ice pack balanced on his swollen eye, the frustration more or less passed as he listened to the classic bands that new song reminded him of. 

--- 

He woke up to his phone buzzing, the hold on push notifications finally expired, and he murmured in bewilderment at just how many there were. Not just from Reiji, but Natsuki, too. 

Rather than try and parse whatever the hell happened while he was asleep, Ranmaru just went into the group chat well after he’d gotten himself breakfast. 

Ranmaru (9:28 AM): what the hell happened last night that you had to blow up my phone 

Natsuki (9:30 AM): Maru-chan-senpai! Ah! You’re alive!!!! 

Ranmaru (9:31 AM): I just went to bed is all 

(“Why the hell are you calling me ‘senpai’?” Ranmaru had asked him, and Natsuki had looked at him with those big dopey eyes and earnestly said since he’d been a fan longer, he was naturally Natsuki’s senpai, and any protest Ranmaru made never stuck.) 

Reiji supplied a link without any fanfare, introduction, or goofy dramatics, which almost startled Ranmaru. 

Notice (posted by Ootori Eiichi x/xx/xx): 

We are currently seeking an emergency replacement sound/stage technician for performances at the following dates and locations. Inquire immediately. [PAID] 

Ranmaru stared at the listing, barely processing the lurch in his stomach that came from just reading it. It was for them. That act. The debut mini-tour for that new single. It’d take rearranging his sound editing queue and massaging some deadlines, but he could feasibly make all of those dates and times.

He thought for a moment of doing that sound check, and seeing for himself the electric energy of that live. Of working with that group whose respect for their audience he personally felt, of watching her prepare, having to talk directly to her as she tuned her guitar....

There was the very real possibility that it’d prove everything he believed about them - about her, really, that ethos he was drawn to - was just smoke and mirrors, too. 

Natsuki (9:35 AM): Can you do it, Maru-chan-senpai? 

Reiji (9:36 AM): Ranran, you have to do it. 

Ranmaru (9:36 AM): this is just a listing, just because I ask doesn’t mean it’ll go through 

There was a long pause, where everyone went on and off typing, never actually saying anything, and he frowned. 

Ranmaru (9:40 AM): can you all just fucking say what you’re thinking already 

Natsuki (9:42 AM): You really love their magic and energy, I just wanted to say I hope you do it and get it because your heart wants it! 

Reiji (9:45 AM): Yes, Nacchan, you said it! Ranran, I’ll give you all the free bento you need to keep your tummy full to go do this! 

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): don’t fucking do that, reiji, you’ll just piss of your sister. I’ll buy them myself

Ranmaru (9:45 AM): assuming I even do this 

Reiji (9:46 AM): I really think you should. 

Reiji (9:46 AM): Not because we want the insider scoop. But because when’s the last time you had fun at a live you worked? 

Ranmaru could curse Reiji where he stood. Whenever he stopped fucking around and got to his point, it was always a good one. 

---

He got the job, somehow, after a little emailing back-and-forth and negotiating the contract. Now he was on a train to Yokohama for the first gig, his case packed full, his backpack stuffed with supplies for a week. Comping travel, hotel, and meals was enough to take the job, even if it paid like ass, but it didn’t. The contract was actually pretty decent. They -- or, well, at least that Ootori guy -- were upfront that he’d be worked hard, the hours were going to be long, and there wasn’t going to be much room for rest or leisure. But the pay was good. Enough that if he had a dryspell of jobs afterwards, he’d be okay for longer than usual. 

It was worth it for other reasons, though, he thought to himself, stuffing spare merch he’d gotten in blindbags (and a couple other last-minute buys he didn’t tell the others about) into a bottom corner of his suitcase. None of it was of her, none of it for him. Something felt unprofessional spending this job acting like a fan, but at least there wasn’t any harm grabbing some signatures for friends who never made it to meet-and-greets. 

The single was out properly, now, and so was the PV. There was a section of it he especially liked and had gotten into the habit of watching on train rides, where she broke out of the dance routine to put her arms around her teammates, grin a dumb grin, and kick her legs high. It cut to a different shot of the group in different costumes but perfect sync, and when it cut back to that first shot, she stumbled and fell right on her ass, dragging the others down with her. Still grinning stupidly, and singing through it all. 

She didn’t take many vocal solos. She only had one line in this song to herself, and she was singing with the whole group for this shot. He read in an interview she wasn’t happy with the tone quality of her voice yet -- it needed to be richer, and she still needed plenty of training before it reached what her teammates and audience deserved. 

Ranmaru told himself, as the train was minutes away from the station, that this had to be the last time he watched this video and listened to the song like this. At least for the duration of this job. Every time he watched that shot, as she kept singing and the rest of the group tumbled down with her with the same dumb grin she wore, he knew in his gut the voice she sang in must’ve sounded like the soul of rock. Even if that gesture were directed and performed, there was still something genuine there that reminded him of those moments at concerts that convinced him to walk the path he did. 

Maybe he’d get to see it live. Maybe he wouldn’t. But he had to stop imagining it. She - this whole group, rather - was about to become real, and whether or not everything he imagined would turn out to just be something he made up to deal with his shit, he had a job to do. 

------------------------------------

He had a chance to leave his clothes and belongings in the hotel before heading to the live house. Ranmaru was unsure why this Ootori guy had picked him. He didn’t have an exactly long resume with idol shows, but then again, this was a group that debuted without any typical idol sound. There wasn’t any gimmick to them (Ranmaru wouldn’t call being made up of foreigners much of a gimmick when it came to the music), and they weren’t afraid of reaching into all sorts of genres he more typically worked with. 

Right as he got to the live house, his phone rumbled with back-to-back notifications. 

Reiji (5:48 PM): Ranran~!!! Ganbarimachochho from us! 

Ranmaru wouldn’t deign the attached selfie with a response right now (he was about to work, after all), but he felt himself suppressing a smile. Reiji was sticking his tongue out and making a victory sign, Natsuki further in the background, half-buried in stuffed animals and doing the same. They were going to be streaming the event for special-tier fanclub members like REIJI, which Ranmaru had always harangued him for. If he was a fan, wasn’t it enough to just cheer their hearts out live, enjoy their music, buy a CD and shirt, and feel the energy they had to give that way? 

(He still pored over the behind-the-scenes and advance material Reiji forwarded to him and Natsuki regardless. Sometimes he translated the English from their social media accounts, even. It was satisfying, as stupid as it felt sometimes, to do those little things in between the real shows.) 

He’d never been to the live house before, but it had the same vibes as so many others he’d been to. He found the back entrance effortlessly, where a man with glasses almost took him by surprise. 

“Kurosaki?” he asked. His gaze felt just as intense as all the other communication they’d had over e-mail. 

“Ootori,” he grunted back. 

“You’re early,” Eiichi replied, grinning at Ranmaru. Not that it surprised him in the slightest, but it made him look less approachable and instead even more intense. “Good. I like that in a recruit.” 

Ranmaru gritted his teeth quietly. This guy was going to be an absolute bastard, he could feel it, but at least he seemed like he knew how to run a show. “Don’t say that like I joined your agency. Tell me where the group’s at with setup, and I’ll get started.” 

 Eiichi’s eyes glinted from behind his glasses. He looked too satisfied with himself for Ranmaru’s taste. “I liked how you didn’t beat around the bush when you reached out for the job, and it’s good to see you hold to it. They’re rehearsing in the space, but we still have equipment to unload and cues to sync. You read the notes I sent you, I trust.” 

“All forty fuckin’ pages of it.” Ranmaru left out that he’d actually found it pretty impressive, appreciating the thoroughness and ambition of the show for a smaller group and venue. “Are we going to stand around shooting the shit or are we going to get started working on them?” 

Eiichi laughed at that. Ranmaru wasn’t sure if it pissed him off or made him feel eager to get to work. 

“This way,” he said, showing him to a van stuffed full of equipment. 

------ 

Ranmaru went straight to the live house staff to start doing his work. The master controls were kept in a little room that overlooked the stage. His gut flipped when he first saw them all, rehearsing some specific-looking choreography that needed to adjust to a new stage.  He wasn’t about to let that interrupt work. This was just like any other job, except he liked the performers a whole lot more, and things progressed like any other job. Until she looked dead at him from the stage, calling out. 

“Heeeeey,” she said. “Scuse me, are you the new tech guy?” 

