#the time line seems a little wonky on that front

[problemswithbooks]

Is Cat a Kind of Inntinnsic?

The answer, the one I'm sure the author would give, would be no. The story in no way treats Cat's Gift as an Inntinnsic ability. Violet and particularly Xaden don't act as if what she does is at all similar to what an Inntinnsic does.

But I'd argue it has to be in order for it to work.

Because everything is first person from Violet's PoV or a rare chapter from Xaden, I sort of doubt the author really sat down and thought of how certain characters powers would work. If she did, i think she'd have realized Cat's Gift would function similarly to Xaden's second signet.

Cat can manipulate emotions. We're told she can't force someone to feel something they don't, but instead amplify what they do feel. On the surface that doesn't seem anything like an Inntinnsic ability. Where things become more complicated is how she uses that power.

If Cat can't implant an emotion, then she has to know what emotions the person is feeling. Sure, she could just be throwing her ability at people and seeing what sticks, or it could work in broad strokes; emotions overlap, so maybe any negative emotion can be made increasingly worse, while a good one amplified into pure elation.

I'd argue though that her power doesn't seem that broad, instead being pretty focused. Violet was easy to read so it wouldn't even have been hard to read that she hated Cat, and Cat threw out insults during their fight to make sure Violet is more susceptible to her Gift.

But the Venin she goes after at the end of the book wasn't as easy a read. She doesn't know this Venin. She's bragging and boastful, but whose to say that's greed and not pride? Or even done as a way to taunt Violet and make her more afraid?

Yet Cat manipulates the Venin without much difficulty, seeming to know exactly what emotions she's feeling without any trouble.

There's also the issue where people are generally feeling more then one emotion at a time. Violet is always in love with Xaden, but she can also be annoyed with him. Emotions aren't something that are felt one at a time--so how does Cat pick which one to manipulate without knowing instinctively what they're feeling?

I think it's very likely that Cat can either sense what people are feeling, or even see it (I'm thinking sort of like auras) and from there use her power to exaggerate which ever one she wants. It just makes the most sense.

But if that is the case, similar to how Xaden can read people's impulses and intentions, Cat could read their emotions. Now, that's not exactly mind reading, but Xaden's power isn't strictly reading minds either, yet he count's as an inntinnsic. To me what seems to make someone Inntinnsic is that they have no outward tell or rule for using their powers--they can just do it.

Dain isn't an inntinnsic because he requires touch to activate his memory seeing. As long as he does not touch you, you are safe from his ability.

Meanwhile, what makes inntinnsics such a security risk, is that they can activate their signet at anytime without anyone's knowledge. Xaden seems to be using his second signet constantly to read everyone, and no one has ever picked up on it at all.

In a way Cat's Gift seems to be similar in that she can use it without a hard and fast rule. She can just do it. If it works by letting her sense people's emotions, she could be constantly reading people Xaden does, but instead for intent, it's for their emotional state.

Does that not make her power Inntinnsic? Or at least Inntinnsic adjacent?

[nhlclover]

𝐏𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐎 | 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐒

— cozytober masterlist !

summary: as you and quinn have a little pumpkin carving contest, a hidden talent of his emerges.

warnings: quinn being a bully (kidding but also not), halloween fluff!

word count: 1.59k

notes: fic number three of cozytober! also making it a headcanon that quinn would actually be a secretly elite pumpkin carver.

The sun was just beginning to set as you and Quinn stepped through the rows of pumpkins, your uggs crunching on the hay-strewn path. The air was crisp with that signature fall chill, and the scent of autumn leaves filled your senses. You loved this time of year—the cozy sweaters, the pumpkin-flavored everything, and, of course, the Halloween traditions. But what made it even better was doing it all with Quinn. It was your first fall that you were spending with Quinn and you were elated to do fall-themed coupley stuff with him.

Rows upon rows of bright orange pumpkins stretched out in front of you. Quinn’s hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his breath coming out in little white clouds.

“Think this one has potential?” you ask, nudging a round, medium-sized pumpkin with your boot.

“It’s… okay,” Quinn says, you snorting at his pickiness around pumpkins. “It’s a perfectly average pumpkin.”

“Alright, buddy,” you say, rolling your eyes and picking the pumpkin off the ground. “I’m taking it.”

You continue on, stepping over rogue vines, while Quinn scans the patch for the perfect pumpkin. Finally, Quinn picks one—big, smooth, and almost annoyingly perfect. Of course, he would. Meanwhile, yours is a little less flawless, but it has character, you tell yourself. It’s smaller, but round with just the right amount of wonky.

Once back at your place, you both set up at the kitchen table, spreading out newspapers and pulling out carving tools. Quinn insists that you carve in secret—“so we can do a big reveal at the end,” he says, waggling his eyebrows like this is some high-stakes challenge. You agree, slightly amused by how into this he’s getting.

The kitchen is filled with the sound of scraping, slicing, and your occasional grunt of frustration as you work on your pumpkin. The strong scent of pumpkin guts filled the air as the two of you worked side by side, throwing the seeds and pulp into a bowl. Every now and then, Quinn would glance over at you, trying to sneak a peek at your progress.

“Hey! No peeking at my masterpiece,” you scolded, pointing your spoon at him.

Quinn held his hands up in surrender, a smirk on his lips. “Alright, alright, sorry. I’ll wait.”

You go for one of those basic patterns—the triangle eyes, a jagged smile. It was simple, but you figured it was foolproof. Quinn, on the other hand, seemed focused, too focused, as he meticulously worked on his pumpkin. His brow was furrowed in concentration, tongue poking out slightly in the way it did when he was deep in a thought.

“Almost done over there?” Quinn calls from his side of the table, sounding suspiciously confident.

“Almost,” you lie, frantically trying to smooth out the jagged lines that seem to get worse the more you touch them.

After what feels like forever, Quinn finally announces, “Alright, the moment of truth. Ready?”

You hesitate, glancing down at your pumpkin. It’s…well, it’s not your best work. The eyes are uneven, the smile is crooked, and the whole thing is more ‘lumpy blob’ than ‘spooky jack-o-lantern.’ “How about you go first.” you suggest, hoping that Quinn’s carving will make you feel better about your own.

Quinn turned his pumpkin around with a dramatic flourish. And you froze.

“Oh my god,”

Quinn has somehow carved an intricate scene—Jack Skellington and Sally, perfectly etched into the smooth orange skin of his pumpkin. The detail is incredible, down to the stitching on Sally’s dress and the eerie grin on Jack’s face. It’s from your favorite movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas.

“How did you—?” you stammer, still staring at it in disbelief.

Quinn rubs the back of his neck, looking oddly proud of himself. “I know it’s your favorite, so I figured I’d give it a shot.”

Your heart squeezes. He knew. He remembered. “It’s amazing,” you say softly, still staring at the pumpkin like it’s a masterpiece in a gallery. “Seriously, Quinn, this is…it’s perfect.”

He grins, his usual cocky confidence flickering in his eyes. “Yeah? You like it?”

“Like it? I love it.”

But then you glance down at your pumpkin — your sad, lopsided creation — and suddenly feel a wave of embarrassment. Compared to Quinn’s masterpiece, yours looks like it was carved by a five-year-old.

“Alright, your turn.” Quinn says, urging you to turn around your pumpkin to display your artwork.

“Nah, that’s okay, I think this one ought to go in the compost.” you joke, picking it up and turning to take it out to the bins.

“Hey, hey, no backing out now,” he says, pulling you back to him. “Let’s see it.”

You sigh, placing it back on the table and reluctantly turning it to face Quinn. You hold your breath, bracing for the teasing you know is bound to happen.

To his credit, Quinn tries. He really does. He looks at your pumpkin, his lips twitching as he fights the urge to laugh. You see it in his eyes, the struggle to hold back, but after a second, he just can’t help it and he bursts out laughing.

You cross your arms, fighting a smile. “You’re mean”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Quinn says between laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “It’s cute! It’s, uh—” he pauses, still chuckling. “It’s unique. Yeah, that’s the word.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but you can’t help but laugh too. “Yeah, ‘unique.’ That’s what people say when they don’t want to say it’s bad.”

He steps around the table and nudges you with his elbow, his laughter fading into a softer smile. “Hey, I’m serious. It’s cute. I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to carve, like, Michelangelo or anything.”

“Gee thanks, I’m glad you kept your expectations low for me,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, hey,” Quinn says in a soft tone, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your torso. “It’s actually really cute… in a kind of dopey way.”

You snort, pushing out of your boyfriend's grasp, going back to Quinn’s pumpkin that you can’t help but admire. “Whatever, at least we have a cute pumpkin to display.”

“Yeah… you know I think I’ve found my true calling.” Quinn joked.

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Pro pumpkin carver instead of pro hockey player? Bold career shift,” you quipped, crossing your arms and giving him a playful look.

Quinn shrugged dramatically, eyes twinkling. “The heart wants what it wants, babe. Sure, scoring goals is fun, but nothing beats the thrill of carving cartoon characters into a gourd.”

You burst out laughing, the sound filling the cozy kitchen. “Right, because that's totally the dream: trading in ice skates for carving tools.”

He stepped closer, slipping his arms around your waist again, pulling you into him with a smirk. “Hey, don’t underestimate me. Maybe I could be the first dual-career athlete and pumpkin carving champion.”

You couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across your face. “I can see it now—‘Quinn Hughes: NHL star by day, pumpkin Picasso by night.’”

“Now that is a title I could get behind,” he said, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His playful grin softened as his lips lingered for a moment. "But really, this was a good night. You’re a pretty great carving partner, you know?”

You smiled up at him, warmth spreading through you as you rested your hands on his chest. “I’d say the same about you, but I think you might have stolen the spotlight.”

Quinn chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “How about we light these suckers up and see how they look in the dark?”

You grab the package of tea lights that you’d purchased from the Dollar Store earlier that day, placing them in the middle of your pumpkins and lighting them, before flicking off the kitchen lights. The small flame illuminates the inside of your pumpkins, fully showing off the designs.

“How does it look worse in the dark?” you groan, Quinn chuckling softly.

“I think it has… a rustic charm. Like, it’s so bad, it’s good.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow. “You’re terrible. But fine, it can stay.” You step back, admiring his intricate carving of Jack and Sally, illuminated now in a way that makes it feel almost magical. The soft candlelight flickers, casting shadows that give Jack’s face a slightly sinister edge while Sally looks hauntingly beautiful.

A thought suddenly pops into your head, and you turn to Quinn, eyes lighting up. “Alright, we have to watch Nightmare Before Christmas now. It’s basically a requirement after this,” you say, gesturing to his pumpkin. “You can’t just carve Jack and Sally and not watch the movie. That’s sacrilegious.”

Quinn grins, stepping closer to you. “You sure you’re not just looking for an excuse to cuddle up and watch your favorite Halloween movie?”

You smirk, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe… but you’re the one who set the mood with this carving, so really, it’s your fault.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls you into a warm embrace. “Alright, alright, I’ll take the blame. But you’re in charge of making popcorn. I’ll go put these on the porch.”

“Deal,” you say, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping out of his arms.

As you head to the kitchen to grab popcorn, you feel a rush of warmth and contentment. This was exactly what you’d imagined—a perfect fall night even if your pumpkin didn’t turn out exactly how you’d hoped.

[remi-harbinger]

I feel like people don’t acknowledge that when lbh fell into the endless abyss at 17, and got out at like. 19. Yes he got really bulked up and miraculously had good fashion sense (black and red cannot go wrong) but what if he became like really cringely emo. 17-19 are still impressionable years imo and if he were stuck with nothing but death, carnage and a crusty old demon he would’ve become like those emo scene kids but way cringier. SQQ meets him again and he’s in so many robes of black that they billow like the inflatable in front of car expos, his hair has been straightened (sqq mourns the curls) and is dramatically swept to one side so that it covers his demon mark and one red eye. All his lines seem to have come out of discord chats - he says Shizun like a discord mod would say kitten. SQQ’s hindbrain knows that he should logically be scared but the largest part of his brain (the hating part) is just laughing so hard and ripping LBH’s outfit and entire personality change to shreds.

LBH notices that SQQ seems to have blue screened, leans closer and says “missed me, shizun?” And SQQ can’t take it anymore all he hears is those cringey discord mod voice lines. To all the HHP disciples it seems like SQQ has snapped. He’s criticising everything from LBH’s hair to the way he walks (now its more like a prowl, seriously you have to stop its embarrassing) When SQQ is finally done and stops to take a breath the entire area is silent. LBH is sobbing like a woman scorned and the HHP disciples are just gaping.

SQQ pats LBH on the head and chirps “It’s nice to see you again though!” And just vanishes. Everyone is convinced that they’re in a fever dream, even SQQ (his logic gets a little wonky sometimes). The next time anyone sees LBH it’s been a week and he now looks like how he looks in canon.

[rumble-aint-a-rumble-without-me]

hello, Dillo! Could I possibly get some headcannons or scenario (whatever you feel like writing) of a very bubbly, sweet, and awkward s/o that just- refuses to acknowledge they like Dally because they believe he'd never in a million years like them back? Like I'm imagining one day they're chilling with Pony and Johnny and they're not being as funny or playful like usual and the boys ask why and they just whisper "I wish I was Dally's type". So could I possibly just have something with Dally's reaction to it all?

if it's too specific or if you just don't feel like it, don't worry! <3

Not Into You

A/N: Hey, hey! This has been a long time coming, and I think it turned out sort of wonky and weird, but I'm kinda happy with it so I hope you are too! Please enjoy!

“They said what?”

Johnny just shrugs and looks over at Ponyboy, shoving a few more fries in his mouth. The plate in front of him is almost empty already, the small pile of ketchup he’d squirted out almost gone too. Ponyboy shrugs too and takes another sip of his coke. They’re both acting way too calm for what they’ve told Dallas.

“I’m serious,” Dally repeats. “They said that? You’re not kiddin’?”

“Why would we lie about that?” Pony runs his finger around the rim of his glass, pushing the straw around as he goes. “Y/N told us they thought you could never like ‘em back because the two of you are so different.”

Dally chews thoughtfully on his own straw and leans a little farther into the corner of the diner booth. Johnny and Ponyboy look unfazed on the other side of the table, the latter doing his best to steal fries off Johnny’s plate without being caught. It doesn’t work and Johnny sends him a small glare. Ponyboy backs off and takes another drink of his soda.

“You’re bein’ serious, right?” Dallas asks again. “Cause if you’re not, I swear, I’ll kill the both of yous.”

Ponyboy rolls his eyes and Dally has half a mind to reach across the table and smack him upside the head. “We told ya we weren’t, alright? They told us yesterday when we were hangin’ out.”

Sighing, Dally stays in his seat and thinks over what to do next. Stark blue eyes trace the lines of the table and the logo on the side of his drink as he weighs his options and works on making up his mind. When he finally does, he stands up with a smug smirk.

“Where are you headin’, Dal?” Johnny asks. He swats at Ponyboy’s hand without looking away from Dallas when Pony’s fingers stray too close to his fries.

“To find Y/N,” he says simply. “I gotta tell ‘em they were wrong.”

He finds them in the lot, kicking around a can that has definitely seen better days. They look smaller than usual. Shoulders drawn in, head down as they mutter softly to themselves. Dally starts to jog a little to cross the street and that’s when they look up. Their eyes find his and they seem to shrink a little more.

“H-hey, Dallas,” they stutter. One corner of their mouth quirks up in a smile that’s all too forced. “What have you been-,”

They’re cut off as the New Yorker reaches out for them, one hand landing on their hip, the other cupping the side of their face as he brings them close together, his lips landing on theirs. Y/N makes a surprised noise into the kiss but doesn’t pull away, so Dally counts that as a win and doesn’t let go. He’s pleasantly surprised himself when he feels their hands rise to the back of his neck, tangling in his hair and keeping him in place.

When they finally break up, they’re both smiling and breathing heavily.

Y/N looks a little lost, eyes wide and confused as they stare at Dallas, so he figures he ought to try and fix that. He leans in again and they meet him halfway and then they’re kissing again in the wide-open lot.

“You gonna explain somethin’ to me now?” Dally asks after pulling back. His thumb smooths over their cheek and Y/N leans into the touch faster than Dally thought they would. “Why in the world did you think I wasn’t gonna like you? And why did you tell Johnny and Ponyboy instead of talkin’ to me?”

Blushing, Y/N looks down at the ground but Dally gently nudges their face back up with a finger under their chin. He raises an eyebrow expectantly and the action gets a small laugh out of them.

“I just thought,” they started quietly, “that you wouldn't like me. We’re so different, y’know? I’m not really the kind of person you usually go out with. I figured you wouldn’t be into me.”

Dally rolls his eyes and pulls them into a hug, tucking their head into his shoulder. He rocks gently and squeezes them tight before dropping a kiss on their hair.

“You ever think about how none of the people I go out with ever stick around? You ever think that maybe since we’re so different we’d do well together?”

“I guess not.”

“We’ll maybe you should’ve, ya idiot,” Dallas chides without any anger or annoyance in his tone. “Maybe then I could’ve taken you out earlier.”

Y/N looks up at him, wide-eyed and shocked. “You wanna take me out? You’re serious?”

“You don’t wanna go out?”

“No! No, I do, it’s just that- you’re serious, you’re not jokin’?”

Rolling his eyes again, Dally leans in to kiss them again, pausing to talk before he connects his lips with theirs. “I’m gonna take you out. Promise. But right now, I’m just gonna kiss you.”