“Yeah.” Ranmaru forced the feeling rising in his throat back down (as much as he could with sheer willpower, anyway). “Whaddya want?” 

“I just wanted to ask your name! We gotta call you something!” 

“Ranmaru,” he answered, hoping dearly that whatever he felt burning on his face was hidden by the dim lighting. 

“Cool, OK. Ranmaru-san,” she continued cheerfully. Ranmaru felt his chest tighten as he heard his name on her lips. “Are we queued up enough that we can do this number with music?” 

“This is the one for the new single, right,” he called back. He took a look at the levels, gain, and so forth as they were and instinctively nudged the knobs where the countless plays of that new song told him to. He’d imagined the vision of its stage presence for weeks. “I’m gonna test out some different settings for the levels ‘n stuff while you do that.” 

She made an expression of surprise as it came on. Delight, even, as she rode out into the following beats. Ranmaru couldn’t help crooking into his own smile, satisfied his know-how just helped that vision become a little bit brighter. She flashed him a thumbs up, then a gesture to pause, still grinning. 

“Can we take it from the top? Five, six, seven, eight---” 

-------- 

Ranmaru had never felt this sort of contradiction. She was restringing her acoustic guitar, from steel to nylon strings, as she hummed and practiced segments of songs, and Ranmaru was adjusting amplifiers and other equipment on the stage nearby. His head swam with the thought and excitement they were sharing the same stage, even just as a tech and pre-show performer, but approaching her felt like being both sides of a magnet at once. 

But that push and pull gave way, eventually, as the guitar finished being re-strung and tuned, and the humming turned into full-on singing. Ranmaru fought desperately to make sure he wasn’t just confirming what he’d already imagined, to just appreciate her live voice on its own merits and flaws. But he could feel in his chest that that character, that quality he’d responded so much to was there, that even with some lacking technical skill, there was still a rich tone color you could only get with passion and the spirit for rock. 

“You doing any solos tonight?” he asked in English. 

“Hm?” She looked caught by surprise. 

Ranmaru answered, already anticipating the question. “I’m half-American. I speak it fluently enough.” 

“Well, shit,” she said with a grin. “That’s convenient for us. I mean, I don’t mind Japanese if it’s easier…” 

“‘Sfine. Do what you want. I won’t complain about the practice, though.” 

She chuckled. “Man, maybe losing our usual guy from the agency was a stroke of good luck.” 

Ranmaru laughed challengingly. “Say that after the show goes well. And you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“Oh, uh. Right. Not really? Why do you ask?” 

“Why not?” 

She took a moment and laughed brightly in reply. Ranmaru could practically hear the insecurity she was covering up. 

“‘Cuz we’re an idol group.” 

Ranmaru gestured and murmured in vague acknowledgement. “You still have less solo lines than everyone else.” 

“Oh, do I,” she replied flatly, going back to her guitar, trimming overhanging strings. “I guess you would know, now that you’ve gotta manage all our sound.” 

“I just think it’s stupid you’ve clearly got your own voice but can’t think of sharing it without hiding behind everyone else’s.” 

She looked up at him incredulously. “Ranmaru-san, right?” 

“...Just call me Ranmaru.” 

“Alright, Ranmaru.” She looked at him again. Somehow when she looked at him dead-on this time, nothing went to mush inside of him. “Don’t fucking talk to me like our group voice isn’t the backbone of everything we’re trying to do.” 

“Nothing’s wrong with your group voice,” he shot back, getting heated. “It’s good. I can feel the soul behind it all, even when you’re rehearsing.” 

“So why are you fucking complaining?” She was still smiling, laying cheer and energy over her growing frustration. “Is there something you wanna say to me about my crew’s voices?” 

“They’re fine!” he barked back, frustrated she wasn’t getting his point. “This isn’t about them! You have something your audience is gonna be lit on fire hearing more of, that’s all!”  

Some eyes were starting to fall on them, but Ranmaru could barely notice them over the way her chest rose sharply and her expression became inscrutible. 

“...how about,” she said, speaking slowly as she deliberately, diplomatically pulled out her words, switching back to Japanese. “You save any notes you have for after the show.” 

“......Sure.” His stomach flipped again, more intensely and more painfully than the last few times. He went back to fussing with the amp, and she laid the pliers she’d trimmed her strings with on it before heading backstage until the show started. 

--- 

The show was electric. Ranmaru couldn’t say he was the right audience for most idol groups -- not so much out of distaste as much as incompatibility, he guessed. The way Reiji and Natsuki would lose their minds over their favorites’ cheerful cuteness or the kindness in their voices, Ranmaru wouldn’t. The fanatical, cult-of-personality devotion some other idols could curate with otaku-types, he didn’t connect with, either. What spoke to him was passion, backed by steely sounds and the sweat behind them; the excitement and fervor of rock and a crowd stinking of sweat; how well you could make someone scream themselves hoarse for that one, shining moment without any care for how sore they’d feel the next morning. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline from earlier, but when he could look away from the tech, he felt that here, too. There was no drum or bass player onstage, but he could still feel the beat thrum through his chest and rumble through his bones until his breath quickened, like he were jumping and dancing with the crowd. There was joy in their teamwork. In how they shaped their bodies together in song and in voice, and pushing and pulling the spotlight until it was something brighter, something shared and tangible between them and the audience.

His eyes fell on her. What should he call her? She had a stage name in Thai, but she was open that wasn’t her given name or anything friends and family called her. “Aroon” was just something she picked so she could wear her heritage proudly. It meant ‘dawn,’ it sounded cooler, more idol-ish than her Western name, which wasn’t a secret, by any means, but he heard her called by so many versions of it, none felt real. 

It only felt so weird because seeing her onstage, he felt far beyond any confirmation bias he could’ve had that the person he’d seen in the PV’s was every bit as real as he’d hoped. He saw someone who didn’t just fit on stage, but relished and grew like a plant in the hot lights burning down on them. There was something so honest about how she hyped the crowd, leaned so forward she seemed like she might leap into a crowdwalk, pointing at her ear until the whole crowd bellowed in their own guttoral harmony. And she smiled so much at her crewmates -- Ranmaru realized he was smiling, too, while she played guitar and accompanied the others’ solos, only breaking from her deep sway with the music to look at them with brightness and joy in her eyes. 

In those moments, Ranmaru understood something he hadn’t before, but it also made him realize that the hunger in him wasn’t being sated so much as it was deepening. 

They got cheered back on for an encore. And towards the end of that last song, Ranmaru watched as she broke choreography to literally lift the one Natsuki was convinced was a fairy, spinning them around as the practiced moves dissolved into joyful chaos. The whole group ended the song arm in arm, sloppily holding mics for each other as they alternately laughed, belted, fumbled, and shouted thank-yous into the audience.

Ranmaru still felt something tug at him as the mic got held in front of her, she grabbed it, and handed it to someone else. Just sing, damn it, he thought to himself. It didn’t matter if it was perfect, it just mattered that it was hers. 

Didn’t she realize she deserved to be adored the same way she wanted the rest of her group to be? 

Ranmaru cut everything as they filtered offstage, staggering and softening the mics as they put them back and let them go. He took a deep, sighing breath in and out, almost like he’d been holding it for the entire concert, as his stomach growled. 

Maybe he should’ve taken some more of Reiji’s bento, after all, and give Natsuki’s cookies another try.  

-------- 

They closed up quickly. With the group no longer bound by rehearsal, takedown went faster than ever, and there wasn’t any meet-and-greet at today’s venue. Ranmaru dimly considered looking at the merch table, but he had a week to do that and had other things to finish with today’s closeup, anyway. 

He could hear the group discussing amongst themselves in English about where to go for a late dinner celebrating a good show.

“I want chicken,” she pleaded. “Is there one of those Taiwanese shops where you can get boba and chicken around here? You know, the kind that comes in a little bag and a toothpick?” 

Eiichi approached them, and she started to repeat herself in Japanese before he asked to interrupt her. 

“We’re all headed to the izakaya two blocks from here,” he announced to everyone. “I’ve already called ahead to reserve the space. Consider it a reward for a triumph of the first show on tour.” 

“But is there chicken,” she repeated in Japanese in mock desperation as she mussed her own hair, fussing it out of the careful styling she’d had it in for hours. 

Ranmaru’s phone buzzed from the notifications he missed, shutting them off for the duration of the show. Mostly from Natsuki and Reiji. He scrolled through the groupchat as they reacted live to the stream and tried to compliment Ranmaru on managing sound so well, though he was sure it couldn’t have possibly made much of a difference for the stream. 

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): it was a killer show, wasn’t it 

Ranmaru (11:37 PM): they’re talking about craving chicken right now. Guess it’s too bad we don’t have a kotobuki bento branch around here. 

Ranmaru (11:38 PM): i could go for a kara-age bento 

Reiji (11:38 PM): Ranran….! 

Natsuki (11:39 PM): Waaaah~! I hope you find some kara-age soon and share it with your shining star! 

Ranmaru immediately locked the phone after that. His stomach somersaulted once more time. He stood by what he said to her earlier, but he couldn’t imagine she’d want to talk after the way things had gone. Better to leave the group to that postshow glow, feed himself, and head back to the hotel. 

--------- 

The room was swimming just a little. Ranmaru blearly looked at his phone, trying to ignore the fact that he’d drank beyond his limit like an idiot. He knew he was like this, so why did he keep downing beer after beer? He’d gotten too used to needing as much as he could stomach to tolerate Reiji’s antics (and, he knew dimly, he was just too used to being able to rely on him once he’d hit his limit). 

She was seated right across from him, because of course she was, but they didn’t exchange any words or even eye contact. She was entirely focused on the rest of the group and the meal itself, laughing loudly between boisterous stories and jokes and devouring whatever snacks she ordered. 

Ranmaru got up. He could make it back to the hotel by himself, probably. Nobody asked as he left, which was how he’d preferred things, right? 

If there was such thing as taking a desolate wizz, maybe this is what it felt like, he thought to himself as he dried his hands on his shirt and left the restroom to step outside. Just for a moment. Just to get some air. 

Eiichi followed him out. 

“Can I help you,” Ranmaru said roughly after Eiichi caught the door behind him. 

“Hardly.” He had the same look in his eye as before. “I thought I’d take the opportunity to say well done.” 

Ranmaru grunted. “You still have six more shows with me. Compliment me when I’ve nailed all of them.” 

“Hm. I’d certainly expect no less. But,” he continued, that grin going places Ranmaru especially didn’t like. “I can’t say that was what I was referring to.” 

Ranmaru looked at him suspiciously. 

“She’s been a tough nut to crack,” he continued. “I’m glad my instincts were right, Ranmaru Kurosaki, your brusqueness and deep experience with music laid her heart bare enough she recognized some changes she needed to make.” 

He didn’t think, and only saw red -- he couldn’t blame the alcohol entirely, but the haziness was enough that his brain needed a moment to catch up to his gut reaction. 

Eiichi laughed, unfazed by Ranmaru’s hands on his collar or snarling expression. 

“Bastard!” he barked. Eiichi’s eyes glinted behind his glasses. 

“I heard your little conversation. Do you not stand by those words?” 

“Of course I do,” Ranmaru snapped. 

“They reached her,” Eiichi cut in before Ranmaru could think of what to say next. “She’s already asking me about extra vocal training before the next recording sessions.” 

“She doesn’t need more training!” He threw Eiichi back, finally letting go. He barely needed any effort to recover, and Ranmaru just glared at him as he kept raising his voice. “And I’m not your for-hire music coach! Is this how you treat all your contractors, you rat bastard of a producer?!” 

He just laughed that laugh of his, making Ranmaru even angrier. “Your passion for music and straightforwardness was evident, even in your initial inquiry. It was just excellent luck your technical skills were just as useful for sending this idol group hurtling towards their fullest potential.” 

“If you want her to reach it, you’d tell her she doesn’t need any extra lessons. You’d just tell her she’s a great goddamn idol the way she is right now,” Ranmaru spat. “Trusting her voice is just what’ll make her into a better one.” 

“I hear some selfish intent in that, Kurosaki.” Eiichi looked like he was burning with excitement. “But that just means I can trust your intentions more than anyone. You speak as someone whose heart’s already been moved. A fan...a loyal follower who desires their success. Perhaps even more than she does.” 

“I’m going back to the hotel.” Ranmaru strode past him, feeling himself burn from top to bottom. He gave Eiichi one last look in the eye. “If you need me before the show tomorrow, find someone else.”  

------- 

The next day and next show went uneventfully. Now that he’d met the group at Yokohama, he was travelling with them in the cars and equipment vans, and he made a point of finding a back seat nobody wanted to share, stretching out, and napping the whole ride. The setup at the next live house was a pain in the ass with their unusual devices and systems, but Ranmaru was quietly grateful to have his hands full. He liked having a good reason for not wanting to talk to (scold) anyone but the live house staff itself. Being irritated they went for weird, cheap models with lower quality helped him double down on the attention needed to make the group shine. They collectively got ramen afterwards. The only words he exchanged all meal were with the one Reiji liked so much, ferrying his ramen order for him when he got frustrated with the shop crowd and left to go wait outside. 

(He’d have to find a way to talk with her later about Reiji. Not just for the autograph -- he opened up his phone, ignoring any notifications that weren’t his work email, and messaged him. 

Ranmaru (9:42 PM): send me a pic of your Mae shrine 

Reiji (9:45 PM): ehh? Ranran, what for? 

Ranmaru (9:50 PM): just send it 

Dutifully, Reiji did. Ranmaru couldn’t have imagined he really had no idea what he planned to do with it, but if he wasn’t just playing dumb, at least he’d be getting one hell of a surprise.) 

It was during the third show that things started to happen a way he could scarcely believe. The show went pretty normally, except for one point where she stumbled badly enough during a complex turn she completely ate shit. But she played it off into something hammy and funny, rolling out of the way of the others, lying like she were posing in a cheesy beefcake calendar while she found the beat again to sing. 

Ranmaru still thought she needed to own up to her lack of courage and just sing more, but putting it like she was a coward was a mistake. He thought dimly to what Reiji had said that had convinced him -- “when was the last time you had fun working a stage like this?” And he wondered if he’d ever had fun onstage like he saw. He might’ve tasted the glory and passion of the stage, the delicious energy of the audience, and the power of rock -- he knew he did, he’d looked an easier, blander life in the eye and felt too desolate to walk that path, even with his inescapable debt. 

But it could be more fun. That audience could feel more, even more connected, that he could smile through mistakes when the performance came from camaraderie as much as passion and soul. Things could be better when they were shared beyond just the respect of an audience and a performer.

He didn’t realize he was smiling as much as he was until his cheeks were hurting, but that was also because he felt hungrier than he’d ever been.  

----

He couldn’t help calculating how many meals he’d be cutting into as the convenience store clerk rang up everything, even though he’d already gotten Eiichi to confirm he was going to expense him the bill and get refunded every cent. 

The show closed late. They had a special meet-and-greet he didn’t need to be around to handle, but none of them had had the chance to eat much outside of some spare snacks. He figured something fast and easy before they could collapse in the hotel would fit the bill. 

She wasn’t there when he went around knocking on the hotel room doors and delivering the goods. Gone out to relax on the roof, they said, and when they offered to hold her food, he said no, he’d take it right to her. 

The sound of the roof door opening looked like it startled her, and he didn’t know what else to do but hold up the bag full of food like a peace offering. 

“Eat something,” he said in English, tossing her a banana from the bag. She caught it before eyeing him up and down, then settled back to the outdoor lounge chair she’d been resting on. Ranmaru took a seat in the one across for her, setting the bag on the ground as he pulled the rest of the food out. She looked hesitant, only speaking until he’d laid everything out, even the drinks.

“...That smells good,” she said in Japanese. “What’s that, kara-age?” 

“I heard you guys were craving chicken.” 

 “I mean, I sure was. Thanks.”

“I told you English was fine,” he said, back to Japanese. 

“My Japanese is fine,” she said, tearing into the banana first. 

“Yeah, but if you’re tired of speaking outside of your native tongue,” Ranmaru started, already feeling himself get heated. “Why wouldn’t you take the chance to just rest?” 

She finished her bite of banana before giving him a look. “...If you insist.” 

They just sat in silence as she ate for a bit. 

“Is there something else you want from me?” she asked. She left half the kara-age and bottled tea.

“...No, not really. I wanted to say sorry for the other day, though.” 

“Ah.” She smiled knowingly, though she didn’t look happy about it. “Don’t worry about it. It sure isn’t the first or last time I’m gonna be criticized in this industry. I can handle it.” 