[ughgoaway]

playing on my mind

content warnings: swearing, referring to Matty as tall (look we all lie for plot purposes okay), dilf Matty and rushed writing... i think that's it? word count- 3.3k ish

a/n: woah this was quick but I am nothing if not impulsive!! this is just a one-shot but if y'all want a series I might do one?? idk it depends on how inspired I am lol. but yes this is just my little blurb-thing from yesterday fleshed out into an actual story!! I'm so glad people liked the idea, I hope this doesn't disappoint <333

(I didn't proofread this so I apologise if its utterly shit </3)

“And off you go! If you need your pencils sharpened or help, make sure you raise your hand! I’ll come to see you!” You say to the group of 30 little balls of energy in front of you. 60 eyes looking up at you might seem intimidating to most, but when it's a hyperactive group of 5-year-olds; the fear wears off slightly.

It was family tree week in your classroom, and you had given your little ones the usual task of drawing their family, each set up with pieces of paper and various pencils and pens to create their masterpieces. Seeing them smile and talk about their older sisters and brothers or how much they love their parents always warmed your heart. 

You originally got into teaching with every intention of working with teenagers. You were sure you shouldn't be moulding such young minds - you were never sure your mind was a very good example. But one test week in a year 1 classroom changed your outlook entirely. Seeing the pure, unadulterated joy on a young child's face was something beyond comparison. 

Getting to watch them grow and develop into little people brought you so much happiness that it could never compare to standing in front of a group of grumpy teenagers. Each teen boy clearly trying to get you over to their desk to “flirt” with you, well as much firting as a 15-year-old boy can do.

Seeing a child come out of their shell, make friendships, and discover their passions made your heart warm in a way nothing else did. So as soon as you qualified you jumped at the opportunity to teach these little ones, this class might be your first but you are sure it will always be your favourite.

And of course, despite what every teacher tells you, they have a favourite student. You were adamant when you began that you really wouldn't have a favourite but then little Annie Healy came bounding into your classroom with a mop of curly hair, untamable energy and the cutest slightly wonky smile you've ever seen. 

She very quickly stole your heart, always wanting to tell you stories and going off on tangents rather quickly, organising tea parties but soon getting distracted leaving you at a small table surrounded by teddy bears giving a toast. Her little body seemed to be filled with enough energy to power the world 3 times over, and you couldn't love her anymore. The idea that she would be leaving your class broke your heart every time you thought about it, despite people telling you not to get attached - you did,

You had just settled at your desk after explaining for the 4th time to Zach that sticking pencils up our noses isn't a very good idea. You ended up telling him if he pushed too far, he'd touch his brain, and soon after that, the pencils stayed firmly in his hand rather than up any nose. If any student was the problem child, it was him. You couldn't hate any student, but let's just say he's given you one too many impromptu haircuts this year to be in line for your favourite.

Soon your real favourite student stuck her arm into the air and wiggled it around in an attempt to get you to see her sooner, little Annie Healy was ever impatient- a trait that is only endearing on her. You quickly nodded and started wandering over, trying not to laugh at her large toothy grin back at you.

“Hi sweetheart, do you need some help?” you say, crouching down to her eye level, flashing a sweet smile.

“Hi miss y/n!” she began, her eyes flittering around your face before landing on your hair, and soon, her hands were stroking your head.

“Wow! I like your hair! It's got sparkly clips in it! You know I asked my daddy for some like that, and he said-” you gently placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stop the tangent before it started. You knew she'd somehow end up keeping you there for 20 minutes, giving you a detailed list of all of her Barbie dolls and their jobs if you didn't redirect her quickly enough.

“Thank you, Annie! I saw your arm wiggling in the air earlier. Did you need some help?” her eyes light up as she remembered why she called you over here.

“Oh! Yeah, I want to write what's in my daddy’s hands, but I don't know how to spell it. Will you help me?” she says, bringing her attention back to her drawing and grabbing the black pencil to continue her work. It's the first time you actually looked at her drawing, and to say you were concerned would be an understatement.

Most drawings of family consist of the same basic elements; a mum, a dad, a sun in the corner, and a house that is wildly disproportionate to everything else.

So imagine your surprise when you look down to see 4 men in what seems to be leather jackets, holding various musical instruments, and a very tall dog next to them.

You blink a few times. Just checking what you're seeing is right. The lineup starts with a tall man holding a guitar, next to a slightly shorter man also holding a guitar with a mess of black scribbles on his head. Next up is a very tall man with drumsticks in his hands and a kit behind him, and finally another very tall man with a beard and a bass. The concern briefly melts away as you consider how impressive it is she knows the difference. In the bottom left corner is a black dog with very long legs and a big pink tongue sticking out, the dog was almost as tall as the first man but you're aware kids aren’t known for their skill with proportion.

No one had prepared you for this in teaching school, there was never a lecture about what to do if one of your kids does a mildly troubling family drawing of 4 men in leather jackets and a horse dog. You try to stutter a response to Annie, but no real words are leaving your mouth. Just a jumble of sounds, each one sounding more confused and stressed than the last.

You flash a look at her only to be met with a confused head tilt and sad eyes. Oh god. She thought you hated her drawing. Shit.

Time for damage control.

You make the decision then and there not to ask her about the details of her drawing, desperately trying not to make her cry. 

Maybe you could go and see her mum in the playground? Yes, that's what you'll do. You'll walk her out, have a brief discussion with Mum, and make sure Annie knows her family isn't 4 men in a band and then leave her be. That sounds like the professional thing to do.

You take a deep breath and smile at Annie, and soon her downturned lips flashed that cheesy grin you knew so well. You tighten your hand on her shoulder and grab a pen, ready to help her any way she needs. 

“Do you mean the word ‘guitar’ Annie?” she gives you an excited nod as you continue speaking, “Ah yes, that's a really hard word for even grown-ups to spell. Let's work it out together, hmm?”

With your mind racing you help her sound it out and label her drawing, even stopping to sharpen her black colouring pencil for her- there's a lot of black for young girls drawing but she's committed to an aesthetic, and part of you respects that.

On the walk back to the desk, you begin practising your speech in your head, trying to figure out how to ask why she’s drawing a band as her family without unknowingly offending mum. Maybe she just really likes music?

You run through your memories trying to think of her mentioning a band before, but nothing comes to mind, Annie doesn't even stay on track long enough to talk about her family. Always seeing something shiny and discussing that instead. 

You flick your eyes to her one more time just to see her animatedly talking with another little girl on her table, her hands gesticulating wildly and her curls bouncing as she tells her story.

The sight calms you slightly, seeing the little girl you know so well acting exactly as she should be. You have the fleeting thought that you might be overreacting, but eventually, you collect the drawings to see Annie had dated her work “1975”. Yup, that discussion with her parents was definitely happening.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The bell rings, and you manage to catch Annie just before she runs off into the playground without you, “Hi Annie! I have your drawing from today. Should we show it to mummy and daddy together?” her eyes light up as her curls bounce from her excited nods. 

You walk hand in hand out onto the playground, crouching down you make eye contact with Annie before asking, “Can you point out your mum or dad Annie?”

She nods and begins scanning the playground. You stifle a laugh at the look of concentration on the young girl's face. Her nose is scrunched along with her eyebrows, one hand pulling at a curl by her ear and the other holding yours. Soon, you see her face brighten, and her eyes fill with joy. 

“DADDY!!” is the scream that comes from the little girl as her hand shoots from her head to point to the corner of the playground, she starts dragging you before you even look up but as you do, you feel your heart drop.

As a student teacher, you'd definitely seen some hot dads, but they were still dads. Most were slightly creepy, partially balding, and talked about nothing but golf and their “annoying” wives. You were used to that kind of dad, not exactly this kind.

Standing nonchalantly in the corner of the playground was a tall man. A pile of salt and pepper curls sat on top of his head; untamed but effortlessly and obnoxiously cool. The white t-shirt he was wearing did nothing to hide the patchwork of tattoos that snaked up his arms. The low neck of the top even teased the top of his chest tattoo. Sunglasses sat on his face, they gave him an "I'm too cool" rocker vibe that, for some unknown reason, made you dizzy.

In one hand, he had a lit cigarette, something that was not allowed on school property, but the way his cheeks hollowed as he took a drag had you forgetting that rule completely. He dropped the butt of the cigarette to crush it with his heavy boots before taking a sip of the can of coke that was in his other hand. 

As he noticed you coming over, a dazzling smile broke out on his face. You felt your knees weaken as you tried to brush off how hot he was. 

You then realised you actually had to speak to this man. Fuck. You're not sure you even have a voice currently. If you opened your mouth, you're sure incoherent noises would come out, followed by wild hand motions trying to explain your insane behaviour.

The closer you got, the less you stared at him, feeling too intimidated to keep looking in his direction. This did mean you almost tripped 3 times, but you would rather fall than risk making eye contact with this intimidatingly attractive man.

Annie dropped your hand as you finally reached the man, and she jumped into his arms. He grunted at the force but soon began pressing kisses all over her face, smiling at her uncontrollable giggles.

Quickly, the man noticed your presence and stuck a hand out to introduce himself, “Hi! Sorry about that, you know what it's like when kids miss you. I’m Annie’s dad, Matty.” 

And this is where a normal person would introduce themselves, stick their hand out, and shake Matty’s. Maybe even say their name and start talking, but oh no. Not you. You stood there motionless and just said “Matty” breathlessly to yourself 3 times over.

Time dragged on in the 10 seconds Matty stood there with his hand out. If you weren't aware of how time worked, you would swear you stood there in stilted silence for 10 minutes. 

By some grace of god, little Annie Healy saved you and introduced you, “Daddy. This is Miss y/n. She wanted to come and show you my drawing." 

Matty retracted his hand and pushed the sunglasses that sat on the bridge of his nose up to his mess of curls, just as wayward as his daughters. His deep brown eyes met yours as he tilted his head questioningly at your behaviour. His smile remained wide at you, his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and you felt your heart stutter. A litany of inappropriate thoughts swirling through your mind.

He quickly diverted his attention back to his daughter, “Oh really munchkin? Is your drawing just that amazing? Is Miss y/n going to send it to all the museums?” he said whilst tickling her sides. You smiled at the pair of them watching Annie throw her head back with erratic laughter. 

Finally, you manage to right yourself and begin speaking, “Right. Sorry about that, long day,” you explain, looking apologetically at Matty, who only nodded and tried to hide his widening smile at your flustered state. 

“I'm just here to talk about Annie's drawing,” you pause briefly and look at Annie in her dad's arms. Not wanting to disappoint her, you form a plan in your mind. “Hey Annie, why don't you go practise some hopscotch! I'm just going to have a quick chat with your dad, okay?”

Before you’d even finished your sentence, Annie was wiggling out of her dad's arms and running off.

“She's got endless energy that one hasn't she?” you say wistfully, staring off in the direction she ran, watching her jump around and giggle with some of her friends.

“Ah like father like daughter, I suppose” Matty says, grinning at your clear love for his little girl. He feels his heart warm at your caring eyes. “So what seems to be the issue? I'm sure you're not over here because the Louvre has asked for Annie’s drawing?” 

You laugh at Matty's joke, perhaps a little too hard. Nervous laughter was one of your less attractive traits, but you try to shake it off and have an actual adult conversation with Matty. 

“Ah no, no phone calls from Paris yet,” you begin laughing lightly, you pull out Annie's drawing and pass it over to Matty and start to analyse his reaction as you finish speaking, “I was just coming over to ask why Annie's family portrait is seemingly a band? I wanted to make sure she knows her family isn't 4 tall men in leather jackets and a surprisingly tall horse dog.”

As you finish your sentence, Matty bursts out in hysterical laughter, folding over as his chortling laughter takes over his whole body. Your face scrunches up at his reaction, your eyebrows are pinched, and a small frown overtakes your features. 

Eventually, Matty catches his breath and looks up at you only to realise how strange his reaction appears. His hand shoots up to your arm and begins to stroke it lightly as he attempts to explain himself.

Each featherlight stroke of his fingers made your breath hitch. You felt your eyes fogging over, and your ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton wool, the surrounding sounds suddenly becoming muted.

A shake of your head brought you back to earth as you fought to focus on the words Matty was saying.

“Oh I'm so sorry, once you know the story you’ll understand my reaction” Matty began explaining with wide apologetic eyes, “basically Annie's mum isn't in the picture, it's just me and my 3 best friends,” he said smiling.

You lightly laugh and say, “Ah I'm assuming they are the man with the guitar, the one with the bass and the other with the drumsticks?” You finish with a teasing tilt of your head.

Matty's fingers encircle your wrist as that smile you've quickly grown to love appears on his face once again at your teasing.

“Yes those are the ones. You see we’re all in a band - hence all the instruments. I always tell Annie that Uncle George, Ross, and Adam are our family. So when you asked for a family drawing...”

“She drew her family!” You finish his sentence for him, staring at his hand and holding your wrist as you do. He quickly drops it, and you curse yourself for bringing it to his attention.

You wrap your arms around your stomach protectively in an attempt to hide your mounting embarrassment.

Matty smiles and starts to speak again, only to be interrupted by you, “Wait I understand that, but why did she date it ‘1975’?”

Somehow, Matty's smile grew again, “Our band is called the 1975. Weird, I know, but it comes from me being young and pretentious with a Jack Kerouac book.”

Before you could respond, Annie came bounding over and wrapped herself around her dad's leg, “Dadddd” she complained, pulling out the last letter to announce her annoyance to the world.

“Annieeee” Matty teased back in the same tone as her, picking her up as he did.

“Can we go home now? I want to see mayhem!!” she said, excitedly clapping her hands as she finished.

You shoot Matty a questioning look, and he quickly answers your silent query, “the horse dog” he says teasingly, parroting your earlier words back at you.

“Okay darling, let's get going then,” Matty says with a grunt, putting Annie down, grabbing her hand, and taking her backpack from her.

“Say bye to miss y/n Annie,” he says, smiling sweetly at you, but you can see the mischief brewing in his eyes.

His eyes keep your attention so long you almost miss Annie's sweet goodbye, “bye miss y/n! See you tomorrow! Can we talk about your sparkly clips tomorrow?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Of course, little miss Annie!” You say smiling at the young girl. You focus solely on her in an attempt not to get lost in her father's eyes again.

You watch them walk away but after a few steps they pause, Matty turns over his shoulder and waves with his free hand, “Bye miss y/n” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice and a flirty wink.

Before you can even process what just happened, he's strolling away casually, and all the mums in the playground are silently lusting after him.

A heavy breath leaves your chest as you start to watch him leave.

“Isn't he gorgeous” a voice behind you whispers, causing you to jump and let out a small scream. You hold a hand to your chest and look at your colleague with wild eyes.

“Oh my god, Amanda, please do not sneak up on me like that! I'm fragile” you say, now laughing at your ridiculous reaction.

“Sorry, sorry,” she begins giggling, “but isn't he just so hot? Annie was in my class last year, and I used to count down the days until parent’s evening! I mean, who wouldn't want to sit across a desk from a man who looks like that?” Amanda says, wiggling her eyebrows flirtatiously.

She begins to teasingly poke your sides at your awkward silence, and you quickly brush her off and straighten up, “Amanda! You can't talk like that about a parent!” You say, trying and failing to have any conviction in your voice.

“I can when the parent looks like that!” she says, smiling and watching Matty stroll away.

You huff at her behaviour and walk away, desperate to sit down and process what just happened.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your desk chair squeaks as you sit down behind your desk. You spin the chair and pick up a pen to begin marking some spelling tests from last week, but before long, you give up.

Staring off into space with endless thoughts poisoning your mind, only one thing can come out of your mouth. 

“fuck."

[guitarstringed-scars]

on stage- s. hinata

act two, scene two: hell week

masterlist

you slam open the door to the auditorium, students already rushing about. the stage is being set up with set pieces, and you wave to kenma in the lighting booth. you spot keiji as you walk in. he stands addressing a group of actors as you approach him.

“ready for the first dress rehearsal?” he asks you, smiling weakly.

“never been more ready!” you turn to the gathering of actors, “you should all head to the costume closet and get ready, yachi should be ready down there.”

they nod and head out. it isn’t until a few minutes later that shoyo shows up, coffee in hand. he rushes up to you grinning.

“hi!” he says, a little breathlessly.

“hi!” you smile as he catches his breath.

“this is for you!” he says, handing the coffee to you, “i think its what you like, but i’m not 100% sure.”

“oh! thanks so much sho!” you take a sip, it’s your favorite. “it’s perfect!”

you both stand for a second staring at each other smiling. keiji clears his throat.

“oh, you should head down to the costume closet to get ready.” you say, keiji bringing you back to earth. shoyo nods and rushes off.

“seems like you two are back to normal.” says keiji.

“ugh he’s too perfect.” ”don’t get too distracted.” keiji finishes.

there is no way to get distracted when just a short 15 minutes later you are starting a full run through of the show. you and keiji sit in the audience, and you sip your drink as you take notes. at intermission you take a quick break to give notes. you stand on the stage in front of everyone. ”hm…kenma, lights looked great for the first half, just a few wonky cues. sound was great, costume changes were good, and for the cast… over all, the first act was okay. lines need to be picked up wayyyy quicker, and i need more energy. shoyo and toru should be the bar to meet on energy, especially shoyo. hope to see improvement in the second half!” you finish, handing it over to keiji.

as he speaks, you can’t help but zone out a bit. it’s already 9 pm, and you have all of act 2 and clean up to do. this coffee is the only thing keeping you up. as keiji wraps it up, you two head back to the audience. shoyo approaches you again. ”do you think you could give me some more personal notes before act 2?” he asks, looking genuinely interested, “i just really trust what you have to say.”

“sure.” you smile, “i think that you are doing a really great job with everything except for picking up the lines quickly. i’d be willing to help you run lines for a bit after the dress rehearsal today if you wanted?” you offer.

shoyo doesn’t answer for a second.

“sorry, was that too harsh? i’m not trying to be me-” you start. he cuts you off. ”no, it’s okay! i’d love to run lines tonight with you! thanks!” he smiles, and rushes off stage.

“you are down bad.” keiji says beside you.

“shut up.”

and he does, only because the lights are up for act two.

the second act of the show is much shorter than the first, so it goes by quickly. the whole time you are slightly distracted by the thought of running lines with shoyo afterward. once it finishes, you send everyone to get out of costume and clean up. you decide to save the notes for tomorrow, and wave goodbye to the actors. you know the tech people will stay a bit later perfecting everything for tomorrow. shoyo comes up to you, swinging his bag on his shoulder.

“where should we go run lines?” he asks cheerfully.

“let’s just go outside, i need to lock up behind the tech people so i don’t want to go too far.” you say, leading him to the front steps of the building. you pull out your script, and start to practice with shoyo. he paces back and forth in front of you, and really his line delivery isn’t bad, he just isn’t very confident in himself.

“i think you are a really great actor.” you say.

“…wait! what scene is that? i don’t kno-”

“no, like you shoyo. i think you are a really great actor.” ”ohhhh. i get it now. you had me stressed!” he says, looking relieved.

you both laugh.

“i’m surprised you never joined theater sooner, you sure have the personality for it.” you say.

“i’ve always been more focused on volleyball, but i’m having a lot of fun!” he finally sits down next to you.

“it’s getting late, i should kick tech out.” you say, looking up at the stars.

“i’ll walk you home?” he offers.

“sure, i’d like that.” you say. the both of you walk in to lock up the doors, and start your trek back home.

you figured the walk would be awkward, due to whatever clouded relationship you and shoyo currently have, but it’s actually not bad. you make decent conversation, and you attribute this to his outgoing and kind personality. as you reach your door, neither of you really know what to do, having flashbacks to the last time the two of you stood in these very spots. you give him an awkward wave. ”alright… uh, bye.” you say, unlocking your door.

“goodnight y/n!” he smiles, before turning and leaving.

you sigh.

another late night of rehearsal. it’ll be okay this time. you go through the run through again, and give your notes again, and shoyo asks you to run lines again, and you tell him yes again, even though he doesn’t need to because he’s doing absolutely perfectly. so thats where you find yourself, sitting on the front steps of the theater building, this time all of the tech crew gone.

shoyo slumps down on the stairs next to you. ”i want this to be perfect.” he says.

“you will be.” you assure him.

“i don’t know, i’ve never done this before.” ”well i have, and i know you’ll be perfect.” you say.

“will you hate me if i’m not?” he asks.

“what?” you look at him. he has a look of genuine concern on his face. “i could never hate you shoyo. i don’t think anyone could ever hate you.” you say.

“i don’t want to mess up your play when you’ve worked so hard.”

“you wont. i promise.”

“okay. i’m going to try my hardest!” he says.

“i know you will.” you smile at him.

“i really like you y/n.” he says. your smile falters.

“i really like you too shoyo, but-”

“i know, just wait one more week. i will!” he says, standing up. “i’ll walk you home.”

and he does.

[cottonlemonade]

Stuck At The Airport

word count: 1057 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Oikawa x chubby!Reader

genre: very suggestive, smut-ish, established relationship

warnings: mdni, nsfw

synopsis: you tease Oikawa over the phone while he is just aching to get home to you

a/n: I had a draft for Kuroo and Oikawa and liked them both, sorry if they’re too similar 🫠

You closed the front door with an exhausted sigh, dropping your bag onto the floor. Looking forward to two weeks off you shuffled to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The snow was whirling against the kitchen window and the frost settled on the sill.

You leaned against the counter waiting for the water to boil when you got a text from your boyfriend.

Tooru: Flight was canceled, stuck at the airport, I am so sorry, princess. I'll be home tomorrow, I promise. I love you ❤️x

Attached to the message was a picture of him pouting.

You groaned inwardly - you hadn't seen each other in weeks because he was away for a tournament and you were aching to be with him.

You missed him so much. This weather in particular called for serious cuddle time with your significant other.

After typing out a just as pouty response, you went to take a long hot shower to wash all the stress of the week away.

Oikawa was sitting at the airport, bored and antsy, bouncing his leg.

He wanted to be home with you. No stress, no hurry, just… you and him, cuddled up inside with a nice glass of wine, snuggling on the couch watching a movie and then spending the night making you forget your own name over and over...

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of these kinds of thoughts. It only made the wait seem longer.

He leaned his head against the wall, staring off into the distance, hardly registering the music over his headphones.

He closed his eyes trying to maybe catch some sleep to make the time go by faster.

A short buzz informed him of an incoming message.

At first glance it was just a picture of your bed, the headboard, slightly wonky from various intimate nights, decorated with fairy lights. It was cozy, sweet and made him feel warm inside. He wanted to be there with you.

For a minute he thought that you might snuggle up with a pillow and watch a movie without him, then he noticed something else that sent an electric pulse through his body.

On the inviting bedding glowed a small purple charging light that caught his eye. It belonged to a little something he gifted you before the last time he had to travel.

His throat suddenly felt very tight and he made sure to turn his phone so that no one could accidentally glance at his screen.

The line under the picture read:

You: Guess what I'm doing.

Tooru: My job.

Another buzzing announced a FaceTime call and swallowing hard he picked up.

You were smiling into the camera, hair damp from the shower, dressed in your favourite lacy nightgown, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"I'm guessing you're not alone."

He shook his head, his lips dry.

"Well in that case, baby, we’re gonna go back to the thrilling days of radio and you just gotta listen."

Oikawa’s eyes went dark at the implication and shifted in his seat, taking off his jacket and draping it over his lap. He wanted to tell you to stop, whine and complain that it was unfair and mean and not the right time but… the low hum of the small pink toy, your shallow breaths and quiet moans shut him up. He turned his phone around, so the screen was hidden from view (a crime really because he wanted nothing more than to watch you - but he did remember to make sure to start a screen recording), closed his eyes and listened.

You were gonna pay for this as soon as he got home.

It was a little before three in the morning when he finally unlocked the front door and stepped into the dark foyer.

The familiar smell of you made his heart jump and he hurried to take off his jacket and shoes, considering for a moment to take off his shirt to cut down on time. But he smirked thinking about how much you loved undressing him yourself so he made his way to the bedroom, anticipation tensing every muscle.

You were laying on your stomach, dressed in that short white nightgown from the afternoon, the blanket crumpled next to you. He swallowed, somehow his mouth felt too dry and too wet at the same time.

Oikawa sat at the edge of the bed, thinking about how to wake you without startling you too much. But he was also hungry… in the end he chose to run his warm hand along your plush inner thigh, while kissing your shoulders and exposed neck. His fingers just shy of where he desperately wanted to be he continued to rub, squeeze and kiss until you slowly woke up.

"Hey princess.", he said quietly, smiling against your soft skin.

"Baby, welcome back.", you mumbled happily. Turning to him you rubbed your eyes and stifled a yawn.

Oikawa licked his lips as he let his gaze wander over your body. The three weeks apart themselves had not been the problem. It was the promise of your warm form pressed against him and your teasing that made it insufferable.

"I missed you."

"I missed you more, baby." He leaned in for a kiss, bringing his hand further up between your legs and grinned at your moans.

"Do you wanna play a game?", he asked in that special teasing voice that he knew had you surrendering every time.

"What kind of game?"

He chuckled and kissed your neck again, applying more pressure with his hand, making you gasp for air.

"I like to call it Letting the neighbors know I’m back."

You let out the most adorable giggle that might have stopped his heart if all of his blood hadn’t already rushed somewhere else.

"Yes, sounds good."

"Good girl. But first, I think I should make you pay for what you did to me yesterday, don’t you think?"

He reached into your bedside drawer and took out the small pink toy you had teased him with.

"Be good, princess, and I'll reward you after."

With a devilish grin he pulled you towards him and leaned down for a deep kiss, setting the toy against your clit, pressing the button to start.

[bitimdrake]

Um, I have a question regarding the Blackest Night arc. In which issue was it revealed that there was something wonky with Bruce's body (I think Hal discovered it and maybe told Dick + revealed that Hal knows Tim's on his Bruce-quest, maybe others do too)?

I'm curious and want to understand, since in certain fanfic, there's a thing about Tim being abandoned / seen as crazy by the hero community, so they didn't reach out to assist Tim (certain fans say it's likely influenced by Dick). I believe that one scene in Blackest Night has something to do with it.

The whole Tim being abandoned and seen as crazy thing is 100% made up fanon and it sucks and I have little more to say on that part. But I got plenty for you on comic recapping:

Bruce's body has a presence throughout the main Blackest Night mini, but the big one is #5 where he's "raised" from the dead.

Hal and Barry are the leading characters of this part of the event, and the ones who have the actual conversations about how Black Lantern "Bruce" was blatantly different from all the actual reanimated dead people, thus indicating that's not his real body (see BN#6 and BN#8 particularly). But the actual "reanimation" happens in a very public setting in front of a whole lot of superheroes, so it's really not a case of any one person discovering the information.

Dick and Damian and the rest of the bats aren't present at the time and I don't think we actually see who/when passes the info on, but they're aware a little later on in Batman and Robin, and start talking about Bruce returning circa B&R#10.

How this actually connects with Tim's story is...kind of awkward and not totally lined up, so I had to line it up myself for my chronological order. Tim returns to Gotham temporarily and is with Dick during the Blackest Night: Gotham tie-in, but then he returns to his brucequest in Red Robin, and later in RR#12 seems to be ready to present his findings as if he's still under the impression he needs to convince Dick--to which Dick is like well actually we have a lot to talk about there.

So I guess the implied order of events is (1) Dick and Tim fight black lanterns while, elsewhere, unknown to them, "Bruce" is "reanimated" and everyone else realizes that ain't his real body, (2) Tim peaces out immediately afterwards and so misses when, (3) someone comes to tell Dick/Damian/Alfred what they all saw with Bruce, making them start to realize things are strange here and be more open to the idea Bruce might be alive. Then (4) Tim returns, and off screen after RR#12 both sides share what they've each learned, and Tim convinces everyone of his specific theory.

A lot of the conversations and logistics and behind-the-scenes workings are missing, but after that RR arc I place B&R#10, and Dick and Damian talking about Bruce coming back. And then we have all the comics surrounding Bruce's actual return (Time Masters: Vanishing Point and Return of Bruce Wayne in particular), by which point everyone is aware of the whole situation, and a team of various heroes has come together to figure out how to get their Batguy unstuck from time.

[insult-2-injury]

A Worthy Distraction

Header by my wonderful and talented friend @drawlypsy. Please go check out their work, they're fucking amazing.

AO3 Link NSFW Dottore/femReader, murder couple, dirty talk, fingering, questionable coping mechanisms, over the pants feelies, villains will be villains, trauma

[This is a Genshin OC one-shot I wrote for friends and then rewrote into a reader insert. Some tenses and stuff may be a little wonky here and there, but I think I caught most of it. It is only a tad OC-centric, as reader does have a backstory, but it's minor and shouldn't make a difference. Idk. There's smut.]