Ranmaru murmured in acknowledgement, not sure to what end making himself clear to would earn, but he had to, anyways. He stared down the half-full kara-age container. 

“...This is your goddamn food, you know.” He pushed it closer to her. “Eat it.” 

“Oh, you’re sure?” 

“I didn’t have a meet-and-greet that made me miss dinner. Do you really wanna work a tour on an empty stomach?” 

She scooped it up with a knowing ‘hmm’ and a half-smile. After polishing it off, she let out a heavy sigh. 

“You are right, though. I’m being a coward, not singing more.” 

“You’re not,” Ranmaru grumbled. 

“Sure,” she said dismissively. “But I guess I should apologize for getting so defensive. I thought you were just another macho shithead trying to talk the piss out of our group and the voice we have.” 

“That’s nothing to apologize for,” Ranmaru said resolutely. “....when I was in a band, I wish I’d had bandmates who’d do that kinda shit for me.” 

“Oh, shit, what’d you play?” 

“Vocals. Bass. Rock.” 

“Aw, c’mon, get more specific than that. Surf rock? Indie boy shoegaze? Folk punk with a little dash of polka?” 

Ranmaru gave her an incredulous look. “...Oi. Do I look like a polka guy?” 

She grinned widely, looking very satisfied with herself. “I dunno, you never know who’s got a secret accordion! I could see you, maybe you painted half of it, like, red to match that edgelord RPG hero heterochromia thing you got going.” 

Ranmaru grumbled, looking away. She laughed. “....I just like rock. If you had to pull my leg I guess I’d tell you hard rock. Maybe a little alt and prog.” 

“Ooh!” She exclaimed, barely letting the sip of tea get down her throat. “That’s the good shit! Did you ever record anything?”

Ranmaru hesitated. “...Yeah, but nothing that anyone can listen to anymore.” 

She seemed to understand without much more explanation. “...Well. You’re fucking good at the sound engineering side of things. Don’t tell management this -- or well, just don’t quote me on this --  but I like you a hell of a lot more than the guy we were supposed to have from the agency. He doesn’t know shit about how to make music that’s about soul and hype. It’s like, all one level the whole time, you know? Like it’s just sitting at an 8 the whole time, we don’t really get to do stuff like crescendos. Or like, punch someone in the dick by taking it from a three and shoot it to an eleven, you know?” 

“Yeah,” Ranmaru said, throwing a hand up. “What’s with that shit? There’s a bunch of stupid clients I had who were like that. Just one kind of loud, the whole album or concert through. What’s the fucking point if you aren’t gonna make people hear something other than just fuckin’ loud?” 

“Yeah! You get it!” she whooped, before she held her hand out for a fistbump. 

It surprised Ranmaru enough that it took a moment to register. But he smiled a little and pounded it. 

------

“Man-eating momma, steam-driven hammer

Sorts the men out from the boys--” 

She slid her arm around his waist, and he nearly choked on his beer. 

They were at Korean barbecue tonight, their own private room. The last meal, after the last concert, after the last meet-and-greet, after the last frantic merch sales. Ranmaru tried to buy himself a shirt, but instead was presented with a staff hoodie for the tour and a “one of everything” comp for the rest of the merch. They were now safely tucked with other goods he’d gotten signed for Reiji and Natsuki last night while everyone hung out in their big hotel suite. Hotel management made a mistake and upgraded the whole crew to their biggest room with extra cots to fit them all, and they spent the entire post show in a dizzying, joyful, communal haze. Ranmaru even told stories of the embarrassing depths of his groupchat’s devotion to the group and each of their favorites, and everyone took turns recording chaotic, personalized videos for Ranmaru to share later. They fell asleep at a truly stupid hour, and Ranmaru wondered if this is what having sleepovers as a kid felt like. 

“Takes no messing, all-in wrestling

Is one of her pride and joys” 

Ranmaru recognized the words as she pulled him closer, swaying after slamming her beer to the table. Maybe less the tune, since that was being yelled more than sung. 

“She's a classy, flashy lassy

Imitation sapphire shine-- c’mon, dude, you know!” She looked at him expectantly. She was very, very flushed, and at this point, he had to be, too. 

“We’re not at a karaoke bar!” he barked. 

“Where’s all that ‘you gotta sing more, fuckass’ energy now, huh,” she said, lowering her voice so much to mimic that Ranmaru briefly questioned if this is what he sounded like to her. 

“....Fine! If you’re gonna sing it, actually fuckin’ sing it, don’t just yell!” 

“Oh yeah,” she said with what passed for a shit-eating grin with her. “Then show me, partyboy. Hey, everyone, meet my new vocal coach! Hold onto your dick, folks, he better fuckin floor you with all the shit he’s been talking --”  

Ranmaru looked at her a moment as she kept ranting, first with incredulity, then with a weird surreal awe. What the hell was happening?  

Why the hell should he bother questioning it? 

“-- Two-faced liar, full of fire

But I know the flame is mine!” He cut off her rant, singing as much as he could like this were a stage. 

She -- and a bunch of other staff at the table -- whooped and cheered and laughed, but she and only she joined in with him without a care in the world. “Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her

If you think you can--” 

He let the arm that’d been just awkwardly dangling behind her wrap around her shoulder. He felt warmer than he’d ever had, burning all the way to the tips of his ears. 

“Rocka Rolla woman for a Rocka Rolla man

You can take her if you want her you can!” 

They hung on the last note of the chorus -- she hung on comedically long before dragging them both up to bow while everyone else clapped, laughed, cheered. A server came, yelling that they had an order of grilled beef up. Eiichi, from the other end of the table, gestured that he’d ordered it, but passed it down until it sat in front of Ranmaru. 

-------- 

They had an overnight bus trip to get back home -- or close enough to home, anyways, Ranmaru still had another long train ride waiting afterwards, so he’d planned to sleep the whole bus ride. 

But she wound up sitting next to him, and even if he could pretend like that didn’t make his heart thump now by itself, she was chatty. 

He didn’t mind the conversation, though. They mostly talked about music, sharing concert stories and albums. He even talked a little about what he wanted to do now in between all the freelance work, and when she wished him luck and couldn’t wait to hear it, he didn’t feel like she was just blowing smoke. 

There came a pause while she downed a bottle of tea. 

“...I meant it when I said there’s something in your voice the audience oughta hear,” he said, looking at her intently. 

She laughed uncomfortably after she swallowed. “Thank you. I’ll…..I guess I just have to go for it, huh.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

“I...hm….” She paused in intent thought for a while. “Well, for one, the technical control isn’t there.” 

“Yeah, but you’ll improve that by doing it.” 

“Yeah, yeah. But there’s more than just that, I guess.” 

“Like what.” 

“...Well, you know how this industry is. It’s…hard. Finding the balance of what you’re good at, what people want, and what the higher-ups think they want. I don’t think I’m anywhere near figuring that balance out...”

“Forget all that.” Ranmaru looked at her very seriously, shifting in place so he could look her in the eye a little better. “Don’t worry about any of those things.” 

She laughed disbelievingly. “Okay, sure, lemme just. Throw out my job description while I’m at it. Dude, the whole point of this job and this work is to make other people happy.” 

“I was happy hearing your voice just as it was that first day. You just. Sang the way you wanted to. I liked that. It felt good. Genuine.” He took a moment to recall the words he found at the beginning of the tour. “...You like it when people connect with your group’s voice ‘n adore your groupmates. So let ‘em adore you some.” 

“Oh, cuz I’m so adowable,” she joked, laughing as Ranmaru scowled. 

“I mean it. I….” he started. “...The audience is going to be better for hearing more of you. Whatever that means.” 

She thought about that for a moment. “...I...you know. I don’t think I’ve ever asked myself what that looks like. Or let myself realize it, anyway.”

“You can handle the criticism if it comes. If that’s something you’re scared of.” 

“...Maybe it is. Thank you, Ranmaru, I’m going to think about that and kick everybody’s teeth in the next time we record.  

“‘Snothing,” he murmured, but he felt like his heart was going to soar out of his chest, and later, as they both nodded off and slumped over each other as the road stretched on, he realized he felt sated in a way he couldn’t remember being. A weird sort, that took away the pang of hunger, but made him feel it more deeply through his whole being. 