The lowdown: reader has anemo vision w/ pyro delusion, has one metal claw hand and PTSD to match

~~~~~~

You lay on your side, sprawled out across an uncomfortable-looking exam table like a cat in a patch of sun, yawning and stretching as you awoke from a short nap. Head twitching to the side, Dottore acknowledged your entry into the waking world with a rigid nod and a tiny quirk of his lips, something that could almost be categorized as a rigid smile, before turning back to the subject on his table. 

You shot him a cheeky grin, unruly tufts of your hair falling across your face as you did so. Your socked foot tapped a rhythm onto the metal beneath, warm now with the prolonged heat of your body. Your head thumped back against the metal… Bored. So bored.

Archons, you were just as ambitious as he when it came to testing out new ideas and just as prone to getting lost for hours in the mental process of it all. But he had been at this experiment for days, barely sleeping, hardly eating. Your best friend Ana was off on some secret Fatui mission, his more tolerable clones were deployed in Sumeru, and chatting up the locals was apparently a non-starter. Besides, it wasn’t your fault anyway that the local creperie burned down. And, unrelated, what kind of creperie ran out of fucking crepes?

You were bored. So completely and utterly bored. You sat up, criss-crossing your legs beneath you in order to better watch the Doctor work.

Dottore was a straight line– seemed perfectly content staying in one spot for an entire day, his mind single tracked and obsessive. You, on the other hand, took the path of a crack of lightning, your interests branching and changing rapidly, new revelations branching into new ideas and new ideas springing into new experiments and it was a wonder you ever finished anything at all. You always did benefit from someone who could help organize the near constant fusillade of inspirations in your head. 

You used to have someone. Now they were the ghost in every corner.

You needed distractions. And a man possessed could provide no such thing. Your fingers twitched and the pyro delusion warmed on your hip. Then burned. You inhaled sharply, your heart rate picking up.

You blinked away at the encroaching visions that threatened to steal you, usher you inside. The disembodied voices and the ghostly feeling… the familiar mourning of the fiercest kind of love expanding in your chest but with no vessel, no discernible memory to hive it away in. So full yet so terribly out of reach and–

“You’re fidgety tonight,” Prime said calmly and you gasped, your eyes shooting open in time to catch the fire blossoming at your fingertips, having singed a small hole through the thin fabric of your shorts. Cursing, you swatted at the smoke as he continued evenly. “Go take a walk outside if you must.”

You allowed the span of a few centering breaths to pass as your gaze fell upon Dottore’s raven mask laying on the counter behind him. Your gaze darted back to his uncovered features and you found yourself drawn in, and not for the first time. It was a recent breakthrough, one he’d made no announcement of despite the shock when he’d removed the thing in front of you; a promising sign of trust from a man who so lauded in the unsettling air of mystery he exuded.

You fiddled with the mask in your own hair as you observed. The ancient scar that crossed the bridge of his nose and extended up to his right temple, eyes untouched, the rest of his face pale, smooth, and unscathed. The scar that he could easily remove with his scientific prowess yet he kept it just the same. You’d always reckoned it was a reminder of something; a tether of sorts.

And Celestia knows a mind without a tether was a dangerous thing. Yes, you thought, Celestia would know, indeed.

You let out a sudden shriek of laughter, unprovoked.

“Ah, shucks. You’re always trying to send me away,” you chided finally, rolling the singed fabric between your thumb and forefinger. “Besides, it’s the middle of the night, bozo.” 

The stiff, weary shake of his head was indicative that he was now only slightly bothered by the plethora of nicknames that you’d coined to get under his skin. Good, you thought with delight, he’d better get used to it.

“I mean, heck,” you continued, throwing up your arms, “who knows what kind of monsters are skulking about out there?”

Dottore’s piercing, crimson eyes latched onto yours and you smiled at the clear meaning within.

Worse than me?

A familiar shock of yearning racked the length of your spine. You gnawed at the inside of your cheek, noting the way his eyes flicked to the motion of your lips before slowly drawing back up, almost expressionless. But you knew his little intricacies by now; the indiscernible twitch of his eyelids when you toed the line with him, the drumming of those long, elegant fingers against any available service whenever he was in deep thought. 

How he studied you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You had always been attracted to the dark; where flame cast light upon a brick wall you were drawn to the shadows that slid effortlessly in between, morphing and making their quiet nests within the cracks in mortar. Yes, Dottore was indeed a darkly beautiful thing, you thought, not allowing your gaze to stray from his.

“I was under the impression you could handle yourself,” he said coolly, but the bladed glint in his unflinching stare was bright and calculating, even beneath the eerie shadows cast over his features by the medical lamp above. “Was I wrong to think so?”

Hmph. All work and no play made the Doctor cranky. Your nose twitched and you cocked your head, lips curling coyly.

“I can handle myself just fine,” you said, baring your teeth. “But you’d miss me, wouldn’t you?” You placed your chin in your palm to drum fingers against your cheekbones but didn’t wait for his answer. “So I’ll stay right here. For the good Doctor’s sake, of course.” 

You winked.

“For my sake. Of course,” he murmured, examining your wide, inciting grin and the butterfly flutter of your eyelashes. A tiny quirk of his lips betrayed his forced impassivity before he put a pin in the expanding balloon of tension by turning back to the body on the table silently.

You swallowed down the uncharacteristic dryness in your throat.

There were different routes you could take to get your desired result, one that would ease the ache between your legs and provide you a worthy distraction from the ghosts in every corner. You were used to people winding up putty in your hands, pliable and needy; even the self righteous ones. You just had a gift about you, an impulsive need for control in all senses of the word that people just responded to.

Except him.

To have Prime in your greedy clutches would be nothing short of euphoric. But there was something ancient and omniscient about him that made him effortlessly superior to them all, as if he would slip like sand through the fingers of anyone who tried to hold him. He was patient, unhurried; a lone viper coiled atop its rock, full-bellied and confident in his supremacy, so many leagues above that he had all the time in the world.

Your lips twitched. But, so did you now, didn’t you? Cursed with immortality and ironically bestowed the power to alter time; a power that centuries ago you would have used to pulverize the very forces that had granted them to you in the first place. But time just wasn’t enough for you. You were a creature starved. You wanted to devour and destroy each moment now until nothing remained but the burning foundation. And even that must go.

Your mind strayed again and you fought to ground yourself. All must go.

You hissed between your teeth, leaping off the table to take up space beside Dottore, shoulder pressing into his as you studied his bloody work. You viewed his profile in your periphery; his bladed nose, the soft, steel blue curls that framed his face, the slight, disapproving curl of his lips downward as he was jostled.

“Need any assistance?” you said brightly.

“I do not.” His hands began to move carefully across the corpse, but you knew enough about his craft and were observant enough to see that his focus wasn’t on the experiment before him. 

 “Hm… You want a drink or something?” 

“No,” he said shortly, and then as if remembering himself, “... but thank you.”

“Well, you must be hungry at least.” Your long fingers dared to wrap his elbow, fiddling with the rolled up arms of his blue linen shirt before trailing up to his bicep, squeezing. “Goodness, you’re all skin and bones, crazy you can even hold that scalpel like you are. It’s almost like… like… like holding a flimsy little test tube…”

Dottore’s chin dipped, the slope of his nose tipping down toward your mocking countenance, which faltered slightly when his gaze dropped briefly to the two fingers now trailing over the sharp buckles of his arm bands. You hadn’t touched Prime before besides the occasional brushing of shoulders and on the surface, he didn’t seem the type to enjoy such things. Maybe all it took was the right button.

But Prime only hummed, crimson red eyes rising.

“Your actions suggest you desire to take this man’s place.” His voice was soft but rife with danger. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and you cocked your head to the side like a mischievous crow. You seemed to share the same steady breath back and forth as you studied each other for a short moment.

“Suit yourself, old man,” you chirped, conjuring a gust of anemo to tousle his loose, hanging locks of unruly hair before releasing his arm abruptly and in a blur of motion swinging around to his other side. “You’re loads of fun, you know that? Have your harbinger friends ever told you what a dream you are?”

Friends. Maybe there was a segment of him that had what one could call a friend but Prime, you had observed, seemed to have no interest in any social dealings that didn’t involve the business of sinister diplomacy. The only person who came around here often enough was Pantalone, and you could hardly call a wallet a friend.

Not that you had many tried and true friendships besides Ana. There was, of course, the pink-haired stick bug that was a package deal with your best friend and he seemed to be warming up to you a bit, but on the whole, people just seemed to tolerate you. Not your fault. Social skills were a fucking bitch.

“Has anyone ever told you how exasperating you really are?” he retorted and then continued, softly mocking, like he was speaking to a child. “This experiment is a particularly sensitive one that requires a certain amount of space and time to complete. Space and time that you seem unwilling to provide.”

“Provide?” You giggled and leaned in close, voice a low purr in his ear. “You get awfully mean when you’re frustrated, Doctor.” And you swung from him, sauntering away.

On a shelf across the room, a little radio sat playing quiet soul music. With one slow stroke of your forefinger across the dial, you turned the volume up, wiggling your hips to the music as you bent across the counter. But when you peeked over your shoulder, he was paying you no mind. Worse, he was turned completely around, vials clanking as he fiddled with something in the depths of his cabinets. Your sly grin turned into a wrathful frown as you glared.

Taking the radio beneath one arm, you spun around to bow comically low, your free arm splayed out like the spread wing of a bird about to take flight. A gust of anemo slammed the cabinet door in his face and he paused, hand still mid air. Then, terribly slow, he turned, eyes hooded and serpentlike but otherwise expressionless. You waited for his full attention with a feral grin on your face before you flicked the volume up another notch and spun out of the stance.

Your socks slid clumsily across the rubber floor as you moved with exaggerated motions, using the radio as a dance partner, swaying to the egregiously loud music. And to add insult to injury, you sang along, too, belting out the words like you were doing all this to save your own life. 

Dottore’s eyes were all that moved as they followed, crimson glowing in your periphery as you twirled. And even if he had raised his voice above the cacophony, you wouldn’t have been able to hear him. But his gaze challenged just the same.

You shrugged, turned the volume up to max and watched his eyelids twitch in contemplation before he started to carefully put the corpse before him away, zipping them into a body bag before rolling the table away and into the walk-in freezer. He returned, surprisingly gloveless fingers casually brushing down the front of his pants.

All the while, you danced closer, singing and laughing with frenzied glee, winding up to perform a full running slide toward him. But a small, abrupt twitch of Dottore’s wrist paired with a warning, devilish tick of his lips had you dropping the radio in order to conjure your polearm, spinning it elegantly above your head. 

The cogs of a clock rotated before your eyes, a secondhand wheeling at an impossible speed. With practiced ease, you whirled it swiftly back, resetting the clock. You slid to a steady halt in front of him.

The giant needle, half the size of you, that would feasibly have torn into your flesh floated innocently now beside his head, gleaming in the fluorescent light. You searched him with razor eyes, a cocked grin on your face as you reached out with the deadly point of a clawed finger to prop under his chin while the other wiggled beneath the center strap of his harness to pull his face closer. “You weren’t actually going to use that little pin trick on me, were you? I was looking for a dance partner, princess,” you tutted, “not a fight.”

And not taking your gaze off his, you stretched out with your free hand to slowly turn the point of the intimidating needle away from yourself. “Ooh, that is sharp, though!” you remarked. “Very impressive, doctor, I should fashion you up a fancy shmancy corkboard to match. Because you know, I’m nice like that. Now, wanna tell me why you’d go and ruin my good fun?”

“Your good fun…” He hummed regretfully. The finger beneath his chin dug in and he chuckled, a dark blaze of interest in his eyes. “You are right, my dear, I may have overreacted. Well, I am sorry, for all that my word is worth. I simply had the strangest inkling you weren’t listening to me. But now…” The corners of his lips twitched just slightly. “Now you must think me quite uncivil.”

You grinned and met him in the middle of the playing field, the claw beneath his chin falling to round his neck. “You did forget your manners there for a second, huh?”

Dottore hummed, leaning unexpectedly forward and into the grip of your unmoving talons. It seemed every segment of the Doctor favored a nice side plate of anguish, and Prime was no different. They really were just flowers plucked from the same garden. 

The talon of your thumb dug into his pulse point and he let out the softest groan, his breath tickling the strands of hair across your forehead. 

One of his hands peeled your hold carefully from round his neck, holding it instead against his chest. You swallowed down a secret, hidden delight born of being held by a being who did not often seek out the pleasures of touch. In this moment, he was yours. Your Prime.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, Doctor,” you said, “I can think of several ways to atone.” 

Clawed hand laced beneath his, your free hand trailed down to his lower abdomen, pausing so as to peer up at him through your eyelashes. His breathing remained practiced and steady but there was no mistaking the muscles that twitched and jumped beneath his shirt as your fingers danced innocently from hip to hip. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and his eyes rose to meet yours.

“I shudder to think what punishments a mind such as yours could dream up,” he said lightly. 

Too lightly. Too unbothered. 

“I’d only give as much as you’re able to take, of course.”

“Ah, of course.” 

Dottore huffed out a dark laugh, his free hand rising up to almost tenderly stroke the ticklish outline of your jaw before falling to cup beneath. “I’ve been told I’m long-winded but you don’t give up do you? An admirable trait in some circumstances, I suppose. But you are a horribly impatient thing.” 

His thumb pushed into the plush of your bottom lip, quietly admiring the give of it, the shades of red warping under his shifting pressure. “Although I suppose I have been quite busy, haven’t I?” he crooned and you felt a bright flicker of irritation at the implication that your entire time here had thus far revolved around a one-sided pining for him.

No, no. That wouldn’t do.

You had intended on taking him quick once he showed interest, but something bright and oddly delicate within the depths of your chest had you slowing down. Besides, you supposed a bit of teasing wouldn’t hurt. 

“Being elbow deep in your funny little corpses all day makes you awful ornery. I just think you could use a break.”

Your hand dropped those final fatal inches, brushing along the front of his pants, fingers dragging a slow, lazy rhythm across the twitching hardness beneath. Archons, he was big. And he knew it, too. Had no reservations about pushing his hips forward and into your grip just to watch your eyes widen.

With a centering intent, you located and swiped across the tip, pressing there to savor the bead of precum wetting slowly through. His grip tightened painfully on your jaw and his own thumb jerked forward, sliding between your teeth. His eyes dipped closed almost as if to center himself, his finger resting on the pad of your tongue.

Dottore’s crimson gaze reemerged and fell transfixed upon the digit you pinched between your teeth before releasing. His voice was surprisingly even when he spoke again. “Tell me what you want.”

“You on your knees,” you said candidly, stroking along his length again, so hot against the palm of your flesh hand. “Some begging would be nice.”

His chuckle was a roll of thunder, sinister and foreboding. “Oh? How forward,” he remarked.

“And just a liiiittle bit of your time. Since like you said, you’ve been so busy. Then we can go back to pretending you haven’t wanted this since the very beginning. Is that so much to ask?”

The slow, wicked curl of Dottore’s lips would have sent anyone else running for the hills, but not you, a vicious thread of want unspooling between your thighs at the sight. To have such villainous lips pressing not only to yours but to your legs, your breasts, your everything.

The thought gave you pause, if only for a moment, a lapse that he took full advantage of as he dragged his palms up your sides with the leisure of a man with unlimited patience, his presence hot and solid, thumbs brushing, swooping purposefully along the outside swell of your breasts before trekking back down to settle on your hips. 

“You just want a little bit of my time,” he repeated, nodding, “of course.”

You frowned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. With a sudden, urgent need to unravel him, you yanked his hips closer with a tug of his belt buckle. “Then why don’t you kneel, hm? Or better yet, pet, why don’t you get on all 4’s for me?”

Dottore’s chest rumbled against yours. “You know,” he said gently, “you were right about me.” Something about his tone had your brows knitting with unease, stomach twisting.

“Was I?”

“I do get mean when I’m frustrated.”

With a single toss of his head, three things happened in sequence. 

One, the needle beside Dottore’s head, the one your elemental skill had been holding in place, impaled into the tile behind you with a deafening crack. Two, there was a terrible sound of something whirring to life. And three, a cloud of winged darkness descended upon the two of you.

Ravens. Too many to count. With bright turquoise eyes and mechanical cries. They were jet black with gold stitching; the man couldn’t help but put signature pieces of himself into every one of his creations and these were no different.

A sudden, predatory step forward by Dottore sent you pedaling away, movement stalled by the backs of your legs hitting against the flat head of the embedded needle, too low to sit on, too wide to skirt around. Instinctively, your fingers found a stabling purchase in the center strap of his harness before you could topple backwards as he drove forward still.

In a terribly awkward mimicry of a ballroom dip, you hung off him, head whipping to the side to ward off the flurry of winged creatures that swept viciously past your faces like an ocean riptide. Spinning, they.painted an almost ethereal backdrop of black wings behind him for but a moment before they fell in a swirling formation around the two of you.

A tempestuous wind, one that matched the power and complexity of your frenzied mind, built with a vengeance around your feet as you swung your sharp gaze to his. Your taloned hand gripped into the blue linen of his shirt as you found an awkward balance, teetering backwards still, knuckles digging punishingly into his chest as you glared up at him.

“This isn’t fun for me,” you complained. “I’m not having fun.”

“Pity.” A thick laugh at your expense flowed like a dark lullaby from his chest as he addressed you with a sharp-toothed grin, ignoring the anemo tantrum even as his hair swept wildly across his face.

“Do you like control?”

“Yes,” you wheezed up at him, neck straining from the effort of holding your head up to glare at him. “I do. I really, really, do.”

“As it happens, so do I.”

“Oh well boo you, you absolute bore. You know, I was wondering where you kept that backbone.”

Both time and an unquelled fury had afforded you the capabilities to destroy a village with a single spin of your polearm. You both knew you could level the playing field if you wanted. And quite literally, too. But despite the terrible yearning to pin him into the nearest wall, to see him come apart at your hands, the storm remained strangely controlled. Even as you clung to him while he explored the notches of your spine gently, the movement clashing with that familiar lilt of cruelty with which he spoke.

“What was it you were searching for, hm?” he crooned. “For me to shirk the integrity of my research just for a meaningless dalliance? You seem to quite fancy the notion of vexing me into compliance, seeing how you’ve been trying to get this spine of yours bent over one of my exam tables for how many weeks now? You spoke of punishment earlier, well I’d like to subvert that notion entirely. Of what use are you having around at all if you only seek to meddle in my work?”

“Four,” you said simply and then in the following silence supplied, “four weeks I mean. And you’re in no position to be tossing around death threats. Not with those arms.”

“Aren’t I?”

Punishment came in the form of his fingers withdrawing from your spine, instead languidly dragging around to your lower stomach. Crimson eyes observed your reactions carefully as he slid a wriggling middle finger across the thin fabric of your shorts, mapping out and nestling between the hidden folds there. His eyes darkened with hunger at the intoxicating sound of your breath hitching. He pressed upward with the pad of that finger, carefully avoiding where you needed his touch most, circling your clothed entrance and basking in the heat emanating between your thighs.

“Shall I proceed?”

“Shall I proceed?” you mocked in a gruff voice. “What is this, open heart surgery? Pass me the scalpel, Doctor.”

“That could be arranged,” he responded, voice tight.

A quiet whine loosened from your throat when his arm slid around your lower back to better support his endeavor as he pressed his thumb into your clit. In a launched counterattack, you slashed four thin strips into his shirt with a flick of your wrist, then hoisted yourself up to his ear by wrapping the back of his neck.

“You want to look at my brain, too?” you said breathlessly. “You can finger fuck that, too, if you want.”

The arm around your back tightened painfully. He continued his exploration of the shape of your cunt, picking up a slow rhythm with two fingers circling your clit. The hand on your tailbone dragged up until it tangled into your hair, holding you there in the crook of his neck while he turned to whisper against your cheekbone.

“I wouldn’t put such temptations into my head, pet.”

“Nothing that wasn’t already there.”

“You are dangerously drawn to the profane, I’m afraid. Hm. What to do, what to do… I think the only way to silence such a perverse mind is to deprive it of what it craves most, wouldn’t you agree?” 

He paused in his ministrations.

You were sure the glare you yanked back to sear him with could've taken out a small village. “No. I would not.”

Dottore chuckled low, but the tone was something you’d never heard, so tattered and almost restrained. Your eyes flicked down to the space between them and you smirked when you saw just how restrained he really was. He snatched your jaw and pulled your focus back to him, squeezing into the meat of your cheeks when you bared your teeth at him.

“You’re not incorrect, though, I have weighed the merits of studying such a specimen as you.”

“Ooh,” you grinned. “Intimately?”

He turned your face to the side to examine. “By and large, people are just a complex sum of their parts but you…”

You’re a person of jagged, scattered pieces I haven’t quite figured out yet.

“-You’ve been useful to me thus far. But all things fade and my patience wears thin.”

The murder of ravens dove back toward you with the command of an unseen signal and you closed your eyes and giggled as talons caught in the mask in your hair, knocking it completely off your head. But when the cold strike of metal wings slit into the sleeve of your shirt, slicing a thin crimson line across your shoulder, your eyes narrowed onto his with a deadpan, lethal focus.

“Do you want to know what happens if you keep pushing? Hm?” His fingers retreated until they splayed across your lower stomach instead.

“Do tell.”

“The bite of a single raven is painless when compared to, let’s say the bite of a scalpel against unsuspecting skin,” he murmured and his lips curled into a razor smile in response to the shiver that drove down your spine even as you vowed not to react. 

“But just imagine in that creative head of yours… the onslaught of hundreds of tiny blades clipping away at flesh. Talons tearing into skin, muscle, perhaps even bone, reducing you to nothing but your base components in none but an instant. A deplorable thought, isn’t it.” The birds dive bombed again and you vibrated with the strangest kind of fever, your eyes fluttering shut as you teetered with the adrenaline, the hypnotizing lull of his voice as he spoke of Death.

Death. That big old thing with wings. Shy and sweet - that shadowed creature that flitted just there at the corner of your eye. Always there, gone no matter how swiftly you turned to look. Soft and unforgiving, a small comfort, as light as the feather of a single raven. That’s all they were, just feathers across time. 

“Open your eyes.” You did with a whine, locking onto Dottore with a furrowed brow, your hands trailing up to bury into his shoulders, recentering yourself with reality. “After all, those would go first, I’m sure. Ravens are inclined to burrow, build their nests in high places. Ah, perhaps I’ll put your skull on my bookshelf. What a pretty sight that would be,” he crooned. His thumb swept up and smoothed across your brow almost comfortingly, circling down to rest on the crest of your cheekbone. Your head buzzed and a deadly impatience gnawed at the place his hand rested unmoving on your belly.

“It is a pain beyond the bounds of human comprehension, to die in such a way, at least from what I’ve borne witness to. Is it Death that you crave? I wouldn’t allow a creature such as yourself a tedious end, you know. No, you deserve something more… remarkable.” With an uncharacteristic bout of submission that had his head cocking in satisfaction, you allowed his hand to wrap your neck, the experimental squeeze like a trigger, your hips rolling needily into his. 

“So I’d beg you the question, what comes next?” he asked. “What happens if you continue to push and push?”

Dottore’s erection dug into the soft of your stomach when you pressed forward, your palms rising to cup his face in wonder. Your eyes followed the track of his swallow. 

Such a beautiful distraction he was. 

“Oh, Dottore… Oh, please, Dottore,” you sang out like a damsel in distress before lightning quick, you wrenched his head to the side to hiss in his ear. “So poetic. Romantic, even. Death by a thousand cuts and all that. Listen, I’ll tell you what happens,” you panted, a pyro fervor rising quickly to the surface of your skin. “Birds or no birds, if you don’t make me cum, I’ll call every last scrap of power you so sweetly bestowed upon me just to incinerate this place to nothing but the ashes of your hard work. What a fucking waste that would be, hm? No punishment quite like the consequences of your own actions is there? Oop! Hello karma, let me introduce you to my good friend the Doctor!” You tittered when the muscles of his jaw clenched beneath your grip.

“And then, Doctor, when we’re both standing here in the rubble of this archon forsaken place, I will go out of my way to abuse the laws of time just to make sure you suffer over and over again and then I will burn you, Prime, I will burn you if you don’t move your fucking fingers right now-”

The rest of your sentiment was cut off by a fist clenching into your hair, tearing your lips away from his ear and crushing them against his own. With a shattered groan, he poured his frustration down your throat while he did exactly as you requested, picking up an intensely fast rhythm against your clit that had you clawing at his biceps, startled from the sudden friction, your squeal of surprise swallowed whole by the violence of his kiss.

There was nothing gentle about the way he moved against each you, hips grinding a relentless rhythm, lips bruising yours as he nipped and licked, hand fisting so tightly in your hair you swore he’d take a good bit of it with him if he ever decided to remove himself.

And nothing could have prepared you for the peculiar sensation - an uncharacteristic feeling of being completely unsure of what came next. Of being knocked completely sideways whilst never feeling more balanced. Like there was a pulsing thing in your sternum running parallel to your heart, some melancholy sensation that centered and secured. 

That tethered.

Wind howled around them. Birds cried. And somewhere, somewhere in your addled mind, there was quiet.

Pleasure recycled from your mouth and into his as he drove you toward a climax that came fast but ferocious in its intensity. The borders of your vision faded until all you could do was wrap your arms around his shoulder and hold on as you shook against him, a high pitched whine spilling from between your lips. And his crimson gaze, glazed and almost desperate, remained open to study the way in which you unraveled; how your eyes screwed shut, your fingers finding purchase in his own hair, tugging it terribly hard to prove some semblance of control over him even as you came apart with nothing but his fingers.

Time, with no assistance, seemed to stand still as you came to, your nose pressed into the soft crook of his neck, arms still wrapping his shoulders. Papers were scattered, tables overturned. Some ravens flew still, riding the leftover anemo current above, while some perched, eyeing the two of them with a cold, mechanical disinterest.

A song played on that little radio somewhere, broken and skipping but still pushing through as he swayed back and forth.

“Are we… dancing?”

“Quiet.”

Soft wings brushed across the hollowness in your chest and you nuzzled further into him without much thought. Holding your breath, you dragged your fingers down his chest, intent to undo him in the same way, his cock still hard and insistent against you, but he swatted your fingers away. Once, twice.

“Hey. You haven’t even-”

“Be quiet.”

“Why do you get the lead?”

Dottore didn’t say a word, but his weary sigh tickled the back of your neck and you fell into the silence that comes with newness.

“Did you know ravens usually work in pairs to acquire their food?” you said suddenly.

There was a long pause. “...I did.”

“Hm.”

You said nothing else, and if he noticed the unsubtle way in which you stole back the lead, he didn’t say a word.

[deityoftherain]

now that you've won - Traffic Life Winners Fanfic

Rating: Gen

Relationship: Gen & M/M*

Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Status: Completed Oneshot

Word Count: 4,603

Summary: They never tell you what happens after you win one of the games. Grian, Scott, and Pearl never talk about it so Martyn had nothing to bounce off of when he found himself alone in an endless purple void.

aka all of the winners of the life series/death games end up talking in the in-between

*There is some past Martyn/Ren mention and some Martyn/Scott sprinkled in there, but is otherwise just the winners vibing in a void

I GOT A REALLY CUTE DOODLE FOR THIS FIC GO CHECK IT OUT

@lynnospen on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/lynnospen/743504217925451776/now-that-youve-won-ananxiousghost-3rd-life (wow back when that was my ao3 username... so long ago but also not at the same time)

Full fanfic underneath the cut! Please reblog, leave kudos on the AO3 fic slash notes/likes here on Tumblr, comment either place, and etc if you enjoy the story :D

Martyn gasped as he exited a portal he didn’t remember going through. Where was he? What was the last thing that happened? His brain was a little foggy but he was starting to get very brief flashes of memories pulling themselves to the front of his brain.

“Welcome, Martyn InTheLittleWood.” Voices (yes, plural) seemed to be echoing around the wall-less void. The Voices felt like They were bouncing around his head and there were so many different voices speaking at once that he knew he couldn’t place them if he tried.

The united welcome seemed to be the only thing the Voices agreed on saying for everything else said was just too many different voices saying too many different things.

Martyn pressed his palms against his ears, trying to block out the words being spoken around him. He had tried to understand what They were saying but he failed. It was too loud and too jumbled. He wished for Them to quiet for They were overwhelming and he disliked it. Martyn squeezed his eyes shut and ducked his head as if that would help him not hear Their loud muttering anymore.

The Voices slowly started to go quiet to the point Martyn could no longer feel Them invade his brain and assault his mind. He hesitantly uncovered his ears and opened his eyes. The Voices had gone silent and there was nothing around him but a shadowy purple void. The portal he came through wasn’t there anymore so he seemed to be stuck here. It was light enough to see his body clearly but dark enough to make him feel enclosed. He could easily admit that he didn’t like this situation so far.

There was some sort of concept of gravity here (wherever here was) for he could walk as one normally would. Each step he took echoed the sound of his boots against whatever surface made up the “floor”.

Martyn made sure to keep heading in the same direction in order to not get turned around. It is a method you might use if you were stuck in a maze. If you run your hand against the wall and follow it, you will eventually make it out.

He wasn’t sure if that logic would work here, you know, since there is no wall to follow but he could pretend and just walk in a straight line. It was straightforward and made sense enough for him. He didn’t exactly have many options seeing the situation he was in.

When you are surrounded by nothing except endless space, there isn’t much to distract you from your thoughts. All of the events from the last game (the game he won) came back to him the quickest.

Time always moved strangely in these games full of death but it was much more obvious in Limited Life how wonky it was. Limited Life had a timer constantly ticking down the time they had left before they would run out. The previous games didn’t constantly have time ticking down like that one did. The previous games didn’t make you so conscious of the passing of time. The previous games didn’t trap you in an hourglass until you suffocate from the draining sand and die. Days would go by and their timers didn’t represent that as one might assume. Twenty-four hours was the amount of time they were given to win yet it didn’t end within one day. They didn’t go through one day-night cycle and then all dropped dead. They experienced several days. They experienced so many days that he was sure no one kept track. They experienced times of quiet, times of joking around, times of battle, times of death…

In the end, it’s all a game. They were entertainment for those who Watched. No matter how much pain or suffering they experience, it was all for Their pleasure. 

Did it matter though? Nothing truly mattered when it came to these death games. The bonds they forge and the lives they take (or lose) don’t affect them much once a winner is declared. A winner is declared and all their loyalties, grudges, and selfishness are barely more than a distant memory. 

They all change.

Everything changes.

They are never exactly the same.

They might be similar but they never will be the same again.

Martyn supposed it’s probably for the best that they all change. Going through games revolving around murder and a limited amount of lives is traumatic. Especially when you have to turn on those who were once your friends and allies. In the end, it truly didn’t matter. Everyone dies and is pulled from the games until another game is created and everyone (almost everyone… not everyone shows up again) gets pulled back in. Even the winners die at the end.

Allowing the winners to die too (assuming that the games had to happen) is more merciful than cruel, at least to Martyn. Everyone is dead because the winner has killed to the top. No one was left in the world when a winner was declared and staying there, completely alone, would be isolating. He could say it would drive the winners mad but that is assuming they weren’t mad to start with.

Martyn laughed bitterly to himself, thinking about how it all ended. In the end, he had won. In the end, he had killed Impulse and… and Scott. Scott, his ally, his teammate, his partner…

He wondered what their relationship would look like in the next games. Would they talk? Would Scott be bitter? Would they hate each other? He doubted they would be a team again. He didn’t know if he wanted to team again. He didn’t know if he wanted to look Scott in the eye after burning him with lava and stabbing him through the stomach.

There was no reason he should be guilty. Everyone knew what they were doing from the start. Everyone knew that they would eventually die and that one would have to kill their allies. Even with that knowledge, we all just let ourselves indulge in our delusions. If you were in their shoes, you would do the same. It was the only way to deal with the stress, anxiety, and paranoia that came with constantly looking over your shoulder. It was the only way to hold onto your sanity enough to survive for as long as possible. Creating temporary but unusually strong connections was the only way to hold out on lowering your time, your hearts, and your lives yourself.

“Martyn?” The voice was so familiar that his head instantly snapped to look in the direction it had come from. The voice didn’t sound like the Voices that had greeted him when he arrived wherever he was. The voice didn’t sound like the Voices who had whispered into his ear before now.

“Scott.” Martyn blinked at the blue-haired man as his shoulders tensed. He didn’t mean to sound so flat but he did. He had just been wandering, not knowing where he was going or where to go. There was nothing but void and yet, he had found another person- and it was a person he knew! Martyn didn’t expect to actually find anything when he started wandering.

Scott looked very similar to his recent memories because of course he did. It was strange seeing him like this though. Martyn had grown used to Scott’s sea creature features and the coral that had once covered his body. They used to both have coral on them but now Martyn was the only one.

The only things that were the same between the last time he saw Scott and the Scott that stood in front of him now was the hair and some of his facial features. His hair was the same shade of blue (even if it was missing the red streak in favor of floating red particles) and he was giving him a similar small smile he’d seen many times before.

Martyn had seen it the night after he had taken some of Scott’s time from him. Everyone was trying to kill Scott and so he had told Martyn to kill him to get them off his back some. Both knew he couldn’t run forever. Martyn did as he was asked but instantly felt guilty when he saw the smile he was given when they greeted each other that night. This was when they were going to try and sleep while everyone had quieted down for a little bit. Martyn was tired and, based on how you could only hear a soft breeze outside, he assumed everyone else was too.

He’s also seen it… too many times to count, actually. The times were spinning around his brain and he couldn’t grab onto one to think about it more than three word sentence fragments. 

Scott’s smiles weren’t always consistent with emotions that could be read by the smile. His eyes were what gave him away, so you could read him once you learned the cues. Currently, based on Martyn’s experience in Reading Scott’s Expressions 101, Scott was hesitant but happy to see him here.

“Are you two just going to stare at each other all day or are you going to say something?” Martyn would like to say he wasn’t startled and that he didn’t jump like a skittish cat but that would be a lie. He turned to Pearl, who was just watching them as she tied her red jacket around her waist.

“You didn’t have to startle him like that.” Scott’s words sounded like he was telling Pearl off but the tone of his betrayed that with how amused he sounded. He was probably used to her showing up out of nowhere. He might even do it to her in return. “He’s new here and probably doesn’t understand what is happening. You were similar.”

Pearl just tsked at that as Martyn straightened up. “What is happening, actually? I would like to know because I kind of just showed up here. If there is some sort of pamphlet, I didn’t get it.”

“This is where the winners reside after each of the games.” Pearl responded, ignoring some of what Martyn said, before Scott could. She gestured widely to the area around them as she spoke.

“At least a part of us does.” Scott whispered softly, pulling his blue jacket closer to him. He seemed to get drawn back into memories of loss and pain by the look in his eyes but Martyn didn’t comment on it. He doubted Scott would want him to and he really didn’t want to play therapist right now. “We don’t really have all the answers. Just a bunch of theories.”

Martyn glanced between them quickly before looking down at himself and back up at them. “Is that why you both look like that?”

“We look like we did when we won.” Scott rolled his eyes but otherwise looked as if he found Martyn’s words funny. 

“You don’t have to sound so judgemental.” Pearl snorted at his comment. “At least we’re not stuck here looking as if we drowned.”

Martyn huffed out a laugh at that. He could respect Pearl’s judgment and her words had truth. The coral did look like it had started to grow around his dead body but he thought that was cool looking. “Touché. You’re sort of right, but it does help with the whole pirate aesthetic I had going on so I don’t mind it.”

He found his eyes wandering to Scott again. It was so strange seeing him without the fins, scales, and coral. Martyn had gotten used to them and found a weird sense of comfort in it. He lost count of how many times he and Scott had left gentle touches on each other. Martyn would softly run his hand over Scott’s scales. Scott would play with Martyn’s hair. They would cuddle together on nights when they felt safe enough to not sleep in shifts. 

Those nights together had become more frequent as the games went on. You would think that would be the opposite and you would be right… if safety was really what they felt when they decided to curl up together.