---- 

When he arrived ‘home,’ it was lunchtime, and he was too dazed, hungry, and tired to weather one last long walk home without some food in his stomach. It was on the way-- he may as well go to Kotobuki Bento and make Reiji make good on the free bento offer. 

(His sister rang him up, and Ranmaru paid up.) 

Reiji found him after the meal, and he wound up heading to Reiji’s room. To give him the merch, theoretically, but after Reiji earned enough grouchy monosyllabic replies, he brought something that sounded like an actual question. 

“...So, Ranran, while you were away…” 

“Just say it,” Ranmaru muttered, eyes too tired to focus. “I’m too fucking tired for you to take the long away around.” 

“Nattsun’s friend wants to join our little fanclub!”

“....And.” 

Reiji shrank a little, speaking more sheepishly. “The thing is...we mentioned you and....he’s pretty sure you two already know each other and you’d want nothing to do with him.” 

Ranmaru hazily tried to recall who that could be. There were too many people whose guts he hated for him to figure it out by himself. 

“Who is it,” Ranmaru growled tiredly. “Just fucking say it.” 

“Does...Hijirikawa ring a bell?” 

It did. Ranmaru fumed in silence for a moment, thinking about the whirlwind of disaster that name was attached to, but also the vague memories of that quiet, serious boy in traditional dress who fretted after him when they were too small to know of things like debts and bankruptcy...

“...Whatever,” Ranmaru muttered. He looked at Reiji’s bed and decided he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of this exhaustion -- he had a reliable neighbor to leave food out for the cats, anyway, what was a couple more hours? “It’s not really much of a fanclub if it’s just the three of us. He can join if he wants. It’ll give you ‘n Natsuki someone who’s better at responding to your crazy nightlong gushing than me.” He tossed the dakimakura on Reiji’s bed, dented in the middle from so much hugging, to him, before he shrugged closer into his staff tour hoodie and slumped into Reiji’s bed. 

He could practically see Reiji stammering, even as he turned away and settled into the comfort of eyes closed and a real bed. Clearly, that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and it wasn’t the one Ranmaru was expecting to give, either. 

“-- R...Ranran, you really--” 

“Yes! What the fuck wasn’t clear about what I said! Masato can join! Go add him already! Just let me sleep, you noisy bastard!” Ranmaru barked one last time at Reiji. 

Ranmaru ignored whatever last jabbering Reiji had for him, already carried off to proper sleep. He wondered what he could possibly dream about that would rival the past week and this satisfying feeling, cradled in his new hoodie.  

(I perform semi-professionally -- not as an idol, mind, but I’m still getting up on a stage/camera to entertain people on the reg -- and it was so weird but also really......doki-inspiring, let’s say, to imagine Ranmaru being a fan of my stage bravado :’’’’’D To be honest I’ve been feeling a little discouraged and burnt out by it lately but this really refilled my tanks!!!) 

[brisfanfictions]

Chapter One: Meeting Yugi and the Gang [Seto Kaiba]

"Ashy-boo!" Rosalie, or Rose, cooed. Gently shaking her brother awake. "It's time for school."

"Five more minutes, sis," Ashworth, or Ash, mumbled. Burying his head further into the pillow.

"Get up now or I WILL use the ice water," she said. Then pushed him out of the futon with a tiny giggle.

He landed with a soft 'thud' on the floor. As quickly as he fell, he got right back up.

"What was that for, Rose?!" He yelled. Clearly he was extremely annoyed. A natural reaction from him.

She gave him the most innocent smile. Time was good to her. Her baby fat was gone, not a pimple in sight, and she had her own confidence. She wore her own style and never cared about what people say about her.

"I did nothing of that sort," she responded, fighting hard to keep the smirk off her face.

"You pushed me out of our bed!" He yelled, sulking slightly.

"It was the only way to keep our bed from getting wet," she pointed out before going into the kitchen to make breakfast. "Omelets, bacon, and sausage sound good?" She asked him from the kitchen.

"Alright!" He said, going for the bathroom. "Green peppers, onions, and bacon in my omelet, please?"

She did his request without a word of protest.

When he got out of the shower, and she was done cooking breakfast, she set his paper plate and plastic fork at his spot on the dining room table.

"Bon appetit!" She told , when he came into the dining room.

He was wearing his school uniform. Which was a red shirt and pants. His collar was buttoned up all the way, like it's supposed to be. And his collar is white.

"You look so cute!" She gushed, walking over to him. Then gave him a big hug.

His face looked like his uniform. "Sh-shut up," he mumbled, wiggling out of her arms.

"Eat your breakfast while I change into my uniform," she instructed, heading for the bathroom. For she had already ate.

He began to eat his omelet and drink his orange juice. After he was done, he threw his trash in the garbage.

One she was done changing, she scowled at her reflection.

Eventually she left the bathroom, grabbing her backpack on the way. She has to wear a big pink bow on her neck, a pink blouse, and a blue skirt. A SHORT skirt, too.

"Ready, bro?" She asked, grabbing her house keys. There was only one key and she only lets him have them when he's planning on coming home late.

"Yep" was his reply, doing the same. Except minus picking up the key.

She took his hand, kissing his forehead, in a motherly way, and left the apartment, with him in tow. Looking the door before they headed out. For their new schools, Domino Middle (Ash) and High (Rose).

After dropping her brother off, she began to walk down the street.

A block away, she thought, giggling. Totally loving the school!

"Hey!" cried a young man's voice behind. He sounded like he's from Brooklyn, New York.

She turned around to face a shaggy, dirty blond-haired boy. Whom had hazel eyes, as well.

"You new?" He asked, grinning at her. "Domino High?"

"I am, actually," she said, still curious.

"I'm Joey," he said, a bit flirtatiously. "Joey Wheeler."

She smiled, ignoring the come ons, and held out her hand for him. "I am Rosalie," she answered, giggling. "Most people call me Rose, though."

Joey took her hand and kissed her knuckled. "Pleased to meet ya."

She rolled her eyes, walking next to him. "What's the school like?" She asked.

"Annoyin' staff membas and classmates," he responded, laughing at the end. "But my friends aren't annoyin'. Moneybags thinks othawise."

"Who's 'moneybags'?" She asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"Seto Kaiba," he answered, looking up. Spotting a black tinted limo outside the school gates, he began to snarl. "Speak of da devil..."

She looked confused but, nonetheless, watched the driver open up the back door.

Out came a brunet haired boy. She couldn't see what he looked like.

Until he turned in their direction, icy blue eyes on Joey.

He's gorgeous. She thought, her breath escaping her lungs. But why is he angry?

"I see you finally found a bitch (A/N: He meant a female dog)," the brunet said, smirking.

"I'm not a damn mutt," Joey said, while Rose responded "I'm not anyone's bitch!"

After she said that, she walked up to the brunet and punched him in the jaw. Using as much force as she can.

"What you get for calling an innocent girl a bitch," she remarked, smirking.

The brunet was on the ground, trying to recover from the shock. He was holding his jaw, looking up at the new girl.

She shot him a cold glare, flipping her hair over her shoulder while she walked through the gate.

Joey was smirking at Seto. "She's amazing!" He cried, raising his hands in the air. Then followed her.

Rose had a big smirk on her face when Joey finally caught up with her.

"That was AWESOME!" He cried again, looking at her with bright, excited eyes.

"He deserved it," she said. "He had no right to call me a 'bitch.' When I did nothing to that motherfucker."

Seto was still on the ground, in complete shock. "I can't believe that she did that," he whispered. "That peasant punched me..."

Then the bell rang. He quickly stood up and ran to his home room.

Rose was sitting next to Seto's seat, staring out the window.

When Seto was nearing the room, he slowed down and fixed his uniform. He collected himself before opening the door.

"Glad you could make it, Mr. Kaiba," Mr. Watts said, marking him tardy on the seating chart.

When the brunet passed by the substitute, he handed the student a detention slip.

"So, class," Mr. Watts said, looking at the seating chart. "We have a new student today. Ms. Watson?" His hand was pointed in Rose's direction. "Please come up and introduce yourself."

Rose, ignoring Seto's gawking, stood up gracefully with a smile and headed for the front of the room. Standing in front of the class, she bowed. "I'm Rosalie Ashlen Watson," she said. "I would rather be called 'Rose.' And I would be happy to answer any question for the next -" she glanced at her watch, "- five minutes."

A bunch of hands shot up in the air.