It was better to have that comfort and that peace together than to lay in their shared bed alone. It was blissful to feel each other’s soft breathing and being in calm, peaceful proximity with another person. That wasn’t always something you could get in situations that they were in and they grew to cherish their time together more and more.

Plus, they weren’t idiots. They kept their weapons by their bed and blocked the door enough that you could hear it if someone came in but could also move it easily enough for if they had to escape. They had taken the precautions in order to spend those too-short nights together and it didn’t backfire on them.

Scott met Martyn’s eyes and held them for a moment. He then turned away and laughed awkwardly. “You know, we will all be here if Cleo wins next.”

It took Martyn a moment to process what was said and what it meant before he chuckled an awkward and somewhat airy chuckle. “Double Life was sort of messy between the four of us, wasn’t it?”

“No kidding.” Pearl summoned a chair and sat down on it. She leaned forward against the back of the chair and rested her arms and head on the top. “I don’t think I would ever want to go to the nether with you again- at least not first thing.”

Martyn couldn’t blame her for that but also refused to dignify her comment with a response.

“I think Cleo deserves to win in one of these games. At some point, anyway.” Scott ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at nothing… not nothing?

Martyn followed Scott’s gaze and finally noticed… Grian? He should have realized he would be here, seeing that Pearl said that all the winners were here. All of them must have just spawned in around him at different times because he hadn’t noticed them before they were referred to or spoke themselves. It would have been nice if they did that before he wandered for who knows how long. If they’ve been in this general area the whole time then Martyn would need to work on his spatial awareness.

Grian didn’t look like he did when he won Third Life. He had wings, for starters, but he also had a white cloth of sorts with a square purple symbol with a dot in two corners over his eyes. That was more unusual to Martyn than the wings. Grian seemed to be seeing something or another on the hologram screens in front of him because he was interacting with it. How could he see what he was doing if his eyes were covered? Perhaps he was seeing with the purple (a lighter purple than the dark purple that made up the void) eyes that were all around him. He’s seen those kinds of eyes himself before.

“He’s been like that since I arrived.” Scott’s arms were back to his arms, rubbing at them like he was cold. He honestly might be, seeing that there was nothing but space and only four people breathing. Scott seemed to be more hesitant and quiet than he was in Martyn’s memories. Perhaps spending all this time in a void will do that to you… or maybe it was Martyn’s arrival that had thrown him off balance. Martyn could understand the feelings he might be feeling though. He didn’t feel as confident and energized as he did during the games, especially during the end of Limited Life. Perhaps it was the adrenaline that covered the pit of emotions that threatened to swallow him whole. “Not exactly the best conversationalist.”

“I don’t think he’s said more than a few words to us since we’ve arrived.” Pearl also glanced at Grian before looking back at Scott and Martyn. “He usually doesn’t even yell at us when we get too close. He only told me off when I tried to mess with him but I wasn’t able to get him to move despite trying to knock him over or just get his attention to see what his deal was.”

“I’ve tried to peek over his shoulder to see what he was doing and it just looked to be a lot of planning for something.” Scott added to what Pearl was saying. “Based on what I gathered, I am fairly positive he’s planning out future games.”

Martyn hummed to himself as he took in all that was said here before diverting the topic of conversation. “So, what do you do between games here, then?”

“Mostly thinking,” Scott summoned a more comfortable chair than Pearl did and sat down, “or messing around with the ability to create what we want. Sometimes Pearl and I will spar just to pass the time.”

“How did you do that?” Martyn inquired, wanting to do what they had done as well. Pearl had done it and now Scott did as well so he was sure he could do it.

“Think of what you want and just kind of will it into existence.” Pearl pushed herself back in her seat with her arms on the metal frame of the chair. “I usually flick my hand in the direction I want it but Scott snaps.”

Martyn pictured what he wanted before flicking his hand in front of him. A table with a cake on it appeared and a shocked laugh escaped his lips. “It worked!”

He snapped, trying Scott’s technique now, and some chairs appeared around the table. Martyn smiled wide, pleased with himself. He grabbed the back of one of the chairs and pulled it back so he could sit down. “Would you like to join me for my birthday party?”

Scott raised an eyebrow at that but the ends of his lips twitched up. “It’ll be a smaller party than your last one but, hey, at least the Bad Boys aren’t here to blow it up this time.”

Pearl got up from her seat and went to sit down next to Martyn. “I have been told I had a claim to one-fourth of this cake, if not more.”

“Told by who?” Scott gave her a doubtful look but he was clearly amused. “Last time I checked, neither one of us said anything about that and we’re all aware Grian hasn’t said a thing.”

“I have my sources.” Pearl claimed with a lopsided grin. “Don’t question me.”

“Mm, I can and I will.” Scott continued the light banter.

“I think you would get sick if you ate that much cake.” Martyn inserted himself back into the conversation as he cut the three of them a slice of cake. 

“You can’t get sick here.” Scott had ended up sitting on Martyn’s other side and across from Pearl. He gave Martyn a “thank you” nod when Martyn placed a plate in front of him and then Pearl. “We don’t have to eat and we don’t take any damage that doesn’t heal quickly. We’ve gotten our fair share of scraps and bruises from sparing or whatever else but they didn’t stick around long.”

“You keep whatever scars you got during the game you won, though.” Pearl stabbed a piece of cake she cut with her fork and put it in her mouth. She paused and, after she swallowed the piece of cake, she glanced at Scott. “I wonder what would have happened if you didn’t blow yourself up so I technically was the last one alive in Double Life. Or if a soulmate pair, in which neither of them have won before, were the last ones alive.”

Scott furrowed his eyebrows, looking down toward his cake but it was clear he wasn’t actually paying attention to the cake. “I… I don’t know. Maybe they would just both be here? It would be rather… strange to have two versions of myself here. Especially since I have memories outside of Last Life.”

“I don’t know if I could deal with two of you for the rest of time.” Pearl wrinkled her nose at that. “At least not for as long as we reside here.”

Everyone went quiet after Pearl spoke, contemplating over the speculations and the reality they were currently living. They didn’t even eat more cake as they sat in silence.

Martyn cut a piece of his cake off after several moments and stabbed it with his fork. He held up said fork with the piece of cake on it and looked at Grian. “Hey Grian, you’re invited to my birthday party too!”

Grian didn’t even look at him or do anything to acknowledge him. Wow, Grian was ignoring him during his birthday party. Rude. Martyn frowned at that before putting the cake in his mouth as something sweet to distract from the strange feeling he felt radiating from Grian.

“You summoned some pretty good cake, Martyn,” Scott called Martyn’s attention back. Martyn opened his mouth to explain what the cake was specifically but Scott beat him to it. “It tastes like the cake we had that one night. The one after your birthday party went wrong.”

Martyn felt some warmth build in his chest at Scott’s words. He remembered it too! Martyn didn’t even have to tell him. Scott really was the same person he knew… he just looked a little different. “Yeah, that is what I meant to do.”

Pearl swallowed the piece of cake she had been chewing and grinned as she spoke. “Well, I say you should have invited me over so I could have a slice because this cake is really good, but, based on the looks you’re giving each other, it is probably a good idea you didn’t. I think you two had more fun without me there.”

“Shhh, Pearl, I’m too tired for this.” Scott rubbed his eyes with a groan, his hands not doing much to hide the blush that graced his cheeks. “Why is my ex teasing me about my other ex? Why are my exes here to torture me?”

“Grian isn’t your ex.” Pearl pointed out with a quick glance to everyone’s favorite Watcher.

At the same time as Pearl, Martyn said, “At least you don’t have to worry about Jimmy ever showing up here.”

Martyn must have blinked too long because, next thing he knew, a pillow slammed itself directly into his face. It had enough force that it almost knocked him back in his chair. He was, luckily, able to grip onto the table and not fall backward. If he ended up on the floor because of a pillow, he would not be happy and may have to summon a diamond sword. 

Pearl couldn’t hold back her laughter. She was laughing so hard she started to tear up. “Oh, Martyn, you deserved that. You deserved that so much. I would also like to throw a pillow at you but that would just be for fun.”

Scott was glaring at him, even as Pearl laughed. When Martyn met his gaze, Scott scoffed. “If you want to start teasing people for traumatic experiences, I can pull out my list.”

Martyn whistled a low tune and put his hands up in surrender. It was a low blow to mention the fact that you will not see or be with someone dear to you in the same way again. He was well aware of that and yet he did it anyway. It was kind of funny (humor is the best medicine), sure, but he could empathize. He didn’t always choose to but he could. 

He… he felt the same way with Ren. But Ren isn’t here and he wasn’t in Limited Life. Martyn wasn’t sure if the Watchers had decided to never bring him back to the games or not. He wasn’t sure if he would ever show up again. He also wasn’t sure if he wanted Ren to come back or not. Ren was set free from the games (from what Martyn had gathered, anyway) but, selfishly, he wanted him back. Even though it won’t be the same as it was in Third Life. Even though it was likely they would be on opposite sides. Even though it will hurt. It has hurt! Relationships of any kind rarely work out well (or, at least, would not be the same) for anyone long term.

Martyn knew Scott had mixed feelings with Jimmy, especially after they were husbands in Third Life (none of them knew that the games would continue after someone won at that point, meaning they didn’t know how things worked like they do now which makes it harder) and Jimmy recently rejected him in Limited Life. Martyn knew Scott didn’t expect any relationships to carry over with significant meaning (that would be foolish to believe, especially after observing the four games that have occurred so far) but he also knew that didn’t mean Scott would like being at odds with someone he willingly gave some of his time to.

“Get over yourselves. You can’t change the past and you can’t control what happens in the games. We’re all different going in and coming out so holding grudges does nothing for you.” Pearl’s laughter had died down and she was shaking her head at them. “I would also not like to be stuck with you two bickering until we get pulled into the next game.”

“Okay.” Scott hummed noncommittally. His shoulders relaxed and he smiled at Martyn. The smile looked genuine but he wasn’t sure if he believed it. “Congrats on winning though! I don’t think I’ve gotten the chance to congratulate you yet. I was very happy to see that you won.”

“Even if I poured lava on you and stabbed you?” Martyn raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical of Scott's words.

“I don’t care about winning and someone had to win. It’s kind of how these things work.” Scott shrugged before taking another bite of cake. “As we just speculated, it would be strange to win twice. I don’t care to find out what that would mean for us in this little void we are stuck in. I'd rather have a new face to talk to than a copy of myself or no one. Besides, how could I be mad when my fellow Mean Gill won?”

The warm feeling was back and it felt wonderful but also strange. He returned Scott’s praise with a genuine smile of his own. “I mean, we were the best team there so I’m not surprised one of us won. We were a force to be reckoned with! Our whole team of two people did make it to the top three so that has to say something.”

Scott laughed at that, shaking his head fondly. He reached out to Martyn’s hand, entwining his fingers with Martyn’s. Neither Pearl nor Grian were there anymore and he wasn't sure what happened there. Martyn didn’t understand the rules of this place but he was glad they were left alone. This moment was nice and he didn’t mind holding on to some glimpse of what they had. In fact, he would greatly appreciate having a positive connection with someone (especially with someone like Scott) during a time they existed outside of the everyday fears of maybe not living to see the next day.

Scott rubbed his thumb against Martyn’s hand, eyes sparkling just like they did when they were on the Coral Isles together. “I never doubted us for a second.” 

[libraryofloveletters]

Messy

Aaron Ramsdale x Fem!Reader

Warnings: cheesy aprons, Aaron is more interested in eating the cookies than helping, some bad frosting, the two of you are sweeter than the cookies.

Word Count: 661

Author's Note: okay this is my first time writing aaron, I don't know if anyone will even read it but here you go anyways lmao

--

Aaron can’t help himself when he comes home from training and finds you baking Christmas cookies.

A year tradition; Christmas cookies lined the counters of your kitchen and dining room table.

You always baked cookies for your coworkers, to take to your nieces and nephews and for Aaron to hand out at work. Somehow you always ended up with nearly 400 cookies by the end of the week, slowly parceling them off and sending them to who they needed to go to.

Aaron wasn't shocked to find the house smelling like a bakery when he returned from training, in fact he sort of expected it. You had dragged him to the store over the weekend to get everything you'd need; flour, butter, eggs, sugar, chocolate, icing sugar, milk etc.

Your red apron tied around you, it was the one he had made for you. The Arsenal logo poorly painted onto the front with Mrs. Ramsdale on the top left of it.

He quietly walks over to you, his arms snaking around your waist as your back is turned to him.

"Aaron!" You jumped, smacking his arm lightly. "You scared me!"

Your husband laughs, his chin on your shoulder. "Sorry love," he's quick to kiss your cheek, making up for it. "How's the cookie making going?"

"Slow but it's going." You tell him, swatting his hands away from the hot tray you had on the counter. Aaron pouts a bit but he mumbles an okay when you push his hand away.

"Can I help?" He asks, watching as you frost the cookies carefully. He was always in awe of your skills; every colour mixed to the extra shade you wanted, the lines perfectly straight and you free handed the figures you put on the cookies.

You nod, stopping your frosting momentarily to dig out a apron for Aaron seeing that he was still in his training kit; kiss the cook - some cheesy apron he had picked up after he bought a bbq last summer.

He shrugs off his sweater, putting the apron on and letting you help him tie it. "You have to promise not to eat the cookies." Your finger pointed at the man.

His index finger makes an X over his heart, "I swear to god, I won't eat them."

You nod, satisfied with his commitment to the cookies when you start telling him about the different kinds; peppermint chocolate, gingerbread and sugar cookies.

"You can do these," you set a plate with 4 snowflake shaped gingerbread cookies in front of him. "Just make the lines and do the little edges like this," you show him one of the cookies you had frosted already; the lines making up the lines of a snowflake.

"Okay, easy enough." He nods to himself, carefully holding the piping bag you handed him.

Aaron is careful, his hands steady as he does the first line. He looks up as your cookie and back at his, pleased with himself before he starts on the other line. It takes him a few minutes of pure focus to finish the cookie but he seems to have gone wrong along the way.

the lines are all crooked and a bit blurred together, perhaps he put too much pressure and they merged.

He decided to take the easy route out, picking up the cookie and taking a big bite out of it, the frosting on his nose. You heard the noise and turned towards your husband to see what he's done.

"What happened to not eating the cookies?" You asked him, hands on your hips.

"I didn't."

"The crumbs on your face and the frosting on your nose say otherwise," you reach up to wipe his nose off with your thumb. Aaron smiles, shrugging. "It looked wonky, baby. It didn't look like yours but it tastes fantastic."

"That's because I have years of practice," you tell him, reaching up to take a bite of his cookie. "But it does taste good," you mumble, mouth full of cookies.

Aaron laughs, pulling you to him for a kiss.

[plothooksinc]

If you’re still taking prompts for the No Rest For The Weary adjacent fic, can we see the guys’ first trip back to Hueso’s pizzaria? With or without April and Mayhem tagging along?

Also, I just found the series and binged it in like 2 days

I'm glad you enjoyed it, anon! Because I can't shut up, you get the weeks preceding it too-- (Note: if the formatting is wonky I apologise but my first attempt to post it took every single space out, hngngngn) Niño idiota: >> aww dont sweat it bm ill be back to dazzle your customers soon!!   

The message came in at lunchtime, and he didn’t see it until the rush had been and gone.  Hueso scowled down at it as if Leonardo had personally insulted him and tossed it into the corner of the kitchen.  Their first day re-opened was chaotic, with many customers seeking a sense of normalcy or not having access to their usual haunts—he’d like to say he was thinking of them by reopening so quickly, but in all honesty, Hueso was a businessman (and previously a pirate to boot) and knew the best way to recoup his loss from the enforced closure was to take advantage of the mess.  That it was also an excellent way to take stock of who had come through the invasion unscathed had nothing to do with it, of course.

He didn’t get back to his phone until late in the evening, having fielded a number of annoying encounters along with customers over-ordering pizza like the invasion was just taking a brief intermission—and dealing with Hop, who timidly called him to make sure the ‘crazy lady with the knife’ was nowhere in evidence before he dared to front for his shift—and by then he was exhausted.  But Leonardo had messaged him again—with a nonsense string of kissy faces and hearts followed by a row of question marks, and he sighed.  A five year old’s need for validation, honestly.

Hueso: >> 💀💀💀✨✨

The boy seemed like his normal self.  He told himself it was less of a relief and more of an annoying reminder that his break from seeing one of his most destructive customers-slash-temporary-waiters was destined to be a short one.  He should take advantage of it while he could.

He didn’t hear from Leonardo again.

Days later, he attempted a call and found the phone was out of service.

He was not worried.  One of the boys would surely come by for pizza now that he was open and he could make polite inquiries.  Asking after a customer’s health was permissible.

(Michelangelo had said he was recovering.  The phone was purely a coincidence.  Leonardo had merely forgotten to pay his bill like the irresponsible boy he was, or he had been using it before being cleared by doctor’s orders and the phone had been confiscated with great prejudice by his brothers.  That was all.)

--------- 

He did not see a single turtle in his restaurant.  

He did, however, hear from someone else; a phone call that took him by surprise, coming in on the main delivery line and asking to speak to the manager.  He came to the phone already annoyed, anticipating some complaint of my pizza is cold, or your special mystic sauce is flirting with my roommate! (It wouldn’t be the first time.  Sometimes his ingredients were very fresh.)

“This is Senor Hueso and I am busy,” he said curtly.  “Your complaint had best be of a suitably drastic nature.”

There was silence for a moment, and then a woman’s rueful voice.  “Ah.  Welp.  You weren’t a hallucination after all, huh?”

It took him a moment to place her, and then Hueso blinked and retreated into his office, closing the door behind him.  “Mrs O’Neil?”

“Just Carol’s fine,” she said.  “You, uh… I’m just trying to ground myself?  A little?  Things have been weird.”

“And so you decided to call the skeletal owner of a mystic pizzeria to feel normal again,” he said drily.  “I see. It makes perfect sense.”

“You’d be surprised.  Listen, I have two reasons to call—I know you’re busy so I won’t keep you tied up.”

He found he didn’t mind, actually.  It was rare that a human willingly associated with the yokai, though it spoke volumes that the two humans he’d found that would do so were related to each other.  “Go ahead.”

“First was just to, uh, touch base?  And make sure you got my message, and—I meant it.  You helped out a lot.”

“You are welcome, Senora.”  He nearly added any time, but frowned and thought better of it.  Hueso did not wish to encourage anyone to rely on him.  That was foolish.  “And the second?”

There was a brief pause.  When she spoke again, she sounded almost sheepish.  “...yeah.  Uh… it’s another stupid question, probably.”

“Of course.”  He braced himself for another inane question about skeletons.

“Yeah.  Does your, uh… pizzeria… even though we’re human, um—”

He blinked.  

And then, almost against his will, he smiled.  

“Senora, that is a stupid question.  Kindly remember all the times my employees have delivered to your daughter.”

“Oh, thank god.  Or...whatever you guys believe in—”

“Quit while you are ahead, perhaps.”  But now he was outright amused, leaning back in his chair.

“Yeah, noted.  Okay.  So some more spicy chicken…?  Two, I think.  We’re at a hotel right now, will that be a problem?”

“Not at all.  I will pass the order on to the staff.”  He hesitated.  “At a hotel?  Your apartment is a lost cause?”

“For now.  April’s, uh, friends?  Are paying for us to stay here, and I guess they’ll give us the all clear. Hopefully soon.”

Ah.  Sometimes it did, in fact, pay to ask sociable questions.  He leaned forward, voice rising eagerly.  “You have met her friends? The—” Turtle boys.  He stopped himself from saying it, because in all likelihood she had not met them and, annoying though they may be, that was a secret he would keep.

“No.” She paused, and then added shrewdly, “But April is staying with them, and I’m sure she’d have said something if they weren’t doing okay.”

He wasn’t sure April would have said anything at all, actually, given how tight-lipped she’d been on the topic of both mutants and yokai.  But knowing that she was staying with the boys did give him some level of reassurance that they hadn’t just vanished from the face of the earth.  

“Gracias,” he said anyway, and reached for his notepad.  “I had lost contact with them, so was… curious.  Tell me your hotel and room number and I will get your order ready.”

--------- 

His delivery girl came back with a hotel business card in one hand, Carol’s mobile number scrawled on the back, and a brief message:

Just in case. I’ll ask April about them in the meantime xx Carol

Well.  That certainly was an offer.  A perceptive woman, indeed.

He tucked the card into his business card book, face down so the message was hidden.   

--------- 

Perhaps Leonardo was avoiding him.  

The idea filled him with annoyance.  He also knew it was extremely unlikely, but he far preferred this irritating potential reason over anything more serious.  Hueso let himself believe this for a day and a half before he had to acknowledge that, foolish though the boy might be, he would not avoid the pizzeria just because Hueso had made a comment about an extra shift to pay for damages.  He would own up to it, if only to make childish comments about how much Hueso could rely on him and filch extra slices of garlic bread when he thought nobody was looking.  And potentially cause even more damage, because that seemed to be par for the course these days.  

The thought made him smile faintly-- until he realised he was very close to daydreaming about Leonardo accidentally trashing his pizzeria, and he nearly snapped poor Hop’s head off when he fumbled a serving a few moments later.  What a ridiculous thought.  (And he was annoyed at himself, not the staff, so he made sure to let Hop leave a few minutes early as an apology.)

Perhaps Leonardo had attempted to open a portal while concussed and had accidentally stranded himself in some remote farmstead.  That seemed as likely as avoiding him.  Or he had been portal jacked by pirates, and any moment now Piel would open the door to his restaurant and drag the turtle in like some waterlogged kitten, draped in seaweed and clinging to his ridiculous sword and wearing both those ridiculous eyepatches again, good grief what had the boy even been thinking (clearly he hadn’t been) and Leonardo would beam at him and launch into a tale of all the mermaids he’d met and flirted with until Piel dropped him mid-spiel and stormed out again.  

Perhaps he had quite deliberately portalled his family to Tahiti this time to recover in luxury.

...doubtful.

Perhaps…

Perhaps he was thinking about this too much.

Hueso put it aside and went to serve the family of googlyschmootzes that had just arrived and didn’t think about it again.

For a good twenty minutes.

--------- 

He broke.

Hueso: >>Buenas noches, Carol.  Could I ask if you have any word? >>This is Senor Hueso.

Senora O’Neil: >>Evening!  I will see what I can do.  I’m sure they’re fine.

-------- 

They were not fine.

Carol did not text him.  But the following evening, his waitress Gloriana knocked on his office door to tell him that one of the turtle boys had arrived and was asking for him, and he barely let her finish before Hueso was moving past her and through the kitchen at a speed a little too risky for an area full of sharp implements.  

April was at his front counter, peering listlessly at one of the menus, and he took a moment to observe just how tired she looked before he took in the hunched bulk that was Raphael slouching next to her, and he froze.  He already knew April had been injured—had seen her arrive with her face a mess, knew about the attack—but it was the sight of the large snapper that made him feel the first unfamiliar touch of… anger.  

Fear.  

Raphael’s arms were thoroughly bandaged, swathed above his plastron and neck, and his eye was covered in a patch that made him think nonsensically for a moment, ah, so it was pirates after all.  But it was the large chunk missing from the curve of his shell that horrified him, the sight of a near miss that was far above and beyond their usual shenanigans.

They are children, he thought.  This is too much for children.

If Raphael was the only one to visit him, how badly off were the others?

He did not ask.  Instead, Hueso regarded them with a face he hoped was impassive, and tugged the brim of his hat down slightly.  

“I see life has not been kind to you lately,” he said.  “I hope you do not think this entitles you to a discount.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” April said politely, but the knowing smirk that curved onto her exhausted face warned him ahead of time.  “Especially as we’re not here for pizza.”

...ah.  Carol had ratted him out.  Very rude, considering he had not once mentioned he was concerned.  He flicked his gaze to Raph, who gave him a wan smile of his own, blinking slowly with his one good eye as if he were considering going to sleep right there at the counter.  

Hueso sighed.  It wasn’t the end of the world.  

“I suppose you had better come through to my office.”

--------- 

April’s nose was newly bandaged and her bruises were that particular array of colours that always arrived in the process of healing.  That was something, at least, though Hueso couldn’t help but note the smaller bandage patch behind one ear.  She had been hurt more since he last saw her.  Perhaps they all had.  It made him fret over Leonardo’s last message and out of service phone all over again.  

“My doctor insisted on checking it out, but it��s all healing well,” she said, taking the mug of coffee from him. She was sitting on one edge of the worn couch he kept in his office, slouching against its side with a carelessness that made him wonder how long it had been since she’d slept well.  Raphael was taking up the rest of it, sitting there with his hands clasped on his knees and clearly trying not to fidget.

“I did not ask,” Hueso said levelly, and held out another mug to the turtle.  He didn’t seem to notice.

“No, but I ain’t blind,” April retorted.  “Mikey’s right, you are a big softie.”

He sighed.  “A terrible slur upon my reputation.”

“Sure it is.” She grinned over the rim of her mug, and elbowed Raph in the side, who started and then finally noticed Hueso’s outstretched hand.  “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with us.  Right, Raph?”

“Right,” Raph said automatically, taking the mug.  Then he blinked.  “Wait, what?”

Dios mio.  Hueso raised an eyebrow.  “Raphael.  How long has it been since you slept?”

“Uhhh…”

The fact that he trailed off and frowned spoke volumes, and Hueso sighed again.  Well, he hadn’t been fooling them anyway.  Or, at the very least, he hadn’t fooled April.  He turned on his heel and went to the cupboard. “I assume your mother asked you to stop by.”

“You assume right,” she said, relaxing back with her coffee.  “Guess I’m doing a proof of life tour today.  I checked in with her, she asked me to follow up.”

“I see.  I feel you should have left this one home to sleep.”  

Raph frowned at that.  “Yeah, well, this one thought April could do with company.  It’s been a, uh, week.”

That gave him pause.  “Does this ‘a, uh, week’ begin before or after the zombie attack at the O’Neil apartment?”

“Man, don’t ask him to count days at this point,” April said wryly as Raph took on a more confused expression.  “Just assume things have been chaotic as hell since the day the sky opened up and rained bubblegum on us.”

“Such a misleading way to describe an alien invasion.” Hueso snorted, hiding his worry.  Not that it seemed to matter with this company.  “That almost sounds cute.”

“Never had bubblegum in your hair, huh.”

Hueso served her with A Look.  “In my clearly bountiful hair?  No.”

Then he threw a blanket from the cupboard across, hitting Raph in the face, and pointed.  “You, nap.  You.” To April. “Tell me what has happened, and why Leonardo’s phone is out of service.”

Raph blinked as the blanket slid off his face and landed in his lap.  “Wait, it is?”  And he started to fumble for his phone, until April put a hand gingerly on his shoulder.  “April?”

“Yeah, uh, it’s okay,” she said, eyes wide.  “We didn’t know it was out of service, but it makes sense.  I remember the last place he had it.  I think Leo needs a new phone.”

That was at least vaguely reassuring that Leonardo was alive and in need of technology somewhere, but April’s dancing around the point only served to irritate him.  “You are both very tired, it seems, if you did not realise before now.”

“Yeah well, you try dealing with two invasions in the space of a week,” April shot back.  “Leo’s phone getting eaten is kind of less important than, you know, Leo himself.  And Mikey.  And everyone losing their freaking homes and—”

And Raphael put out one of his giant hands to settle her back on the couch before she could get to her feet, grimacing faintly at Hueso, and he put up his skeletal hands in a gesture of apology.  

“I did not mean to imply any stupidity,” he said faintly, reeling a little at the sheer amount he needed to unpack in that small rant.  “I am merely… concerned at how exhausted you are.”  There, now he was being honest.  What was the world coming to?  He didn’t know where to start, so he started with the most bizarre.  “His phone was eaten?”

“It wasn’t me,” Raphael muttered, and April broke into a laugh before she could help herself, slapping a hand over her mouth.  

Hueso texted a message out to his kitchen staff and took a seat, feeling far more brittle than he had a few minutes ago.  Teenagers.  Very tired teenagers.  The laugh had sounded less amused and more borderline hysterical, so when he spoke again, he was as gentle as he could be.

“Perhaps you ought to start from the beginning.”

--------- 

Gloriana knocked on the door ten minutes later with a platter of cheesy bread sticks and spicy meatballs.  By then, April had finished telling him about the attack on the lair, Agent Bishop’s involvement and mistakes, and Leonardo and Michelangelo’s rescue.  The mention of Bishop would have set his hair on end if he had any; he was familiar with the man, given his restaurant straddled the line between the Hidden City and New York, and there had been harassment before certain rules were put in place and Bishop promptly lost interest.  

Raphael had fallen asleep during April’s spiel, and she had tucked the blanket over him without so much as a pause and carried right on, and the practised move was doing something unfortunate to Hueso’s emotions.  Or perhaps that was just the realisation of just how terribly things had gone after Leonardo’s last message to him; how close the family had come to tragedy.  

They were children.  

(Also, Leonardo’s phone being eaten by a possessed train was nowhere on his spiralling bingo card--)

He took the platter with a nod of thanks and closed the door, sliding it onto the coffee table in front of them.  April needed no encouraging and snagged two breadsticks with the flash of a grateful smile.  He sat and politely let her wolf them down before he spoke again.

“They are all right now?”

“Mikey just overextended himself and is sleeping it off,” she said, and he wondered how much of an understatement that was.  He did not pry.  “Leo’s… not doing great, given the timing, but he’ll be okay with time.  Might be a while before he’s back to pester you, though.  Or take any shifts.”

“I will somehow manage without this added disruption in my life,” he said with a straight face.  He was partly relieved; mostly, however, he was quietly calculating just how hurt the boy must be to be gone for a while.  To be taken straight from a hospital bed before he had a chance to recover-- “And you say both of these aliens are now dead, yes?”

“With extreme prejudice,” April said with satisfaction.

“I am sure my customers will be relieved to hear the danger has fully passed, then.”  He sipped his tea.

“Oh yeah, sure.” She grinned at him, snagging another bread stick.  “And I’ll let Leo know you were worried about him.”

He frowned at her over his cup.  “You will not.  He is insufferable enough as it is and I will confess to nothing.”

“Hmm, I dunno…”

“I can still charge you for those bread sticks you are eating.”

“Man, you think my silence can be bought?”   She waved at him with the bread stick in question before biting it in half, and he sighed.

“I was under the impression humans were easily corruptible, yes.” 

“Oh, we totally are.”

The O’Neil women were definitely going to be headaches in his life, weren’t they.  Hueso found he wasn’t particularly annoyed by that fact, but he made sure to sigh again.  It gave him an opening in any case. “Would you like to take some food home with you?  The family must surely be quite exhausted, if they are all dead on their feet like the two of you.”

“That would be amazing and my lips are sealed,” April said sunnily.  “Only can we get stuff that isn’t pizza? We kind of, uh, wanna hold off on that for a bit.  Long story.”

Odd.  But he didn’t care enough to question it.  She had overloaded him with enough stressful exposition already.  “I will put together some other options.  It...may take a while, if you care to rest until it is—”

A green hand landed flat on top of the meatball pile, and they both jumped.  And watched as Raphael grabbed a full handful of meat and shoved it into his mouth, chewing slowly before letting out a snore and sinking back into sleep again.

Well, then.  He was beginning to understand why Raph had defended himself about eating phones.  

“Does he do this often?”

April cackled.

--------- 

Mayhem was in his kitchen.

Having a staring contest with Hop.

Hueso counted to ten.  And then tapped the rabbit yokai politely on the shoulder, pretending he didn’t see the boy jump more than strictly necessary.  “You have work to do.  I will deal with the interloper.”

Hop nodded vigorously and then took off the front counter, stumbling over his own big feet on the way out the door.  Hueso sighed.  And took his place, staring down the tiny yokai with the most unimpressed look he could manage.

Mayhem stared mildly back.

“I am going to put together some pasta and burritos for the Hamatos,” Hueso said finally.  “When I am done, kindly make sure it gets back to wherever they are staying and deposit the two in my office directly into their beds.  Then I will consider us even.”

Mayhem tilted his head as if he couldn’t possibly know what Hueso was talking about; as if the little sneak hadn’t dumped humans in his lap not one week before.  His tail dipped off the ledge he was sitting to wave dangerously close to a pot full of bubbling mince.

Hueso pointed a finger bone at him.  “Do not threaten me, pequeña mierda.  I know where you came from.”

Mayhem stuck his nose in the air and turned away.  But his tail curled around him obediently and his ears twitched back.  

Just so long as they were agreed.

--------- 

April was snoring on top of Raphael when he returned.  He took a picture, careful to cut Raphael out of the shot, and sent it to Carol.

Hueso: >> You told her I was concerned.  A lie and a terrible betrayal.

Carol’s response took a while in coming.  He wondered if she was laughing at him.

Mrs O’Neil: >> Which is it? 👀 A lie or a betrayal it can’t logically be both 

Hueso: >> We will have words about this later.  For now, I am sending your daughter home to bed.

Mrs O’Neil: >> Gracias, Senor.  

--------- 

Knowing the family were okay did set his mind at ease somewhat.  His restaurant seemed much quieter without the turtles coming through, but it wasn’t as if Run of the Mill was a picture of serenity without them.  Not with his customer list including mob bosses and smugglers and the occasional pirate, but largely his customers knew very well to treat his restaurant with respect and cause no issues (providing, of course, he did not double-book certain parties ever again.)  

Life settled into some semblance of normal over the next week as the invasion became more distant; for the majority of the yokai it had been merely a source of hushed gossip, trapped as they were quite safely in the Hidden City’s lockdown.  (Hueso was under no illusions.  If the invasion had not been halted on the surface, the Krang would have found them all eventually.  He kept that to himself.)

Carol messaged him some days later, minutes after closing, and he glanced down at the message and couldn’t help his faint huff of amusement:

Carol: >> YOU DIDN’T SAY HER FRIENDS WERE GREEN >> also thank you for the complimentary cheesecake how did you know

Hueso: >> I didn’t say they were human, either. >> I have my ways. You can work them out yourself I’m sure.

Carol: >> A lie and a terrible betrayal!!! >> You saw the delivery address.  More stupid questions?

Hueso: >> I do not think that is the clever retort you think it is.  I neither lied nor betrayed.  I am an honest man* >> * Terms and conditions apply >> Also yes, but you are welcome.  Your home is intact?

Carol: >> For the most part.  Some minor repairs needed.  >> The boys are fine.  I only met one, but he’s charming in an awkward sort of way.  They’re coming for dinner next week!

Ah.  Hueso closed the door to his office, leaning against it, and felt… lighter.  That was promising.  In more ways than one.  If the boys were going to a family dinner, they were okay.  And Carol had met a turtle and invited him to dinner.  Truly, a unique human being.  He suspected he was going to enjoy their conversations.

(He wondered if she threatened the turtle with a knife first.)

Hueso: >> All of them?

Carol: >> As far as I know.  Does that help?  Would you like me to pass on a message?

“Like you did last time?” he muttered.  But he appreciated the offer even so.

Hueso: >> That is quite all right.  If they are well enough for dinner, I’m sure I will be seeing them myself sometime soon.  Gracias.

He saw the dots come up and vanish again, then reappear, and he waited patiently.  

Carol: >> You’re welcome 🥰

He wondered what she had been typing.  But his curiosity was only mild, and it had been a long day; Hueso collected his briefcase, checked in with the closing staff, and made his way home in a surprisingly good mood.  

--------- 

The following weekend, he woke to find she had sent him a picture.  He opened it over breakfast and promptly spat milk across the table.  

It was a picture of April, holding up her phone with a wide grin, her camera panned back to catch Donatello perched on the back of a couch like a menacing and mildly deranged vulture.  Those strange machine hands of his were extended down with markers in their pincers, scrawling on the side of a sleeping Leonardo’s face.  Michelangelo was leaning over one side of the couch with a marker in his hands but it looked like he was laughing too much to contribute, and he could just see Raphael—a much less exhausted and less bandaged Raphael, for which he was quietly relieved—looking at the camera with a grin and gesturing at his brothers, his mouth smeared with… chocolate?  That was probably chocolate--

Carol: >> Proof of life 🎊🎊

Hueso: >> A terrible invasion of their privacy.  

Carol: >> I’m innocent!  My daughter is the fiend here.  You don’t hae to worry, I didn’t say a word >> *have

If Leonardo was sleeping at this dinner, he was still healing—but clearly in safe territory, if his brothers were… well.  Being brothers.  He’d certainly woken up several times as a child to find his bones decorated in all kinds of rude messages.  Hueso grimaced at the memory and took a closer look.  

The boy had lost weight.  Not enough to be frightening; enough that Hueso contemplated whether he could get away with inflicting more food on them without the repercussions of Leonardo’s smarmy grin and assumptions.  Probably not.  Besides, he had faith that Carol would have fed them well and Michelangelo was an excellent chef in his own right.  He was not needed here.

Hueso: >> Gracias. >> Is it all right if I print this?

Carol: >> You may do with it what you like.  April knew what she was doing.

Like mother, like daughter.  The girl was a menace.  But in this case… he smiled and tucked back into his breakfast, wiping up the spilled milk with a napkin.  April was all right.  He would have to let her know that her family was welcome at his pizzeria, provided they were not easily shocked by some of his clientele.

--------- 

Carol🗡️: >> Maybe a quieter night.  Do you have quiet nights?

Hueso: >> First Wednesday of the month is Human Night Out.  It only attracts the younger yokai.

Carol🗡️: >> Sounds ominous.  Human Night Out?

Hueso: >> Wherein we hide all traces of the Hidden City and pretend we are a human pizzeria.  There are costumes.

Carol🗡️: >> ...that’s actually something yokai are interested in?