Rose picked one kid with jet black hair and red eyes. "Are you single?" He asked.

"Yes" came her response.

"Do you have any siblings?" "A little brother."

"What's his name?" "Ashworth."

"How old are you?" "Sixteen."

"Didn't you like your old school?" "Sure."

"Why did you move?" "Long story."

"Do you have time to tell it?"

"Meet me outside by the sakura tree and I might tell it."

"What're your hobbies?" "Reading, writing, drawing, and playing music."

"Where -" The next girl was going to ask when Rose interrupted her.

"Sorry," she smiled apologetically to the class. "The five minutes are up." She went back to her seat, ignoring Seto's stares, again.

She wasn't afraid to tell everyone about herself. Seto thought, quite curious about her. She has a nice personality. Tall, but not as tall as me. Confident in herself. Nice because she didn't mind opening herself up to complete strangers. Then he caught himself. What am I thinking!? I could not possibly be falling for this chick! The chick who punched me in the jaw! Scoffing to himself, he shut his brain down and focused on his school work. All thoughts of Rose flew out the window.

Rose was paying attention but was staring out the window. Staring out at the beautiful scenery. Her eyes lit up at the idea, turning to her backpack to take out her sketch pad to capture the landscape outside.

Mr. Watts didn't know that she was drawing. He was just doing the lesson that the original teacher left.

Seto, however, was watching Rose draw. He watched her hand move, very carefully, to make the perfect strokes.

Eventually, she stopped and turned to him. Very angrily.

"What do you want, Mr. Kaiba?" She hissed, wanting him to stop the stares. Then continued to draw.

"You're a good artist, Rose," he whispered.

"You, sir," she said, stopping her artwork and looked at him dead in the eyes. "May call me 'Watson.' Just like I'll call you 'Kaiba'."

Seto huffed in annoyance. "I'll call you whatever I want to call you."

She rose her hand for the teacher.

Mt. Watts turned around, calling on her. "Yes, Ms. Watson?" He asked.

"May I be excused to go to the restroom?" She asked, giving the sub a sweet and innocent smile.

"Of course," he said. Quite easily falling for her charm.

She, again, stood up with grace and elegance. "Thank you," she said, politely.

Walking past the teacher and grabbed the bathroom pass before she left.

She did her thing, handing the pass back to the teacher. Giving him a kind smile, she went back to her seat.

Then continued to draw.

When the bell rang, Joey was right by her side. "Let's go outside," her suggested. "We can eat by the the trees and I can introduce you to my friends."

"Maybe she wants to hang out with meet, mutt," Seto piped up. Not knowing what compelled him to say something like that. But he's not going to back down from the challenge. The challenge to winning her over.

Rose shot a glare in his direction. "And maybe I don't want to," she hissed. "I don't like to hang around rich, spoiled, assholes. "She grabbed her stuff, leaving the building with Joey leading the way to his friends. She met Atem, Yugi, Tristan, Tea, Duke, Bakura, and Ryou. They happily accepted her into the group, although a few were flirting with her. She just dodged them.

Seto watched her for a few minutes. Wanting to see how she interacted with the "geek squad," as he called them. She was genuinely happy with her new friends. Goofing off, hitting one of the boys for flirting with her (Joey, Tristan, and Duke mostly), and talking about Duel Monsters.

"My favorite card is Neo-Daedalus," she said. Then did something amazing. She took out her deck, laid them on the ground. "Pick one and I'll pick after you."

They all obeyed, picking one card from her deck.

"Everyone picked one?" She asked them.

A chorus of "yeah's" were received.

"My turn." She picked a card out and smiled at them. "Reveal your cards first."

All of them laid their cards on the ground. Bakura had Shark Stickers (ATK 200/ DEF 1000). Ryou and Tristan got A Legendary Ocean (Spell/Field). Tea got Tornado Wall (Continuous Trap). Joey got Mermaid Knight (ATK 1500/ DEF 700). Duke got Drill Barnacle (ATK 300/ DEF 0). Yugi got Star Boy (ATK 550/DEF 500). Atem, or Yami, got Levia-Dragon—Daedalus (ATK 2600/DEF 1500).

"What da/the hell?!" Joey and Bakura screamed.

Ryou slapped Bakura for his language. Which got an "ow" from the former thief.

While Ryou, Tristan, and Tea looked like they had no problem with their cards.

Duke was staring at his card like "Is this thing for real?"

Yugi was staring at his card like it was adorable, even though the monster has one eye.

Atem was proud of himself for picking the strongest monster. "What did you pick?" He asked the blonde. Then a chorus of agreements followed after his question.

She just put her card down when they crowded around her. Her card was Ocean Dragon Lord—Neo-Daedalus (ATK 2900/DEF 1600).

"Wow" came the response of her new friends.

"Dat's one strong monsta," Joey complimented.

"Thanks," she said with a smile. "Want to hear the best part?"

"What's that?" Ryou asked, completely interested.

"I can see monsters," she admitted. Almost sheepishly. "Or, as they call themselves, Duel Spirits."

"What's mine?" Ryou asked.

"Your's Change of Heart," she answered.

"Mine?" Bakura questioned.

"Digibound," was her answer. Then shuddered upon hearing his name.

"What about me?!" Joey excitedly asked.

"Akai," she said. When he gave her a confused look, she elaborated. "Your Red Eyes."

"Oh!" He said. Looking away while he blushed a light pink.

"Mine?!" Yugi and Atem asked at the same time. They looked at each other and laughed.

"Mahaado and Mana," she said, turning to each male when she gave the names. Mana for Yugi and Mahaado for Atem. "The Dark Magician and Dark Magician Girl." She smiled at them both after telling them.

They high-fived each other. While Yugi blushed a light pink.

"Tristan's is Cyber Commander," she continued. "Tea's is Magician of Faith."

The two brunets accepted this with a smile.

Then they began to talk amongst themselves.

Seto stopped listening, to them and began to think.

When the bell rang, everyone got up to head back to class.

Rose was talking to Yugi and Atem, blushing whenever the ex-Pharaoh complimented her.

Seto walked a little ways behind them

Rose waved bye after she was at her locker. Opening it up to switch out her books.

Seto's hand slammed next to her head, smirking at her. "Are you trying to make me jealous?" He huskily said in her ear.

She turned around, looking not amused. "Are you trying to piss me off?" She countered.

He was a bit shocked, he never showed it. "No," he said, truthfully.

"Then fuck off," was her response as she pushed him to shut her locker. Walking a bit away before turning toward him. "You need an attitude adjustment. Then try your luck with me."

Seto was shocked to hear this, clearly showing it because she was smirking.

"Good luck," she answered as she walked into the room.

==========

Previously

Next

[wirewitchviolet]

Hate Mobs Gotta Go

Last night, I did something I have never expected to do, and just full on gave up on a fun RPG writing assignment. Which I had to do because I hit a point where it was so overdue and unfinished that I was falling asleep sitting up and stress vomiting and other such things. There’s a whole lot of factors behind that. Other health issues, the toll of being on total pandemic lockdown for months, with neighbors just straight up open mouth coughing at my door, emergencies with friends and family, multiple fires and hardware failures, but the main thing was, and still is, the constant harassment from a militant hate mob, completely out of touch with reality.

Years ago, I remember there was this thing the internet at large was fond of doing with foaming at the mouth far right religious extremists- Mercilessly ridiculing them in public to expose how disconnected everything they said or did was from reality. Remember seeing this one float around and laughing your head off?

And if I mention the Westboro Baptist Church, you immediately picture a single family of raving bigots picketing funerals and such with their big homophobic signs, with a bigger crowd mocking them, right?

For some reason, the modern version of that particular flavor of fringe weirdo doesn’t get that sort of ridicule. Presumably because they’re focusing almost exclusively on trans people, and most people have this weird thing where like if you stick up for trans people you get cooties or something and never dig into the real juicy ridicule fodder. But for real, this stuff is OUT THERE. Just look at a few examples here.

Come for the weird ravings about harvesting baby organs. Stay for the... adult woman who apparently believes breasts get their shape from actually being sacks filled with milk under women’s skin? Now, how about this colorful comparison?

For anyone who wasn’t aware, pronouns are words like “I” “you” “he” “she” “it” and “this,” while rohypnol is colloquially known as “the date rape drug,” so this is utter gibberish. The full context of course is that this person is trying to make the argument that forcing this bigot to refer to women she’s prejudiced against as “she” instead of arbitrarily tossing around “he” or “it” is... raping her brain, I guess?

So... this is pretty clearly some creep’s weird little fantasy. The obvious giveaway is pretending that trans women “aren’t in the correct bathroom” when going to... the correct bathroom, and that the non-existent law about this is somehow enforced by... random bigots opting to deputize themselves. What DOES happen for real though is bigots like this being arrested for barging into public restroom stalls with camcorders aimed at the crotches of women on toilets and trying to defend themselves by insisting they have some duty to check what their genitals look like. On which note...

That’s just disgusting. It’s also as close as I feel comfortable to posting all the graphic fantasies I see from these people about the barbaric genital mutilation they imagine trans women subject ourselves to which really has no basis at all in reality. Well maybe I can post this one.

I’m not going to go through and itemize all the baldfaced lies in that, because I really kinda hope I don’t have to, and also because the person who slapped this together was kind enough to break it up in such a way that I legitimately can say “every single line of this is a completely baseless lie.” Also the art in the corner is stolen from a child-friendly comic whose author is trans, so, that’s extra slimy. Also wow that “bone scans” bit is actually one I’ve never seen. Where the hell do they even get these ideas?

Also this one needs some setup. If you have time, this right here is a freaking journey, if not, I’ll try to summarize.

So a while ago, this one particular unhinged bigot decided the most productive way to spend all her time was to get in touch with a bulk sticker printing business and order thousands if not millions of these weird gross poorly framed slabs with a really crude drawing of a penis and bunch of gibberish she really wishes were the names of popular twitter hashtags that nobody else but her ever uses. And then after receiving these, just... wandering around the city she lives in all day every day plastering them on phone booths and power poles and the mirrors of bathrooms in like.. elementary schools and park benches, just everywhere. And then makes multiple passes a day apparently to make sure nobody has tried to remove any of them, as detailed in this amazing thread I’ll link again.

So the latest break in that particular saga is that same zealot going around plastering stickers like this around too, to make it seem like “both sides do it.”

It should be obvious that that’s a “blacks rule!” sort of fake between the baffling text and using the extra inclusive, particular emphasis on supporting people of color, general purpose LGBT+ flag, but also, like their fellows on 4chan, they plan this sort of “false flag” crap in broad daylight:

I should really properly credit the whistle-blowing on that particular oddity, and I should also note that aside from the breast milk sacks, this is all just stuff I saw TODAY catching up on my twitter feed, but my main point with all this is to illustrate that we really are dealing with Jack Chick/Westboro Baptist-level unhinged zealotry... but again, nobody’s out there pointing and laughing. And it turns out, when you don’t have people pointing and laughing at this sort of thing, you get people taking it seriously. So... when I went to quickly search for a news story to link with the bit about creeps barging in on women with cameras, the results I got were... this.

That... sure is a lot of stories about totally innocent people in a demographic I belong to being murdered by total strangers goaded into blind murderous hatred by the sort of people I’m pointing and laughing at! Ha ha! There’s a very real chance of that happening to me every time I step outside, for any reason! Tee hee! I live in a state of constant fear! Whoopsie!

And it’s not just stuff like that. The people posting these rambling tirades about “breast milk sack implants” and putting crude penis stickers everywhere, never being called out as the unhinged weirdos they are, either have the world turning a blind eye to all this crap, or have everything they do downplayed in the media to the point where outright sexual harassment, doxing, and slurs I don’t want to repeat get headlines like “so-and-so made comments that some fringe trans activists on the internet deem ‘possibly transphobic’” and that’s AT BEST. More often you get stuff like the one incident I managed to bring a lot of public attention to way back when, where some bigot just literally walked up to someone on the street, grabbed them, savagely beat the hell out of them until pulled apart, had friends film the whole thing, and bragged after the fact about it, and every story that appeared as a result claimed the assailant was the victim, because they were all written by her friends.

Face obscuring provided by me here, by the way.

And that isn’t a one-off incident. Because, see, most of these unhinged weirdos spewing out all this transphobic gibberish are not, as you would think, a bunch of barely educated Trump hat wearing members of some fringe religious congregation. They’re editors and producers in major British news outlets. This isn’t me shouting conspiracy nonsense either, this is well-documented. Like, The Guardian gets public internal protests over this crap. So does the BBC. Yes, other respected news sites cover this. Media watchdog groups do their best to reign this in with hearings and such, but, don’t actually have any power to enforce anything really. So when there’s “reporting” on this crap, it’s coming directly from the “breast milk sack implant” people. Oh and here’s some screenshots of the headlines of those stories you’re too lazy to click through and actually read:

And of course, sometimes when they want to really come across as respectful, they try to find “scientists” and “doctors” who back up their ravings but all they have to fall back on are disgraced quacks who spend most of their time on activism work to normalize pedophilia.

I’m not bringing that point about Cantor up to discredit his writings about trans people by the way. He doesn’t really HAVE any writings about trans people. He just pasted the names of a bunch of random studies from the 70s about whether playing with barbies makes you gay into his blog a few years back and this crowd was so desperate for validation they declared him an “expert in the field” and started passing out links to his.... pro-pedophila blog. Which is part of this whole pattern, but I’ve written about that before. Oh and the governments of multiple countries manage to treat all these people as “experts” and make policy decisions based on their ravings. That’s fun.

Anyway, aside from encouraging random people to, you know, just randomly murder anyone they see who looks like maybe a trans woman, every so often this weird little cult pulls in an actual celebrity who then has a public meltdown as they post all this gibberish to a wider audience. Currently this is going on with Harry Potter author J.K. Rowling (who’s actively promoting the pedophile guy up there on Twitter), and I think also William Shatner, but I haven’t really looked into it. The last big one though was Graham Linehan. Who you might remember from co-writing some sitcoms that were popular decades ago in Britain, or from being the weird cartoon villain who tried to kill the funding of a children’s charity, prompting this strange pledge drive marathon of Donkey Kong Country.

You might also know him as one of... I think honestly just two people who have ever managed to be such out of control stalking hate mongers that they were actually given a permanent no possible appeal ban from Twitter. Personally though I know him more as, you know, that one absolute creep who’s been obsessively stalking me for like 5 years and never shutting up about his weird personal obsession with me.

I WOULD link the recent freaking filmed interview he did where he spent forever rambling about me, but I’d have to actually watch it to confirm I had the right link, and also the only place I could quickly find a link to it would be on his twitter feed, which as stated, no longer exists. Oh and random side note there, despite being personally, by name, the person he was explicitly targeting all his hateful ramblings at, he wasn’t banned from that site for any of the disgusting stuff he said to me. He just slipped up and mentioned a cis woman with a professorship while shouting about this crap recently and that caused people to actually take action. I do so love being invisible.

Anyway, point is, prior to Rowling grabbing the baton from him as his social media presence went up in flames, this guy was name-dropping me a LOT. Presumably he still is, just in places fewer people see it. And when you have as big an audience as he did, and that audience is as full of hatemongers as his was, that has a pretty noticeable effect. I’ve been deluged with so much hateful garbage for so long it’s impossible for me to put any numbers on it. The closest I can do to quantify it is note that hate dump was big enough that I was also flooded with more weird messages intended as support from total strangers than I could deal with, totally losing access to social media feeds and my e-mail from the volume for a good bit, and THAT flood was big enough that I got this whole second wave of creepy stalkers who’d built up this whole weird fanon where this stalker here is like, someone I used to date or be business partners with and not just some creepy dude like twice my age stalking me over the internet, from a completely different hemisphere.

And I mean... in the broadest of strokes, I can kinda laugh all this off. Because... these people are completely ridiculous, out of touch with reality, and mostly live in other countries. But... all the threats and shouting are very real and very constant and like.. picture someone outside on the street shouting at your windows about how they’re going to break in and kill you. You really can’t ignore that. Even if they’re unarmed, and all they’re really capable of doing is shouting and pounding on your door, you can’t really just ignore that shouting and pounding and just watch a movie or play a game or write this article you promised would be done 3 months ago. You can certainly try, but a pretty big part of your brain is going to be occupied with thoughts about how maybe you should call someone to see if they’ll escort this violent person away, or maybe you should barricade your door in case all that pounding does something.

And I mean this isn’t a bad metaphor for how all the constant threats and stalking I’m dealing with thanks to celebrity bigots personally obsessed with me impacts my life, but it also does a pretty good job of describing how my night went pretty recently when I ACTUALLY DID HAVE SOMEONE POUNDING ON MY ACTUAL REAL PHYSICAL DOOR SHOUTING ABOUT STABBING ME TO DEATH, and no, there was no resolution to that beyond the sound of sirens causing that person to back off.

I also had an experience not too long ago where I was supposed to take a cab to a routine appointment, a car showed up with the cab company’s name on it, somewhat early, and proceeded to drive me... out to the middle of the freaking woods like an hour from where I live, and when my phone rang with my actual cab asking where I was the driver freaked out, had me get out of the car, and took off leaving me just... stuck in the middle of nowhere freezing to death and trying to find a landmark an actual cab could pick me up from. Still don’t know what the hell that whole thing was about and whether a cab driver just REALLY didn’t know what he was doing and panicked or what, but I do know that talking about it publicly in the vaguest of terms lead to a bunch of unhinged shouting from... apparently some unconnected ride share driver with a habit of dumping trans women between stops when they try to get medications or something, convinced I was calling him out for that.

So.... yeah. Things aren’t exactly going great in my neck of the woods. I’d really appreciate it if people would properly treat these unhinged violent weirdos like unhinged violent weirdos and not respectable members of society so they quit getting so bold and public with the violent stuff, and people who listen to them get properly shouted down for doing so.

[gwenbrightly]

Flying for Dummies

This oneshot was actually written for one of the fanzines, and I have been waiting months to be able to share it with you! I hope you enjoy “Flying for Dummies”, which is set before the season 1 episode titled The Snake King!

“Got any…. 4’s?” Lloyd asked, boredom tinging his voice. There wasn’t a whole lot to be done on the Bounty currently (the others were off on a mission, and his uncle was off doing… something), and this was far from exciting. Nya scanned the stack of playing cards she was holding. He waited impatiently.  

“Nope. Go fish.” the boy gave a long-suffering sigh and plucked a card from the middle (because convenience was for losers) of the pile. 

“Okay, my turn,” stated Nya, sounding only slightly more enthusiastic than Lloyd, “Got any 7’s?” he eyed his dwindling supply of cards dejectedly, but ultimately handed over several.  

“What about…. 3’s? I’m pretty sure you have at least 2 of them.” She speculated, watching his expression change from mere boredom to annoyance. Tossing her the last of his cards, Lloyd complained, 

“Aw… Come on…. how did you know?” he pointed at her impressive collection of matches and continued.

“You gotta be cheating… no one’s that good at Go Fish…” The teen shrugged.  

“Your face told me everything I needed to know, Lloyd. I’m not cheating, I promise. Just better at focusing.” the boy didn’t look like he believed her. 

“You wanna play another round, or?” she inquired, not really thrilled with the idea herself. Lloyd shook his head vigorously. 

“No… Please no. Isn’t there anything else we can do?” he begged. Nya frowned for a moment, thinking. 

“We could… play Candy-land?” 

“Nope”  

“Draw a picture?” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“…Start a load of laundry?” Lloyd stared at the teen as though she were crazy, complaining, 

“You actually think I’d do that willingly so soon after the pink gi incident? It took me hours to get the color out…”  

“Hm…” The floorboards creaked as the flying ship shifted positions slightly. The movement sparked an idea in Nya’s brain.  

“I know! Come with me!” she cried, shooting up from her chair. 

“Huh? But where are we going?” he called after her, confused. 

“The bridge, of course. It’s time you learned how to steer the Bounty!” 

__________________________________________________________________

“This is gonna be so cool!” Lloyd exclaimed, skipping excitedly into the control room, “You can teach me how to fire the cannons, and do loop de loops, and all sorts of other cool flying tricks!” 

“Woah, hold your horses, there! Don’t you think maybe we should start with something, I dunno, a little simpler? I’d rather not get ourselves killed today if it’s all the same to you…” Nya asked, swatting his hands away from the steering wheel before he could give it a good spin. 

“Oh… okay,” the boy replied. Bouncing on the balls of his feet, he made a show of reigning in his excitement. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

“Maybe the basics? Like what the different buttons do, so you actually know the difference between the light switch and the fire alarm and don’t wake up the entire ship at 3 AM?” she suggested. 

“C’mon Nya, no one’s that dumb,” Lloyd protested with another eye roll.  

“Well, actually…” 

“Wait – seriously?” 

“It was dark, Sis, how was I supposed to know that the fire alarm looks exactly like the light switch?!” Nya said in her very best Kai voice. He considered this explanation for a moment.  

“Y’know, on second thought, I’m not surprised by that at all,” the boy decided. She bit back a laugh.  

“Yeah. He can be… a little overzealous at times…” 

“You sure you don’t mean clueless?” 

“Well yeah, that too. But anyway, wouldn’t you rather be learning about the Bounty?” deflected Nya, not wanting to give Lloyd more excuses to annoy Kai. He was becoming quite good at it already.  

“Definitely. We can talk about Kai’s dorkiness anytime,” he agreed. 

“Okay, so. Most stuff is labeled with glow in the dark stickers, now, but I’ll still show you the most important ones,” she began, pointing to buttons and explaining what they did. When Nya reached a smallish button near a microphone, she told him,  

“This is the intercom. You can use it to contact people anywhere on the ship, though sometimes I like to use it to mess with the guys. Wanna try it out?” 

“Oh, um. Sure?” Lloyd’s eyes widened. 

“Here,” Nya handed him the microphone, “You just press down on the button and start talking.” 

“Good afternoon, passengers. This is your captain speaking. We’re in for a bit of a bumpy ride, since a group of Serpentine are headed our way! Better take cover, folks!” He cried, deepening his voice for dramatic effect. 

“Serpentine?! Oh no!” she chimed in, pretending to go faint, “This is the worst possible thing that could happen!” 

“Don’t worry, Admiral Nya! I’ll fly us to safety!” Lloyd assured her, patting her shoulder a bit harder than necessary, “Er… how… how do I do that?” letting out a giggle at his temporary break in character, Nya took charge. 

“Well, first you gotta disable the anchor, or we won’t be able to go anywhere,” she told him. 

“Oh, right. And uh, how would I do that?” 

 “The big lever to your right.” Instructed the raven haired teen. 

He pushed it as far back as it would go. A loud grinding noise could be heard as the anchor was raised.  

“Good,” she encouraged, “I think you might be ready for some basic steering lessons now.” 

“Awesome!” Lloyd breathed, hardly believing his luck.  

“Just try not to crash, okay?” Nya reminded him. He smirked at her, the picture of innocence.  

“Sure thing!” 

“Okaaay. So. First of all, you have to turn on the thruster – that’s kinda like a car’s gas pedal, it’s what makes the Bounty move without relying on the wind currents.”  

“The thrusters make the Bounty go, got it,” he confirmed. 

“Yep, and then we have the steering wheel, which is pretty self-explanatory-” 

The big screen in front of them flashed with a notification about an incoming message, interrupting Nya’s train of thought.  

“That must be the boys wanting us to come pick them up. Sorry, Lloyd, looks like we’re gonna have to cut your flying lessons short for the day…” she stated apologetically. 

“Not necessarily,” Lloyd said, a concerningly devious look on his face, “You… you could always let me steer on the way there?” 

Nya frowned, apprehensive.  

“I dunno, Lloyd… when I said basic steering lessons, I was thinking of a quick circle around the nearest field, not flying all the way to Jamanakai Village…”  

“Pleeaaase, Nya? I promise I’ll be extra super careful and listen to everything you say...” the boy begged. She weighed her options carefully.  

“Well...” 

____________________________________________________________________

When Kai, Jay, Cole, and Zane climbed up onto the deck of the Destiny’s Bounty, like they had many times before, they were surprised to find Nya, rather than their blonde gremlin of a charge, cheerfully waiting to greet them. It took them longer than it should’ve to realize exactly what was wrong with this picture. But then it hit them.  

“Nya? I want you to think about this very carefully… If you’re out here… who’s steering?!” Kai asked slowly, afraid to hear the answer.  

“Lloyd. Who else?” his sister replied nonchalantly.  

“What?!” Jay shrieked. The looks on their faces were priceless.  

“He’s actually a pretty good pilot. He can even tell the difference between the fire alarm and the light switch.”