Hueso: >> You don’t have theme nights in your own restaurants?  The younger yokai are fascinated by humans.  The older… not so much.  It is quieter.  There are ‘exotic’ dishes which I think you would find fairly mundane.    The yokai would think you were just in disguise.

Carol🗡️: >> Okay that’s amazing.  Don’t you lose money though?

Hueso: >> Not when people pay a premium for the exotic dishes.

Carol🗡️: >> I detect a con.

Hueso: >> I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.  Booking for 7pm?

Carol🗡️: >> We’ll be there.  I’ll review your exotic dishes.

Hueso: >> I’ll give you a discount for your first time if you review them positively.

Carol🗡️: >> We’ll see 😁

--------- 

[unknown number] >> I know I know youve been so worried about me I amhere 

Hueso: >> New phone, who is this

Niño idiota: >> Ohohoho OUCH we gotta work on ur meme skills u did it wrong

Hueso: >> I’m sure I don’t care.

Niño idiota: >> well when u decide u do care as u inevinnev something something do its ‘new phone who dis’

Hueso: >> ‘inevitably’.

Niño idiota: >> that’s what i said >> anyway sorry i was out of touch i lost my phone??  prolly left it somwhere u know how it is >> I owe u a shift just lmk when

Hueso is typing… Hueso is typing…

Niño idiota: >> did I break u with like responsibillity want me to be an idiota just to balance things??

Hueso: >> I will not need anyone for a few weeks.  But do not think you are off the hook.  I am sure I can find something tedious for you to do. >> You are already an idiot no need to rub it in.

Niño idiota: >> u love me and u know it

Hueso: >> Debatable.

Niño idiota: >> Debatable!!!  thats not a no u no

Hueso: >> Get some sleep and learn to spell.  I am busy.

Niño idiota: >> ✨🎊👏👏😘😊😏 >> in that order or

> Read 3.48pm

Niño idiota: >> you leave idiota on read???  rude tbh jail bla bla bla >> 🥺🥺🥺 >> 😎see u soon✨

--------- 

“—get it, but I wish you’d told me before this!”  The voice was whining and petulant and very, very familiar. He felt a Pavlovian sense of annoyance rise up almost as fast as the sheer relief, and Hueso opened the kitchen door a crack to peer out.  

Sure enough, there they were.  Finally.  Leonardo was leaning against the closest booth to the alleyway portal, but he was on his feet and that was good enough.  Michelangelo was latched onto one arm and Hueso couldn’t tell if it was clingy affection or for extra stability.  Perhaps both.  Leonardo’s pout was ridiculously overdramatic, which told Hueso the boy was perfectly fine with whatever he hadn’t been told, and if he had eyes, he would roll them.  Teenagers. 

“Sorry, Leo, we kinda forgot.”  Raphael rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.  The eye patch was gone with no sign of wounds beneath.  “It was a spur of the moment thing, but the kid’s never had pizza, so—”

“Nah, I get it,” Leo said, waving his free hand.  “But I’m totally complaining about this injustice for the rest of the night, just so you know.”

“Oh nooo, a surprise no one could have foreseen, however will we manage your-- oh wait, I have headphones.” Donatello, moving around them with a look of complete disinterest and his phone in his hand.  

There.  All four of them.  

Hueso breathed.  Hop had already picked up his notebook and was rounding the counter; he managed to catch him by the shoulder before Hop could get further (another jump, were all rabbit yokai so anxious or just this one?) and took the notebook from him, gesturing with his bony chin toward the kitchen.  The message was clear:  trade places.  

Then he waited until all four were seated—pretended he wasn’t paying attention to the way Michelangelo helped Leonardo into the booth—and sauntered over, the picture of nonchalance, grateful that his voice was dry as the desert when he spoke.  “Ah, my most destructive customers.  I thought it had been quiet around here.”

Donatello didn’t even look up from his phone, which was the very picture of normal for him.  But the other three did, with Raphael and Michelangelo throwing him cheerful smiles.  Leonardo lit right up with a flash of teeth in a smug grin that said he was about to say something incredibly obnoxious.  Good.  Business as usual.  Even if he wasn’t currently flailing at Hueso with his usual dramatics, which he suspected meant the boy was still sore, at the very least.  

“Bone man!”  Leonardo beamed, then sprawled in the booth with a barely-there wince, propped up by his little brother.  “Toldja it’d be soon.  Miss me?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.  “But my aim is getting better.”

Donatello snorted at his screen, and Leonardo made a face.  “Seriously?  That’s like… so old, you need to hang around someone younger with better jokes—”

“Someone like you, perhaps?”  Hueso pinned him with a look, tapping his notebook.  “You seem to have forgotten where I heard that from in the first place.”

“Memory issues,” Michelangelo said solemnly, pushing Leonardo delicately upright again.  “Concussions will do that to ya.”

Hueso raised the notebook to hide his smile as Leonardo shot him a betrayed look.  “You told him?”

“I’m sorry, was that meant to be a secret?”  Donatello glanced up finally.  “We’ve been incommunicado for weeks after an invasion and he called you while you were sleeping it off.  What do you think we told him?”

“I told him, technically,” Michelangelo said cheerfully, “But it’s okay, Leo!  I didn’t tell him anything else! Pinky promise.”

Raphael raised a hand sheepishly.  “Yeah, uh, but April and Raph might’ve...”

Leonardo’s expression flickered from surprised to guilty to mildly distressed before it settled on the sulkiest frown he’d seen on the boy yet.  “Well, that’s not fair.  I was gonna like… derail him with tales of our epic adventures and everything, and you beat me to it.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘regale’, Nardo.”  

“Derailing may still happen,” Hueso said dryly, tapping his finger bones on the edge of the table to get their attention back.  “If you intend to continue this fascinating conversation rather than order your food?”

“Hah,” Leonardo muttered.  “That’s totally what I meant—”

“Hush up,” Michelangelo said, leaning past him.  “I’m hungry.  Can I get the mystic lasagna?”

He took their orders after that, watching them carefully as they talked.  Raphael’s eye was a little red, but was tracking correctly and obviously focused.  A good sign, he hoped.  Donatello seemed utterly like his normal self, and Michelangelo was wearing what seemed to be compression gloves.  Leonardo… was still thin, and looked very tired, but Hueso had seen him far more exhausted.  There were splashes of vivid colour creeping over the top of his shell which he couldn’t help but stare at, trying to work out what they were.  

Leonardo tilted his head at the curiosity, and then smiled more genuinely, twisting slightly so that Hueso could get a better look.  “Like it?  My little brother is awesome, as usual.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Michelangelo huffed, but he was grinning as Hueso stared at the beautifully painted marigolds, petunias, and tulips winding their way across Leonardo’s shell.  

The boy was an impressive artist; not just for the careful love and detail on such an unusual surface, but the way he’d crafted his art to disguise injury.  Because Hueso had to pay very close attention to see the repair job to the shell beneath.  

The damage had been… extensive.  He’d thought Raphael’s shell had been bad; no wonder he had been incommunicado for so long.  

Leonardo’s smile shifted strangely on his face, and he sounded almost uncertain.  “What do you think?”

Ah.  It was hard to translate what Leonardo really wanted to hear.  But given the way Michelangelo had gone so far to hide this injury… he leaned back again, humming thoughtfully.  “I think the next time I would like new art for the restaurant, I should see if your brother is free.  It may perhaps be a less destructive option than waiting tables.”

Leonardo grinned in pride as Michelangelo brightened next to him.  “Really?  I would love to do some art for you, Senor Hueso!  I could bring my portfolio next time!”

“You have a portfolio?” Raphael looked confused.  “Wait, what’s a portfolio?”

“It’s a port just for me, duh,” Leo drawled, and then reeled back as Donatello threw a wad of napkins into his face.  “Hphh!”

“That was terrible and you know it.”

“It was pretty great, actually.”  Leonardo spat a piece of napkin at him and smiled lazily.  “You’re just jealous I thought of it first.”

Donatello resolutely ignored him and turned to Raphael.  “It’s a collection of sample works that illustrate an artist’s skill and range.”

...had they forgotten he was here?  Typical.  He coughed loudly, and watched them all swivel back to him attentively.  “Yes, bring your portfolio.  I suppose I am interested.  The flowers look very lovely.”  He paused, but in the end he couldn’t resist.  “Though it does make you look like you’re about to be thrown at a wedding.”

“Sounds like a fun sport,” Donatello drawled.  “Let’s get Kendra married off so we can bowl Leo at her bridal party.  If she has enough friends for that.”

“Can—can we wait until he can survive that first, Raph would like not to panic all over again—” 

“Why should Leo get all the fun?  I’m the small one, let me be the bouquet!”  Michelangelo had literal stars in his eyes.  “I’d love to be a bunch of flowers.”

“Yeah, but you can hardly paint your own back, Miguel.”

“Challenge accepted.  This bitch yeet!”

“Okay, one:  language, and two:  even Raph knows that’s not how it goes—”

“What’s wrong with yeet?”

“Leonardo--”

Maybe he shouldn’t have made the joke.  Hueso sighed heavily, and this time it didn’t stop them from continuing on with... apparently inventing a brand new hobby.  Teenagers.  But lively ones, and he would rather they were here giving him a headache than go through the weeks of quiet that had preceded this one.  

“I’ll take your orders to the kitchen,” he said, and turned on his heel.

“Hey, wait—”

There was a tug on his sleeve, and he turned in surprise to find Leonardo half out of the booth and trying to keep his balance; Michelangelo had an arm wrapped around him to stop him falling, but was still arguing with the others.  Apparently he’d lunged to get Hueso’s attention without thinking it through.  Good grief.  He stepped forward and put his bony hand under Leonardo’s elbow, gently pushing him back into his seat.

“Do not do that again,” he said quietly, and Leonardo made a sheepish face.

“Sorry.  I just wanted to, uh…”

He trailed off.  Hueso raised an eyebrow and waited patiently until he glanced away.

“Did we worry you?”

What an odd question.  Or rather, what an odd delivery.  He would have expected Leonardo to be smug, taking it as proof of their friendship, but Leonardo seemed more anxious about the prospect.  And Hueso thought back to their text conversation.  To the boy’s completely nonchalant dismissal of his silence and missing phone.

“Only a little,” he said, voice mild.  “In truth, I was more impressed by the tale.  One could say that you and your brothers acted like…”  

And Hueso smiled.  Pointedly. 

“...champions.”

Leonardo mouthed the word back in confusion, before realisation lit his face.  Hueso took advantage of the pause to move away, heading for the kitchen with his notebook, listening briefly to the conversation behind him--

“Raph!  Raph!  Hey, gimme a lift, I need to go check the Wall of Champions—”

Hueso vanished into the kitchen and passed off their order to his kitchen hands.  He only had two photos of the boys, after all.  One was still quite firmly pinned to the Maze of Death cheaters wall.  The other--

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?”

His staff shrank back; both at the yell and at Hueso’s wide grin, which admittedly looked downright unnerving on a living skeleton, he could admit--

“Omigosh we’re champions!”

“With this photo!?  YOU’RE DRAWING ON MY FACE!”

“Well, someone had to.  I, at least, look suitably championlike—”

“You look like a deranged gremlin is what you look like.  Couldn’t he, like, edit out the chocolate first?”

“I mean, it could be worse, Leo!  We could have been drawing something that wasn’t PG-13.”

“Where’s April?  I’m gonna kill her.” Leonardo was wailing.  “She sent this to Hueso!?”

Hueso swept through the kitchen and into his office, shutting the door behind him so that nobody could hear him laugh.

[spontaneousglitterbees]

Legally required to ask for Kokichi for the ask game

[For this ask game]

gosh ur so right anon. I am so sorry this got readmore levels of out-of-hand full spoilers for NDRV3 and also rated C for Current Hyperfixation.

favorite thing about them

Counter-intuitive, but I know my past self (including the era when V3 came out) would have hated Kokichi for the same reasons I like him now. Mainly:

I really did go into V3 expecting to loathe Kokichi as a nuisance at best; I’d been spoiled on Ch. 4  before getting into DR because I thought ‘my aim sucks I won’t play it anyway’  and, loving bees and assorted bugs as I do, I figured Gonta would be my favorite. And I mean, he’s up there, but this little shit. How dare he be an engaging character.

Unsure where I said it previously, but Kokichi seems like the kind of guy who would run a How to Beat [X Movie] channel out of earnest (admit so or not) love for the thought experiment of it all, which isn’t just relatable, but a very interesting Type of Guy to have in your killing game scenario. The one constantly pushing the boundaries, but not quite meta-level aware they’re in a video game; genre-savvy and trying to Actually Accomplish Something Constructive. He also goes about it in such a way that launches a couple malatovs at every bridge he has, which, having been anxious and overly rejection-sensitive in high school, is fucking wild to me. You are going about this in the worst way you could, on purpose, and that is fascinating. Mentally I am putting him in a microscope slide because What Is Your Deal

Plus, the way he constantly has some kind of front up to a point where Saihara can’t decide who he really is by the end of Ch. 5… hmm chameleon complex? I find it quite simple, really. Unclear to me if they meant to make him Like This but doubling down on constant over-performance of social signals because communicating frustrates you and it lets you feel some small degree of control in your life is (in my experience at least) very autistic of him and as a result hearing the whole V3 cast consider him entirely indecipherable down to the bitter end… oof ouch real anxieties? 

least favorite thing about them

A) Some of the iconography they chose for his talent. Which I’m pretty sure they pretty much ditched outside promos? So B) Some of his art in the wake of Ch. 4 is… wonky, but not in a way that looks fully deliberate? It undercuts the drama for me a bit. I think Kokichi seems much more menacing when he drops pretenses entirely and just goes blank instead of trying Very Hard to act out a particular emotion (like he does pretty much all the time). Instead of the demon face, something more like this?

favorite line

I blame this for getting "The more that you suffer, the more I enjoy it" stuck in my head, plus the combo of "Now you'll never, ever forget me for the rest of your life! [...] I stole your heart, so now I'm satisfied." The two surface Kokichis asdfghjkl

Looking for quotes though it came to my attention that in Chapter 2 he says "[...] I wanna win this killing game! So I'm not gonna run from it, I'm gonna crush it! That'll be waaaay less boring, don'tcha think?"  kicking screaming they knew exactly what they were doing

shipping and handling

tbh I less ‘ship’ and more ‘please make them interact with one another’, so grains of salt I suppose!

brOTP

Kokichi + Miu. Gotta find who in the amalgamate server said ‘in any other circumstance they’d be besties’ because they are Correct.

OTP

This is a self report but like fuck it we ball Kokichi ♢/♠ Kaito

If you know the intricacies of what that means you may be entitled to—

Pretty much this vine

nOTP

I guess I'm a little squicked thinking of Kokichi/Gonta in a romantic sense? See at least in TAPP they've still got a Lot to talk about before comfortably calling one another 'friend' instead of 'working on it'

random headcanon

Ah a lot of these are already sprinkled in TAPP so what’s one y’all haven’t heard before,,

He started painting his nails during the game initially to interrogate (RE: get-to-know) Rantaro, and kept doing it to discourage himself from biting his nails and cuticles all the time. There's only like one sprite where he does it, but I think it could be a nervous tick

TAPP!DICE may not be real but the tea party policy absolutely is

I've drawn him in skirts doing outfit memes, but I think for him it's less concrete than feeling like dressing femme sometimes and more that, post-game and organization-less, he has no idea who he's supposed to be anymore and is throwing pretty much everything at the wall in many facets of his life. Including but not limited to saying 'screw uniforms' and seeing how long it takes him to get in trouble with HPA for wearing different clothes every day. After long enough unchallenged he starts getting his classmates to do it too. Considering... their entire circumstances in TAPP, they get away with a lot more than the other classes 

unpopular opinion

Is it unpopular to say that some of the info from Kokichi’s FTEs should have been in the main plot? The knife game scene, besides being my favorite, seriously clues the player into what he’s like beyond the artifice without having to posthumously dump that exposition in his room, and that a lot of players confused by him are likely to miss out on characterization that would clarify things Irks Me.

song i associate with them

Oh, only one song? Too bad, 'cuz I Can’t Decide - Scissor Sisters

My other cop-out is 'Cause I’m a Liar - Mcki Robyns-P, which I’m working on a cover for in Synth V

Other than that? I haven’t built up nearly enough song-based associations with the DR cast yet somehow, but I’ll throw in Queen of Nothing - The Crane Wives which is less a Kokichi vibe than “I’m writing TAPP!Kokichi in the wake of Chapter 5” vibes. Isn’t this what you wanted? Time sure feels like it’s running out. Finish what you started, Queen of Nothing, wearing such a heavy crown.

I don’t know if this is in the spirit of the prompt but the thought did occur to me that a Trial 5 animatic to I’m Alive from Next to Normal would slap really really hard actually.

I need more peppy songs in my life, is what I’m gathering.

favorite picture of them

Let’s split it like this:

Favorite from the game? Probably this one

The face of a man asking “what are you gonna do, shoot me?” promptly before getting shot.

Sprite? This one

Is it genuine curiosity? Is he mocking me? Some mysterious third thing? Yes.

and a fanart that lives in my brain rent-free (the-everlasting-ash). Linking instead of reposting bc please support the original artist. There are many, many wonderful pieces of fanart out there, but this one carved a niche in my brain and stayed there (it is the cover image for DR art on my phone on account of Stunning).

Also for the uninitiated on TAPP- [Talent Acquisition Pilot Program AU Masterpost]

[catreginae]

The morning came much too quickly, as most of the group was too tired to crawl out of bed despite needing to. Time was already awake, having not slept a wink as he sat by Twilight's bed. Warriors were sort of asleep, but he was still aware of the slight movements and breathing from the others.

It was a hectic night, but they all had a lingering feeling that this morning would be no better.

By Wars’ guess, it was at least 10 o’clock by now. He could’ve asked Time since the older seems to have an odd ability to always know the exact second, but he was much too focused on watching Twilight.

“You need sleep, Sprite. He’ll be fine when you wake up.”

If they were lucky, Twi would be out cold for a few days, allowing his body to get used to the changes. But, it would most likely be only today if he were to be honest.

“No.”

Time said coldly, not even turning to look at him as he did. Wars let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to Time.

“He’ll be okay, but you won’t be if you don’t at least take a nap.”

“I refuse to leave his side again.”

“You could sleep at the end of the bed, in the chair, or on the floor, and still not leave Twi. Besides, I can watch over him.”

“And how did that turn out? With Twi almost dead again, and him suffering in pain.”

That made Wars flinch, if he were to be honest. Time’s voice was so harsh, and it made him feel a little uneasy. He knew that he had every right to be pissed off at him for what had happened, Legend surely was a few hours ago, but he didn’t expect it to be so jarring to hear.

“I’m sorry, but I had no other choice. He would’ve died if I hadn’t turned him. Would you rather him be dead?”

“I’d rather him be mortal.”

Wars could only sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew that Time wasn��t thinking rationally. How could he, when this was his descendant who had nearly died in front of him twice?

“We’ll find a way to revert it. I don’t know how, but he’ll be human again soon.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“You are thinking too negatively, Link. He isn’t some monster now, and you have to stop acting as if he was.”

“He mauled Sky. If he wasn’t as strong as he was, his arm would’ve been torn to shreds. And, what’s worse, Twi was going after Wind initially, so imagine the aftermath if Wind was snatched up instead.”

The sounds of shuffling feet stopped the argument between the two, and Time turned back to looking at Twilight.

“Go check on the others for me. We need to set up a plan for when we leave this hotel.”

Sure enough, the voices of Legend and Wild echoed from beyond the door, yet they left quickly after. They were probably heading to the kitchen to begin breakfast.

Or lunch, if Wars was wrong about the time. But that was beside the point right now.

“You sure you want me to leave? What if Twi wakes up again and needs to feed?”

“I can handle myself, Captain. If he needs blood, he may have mine.”

The trouble of arguing wouldn’t be worth it at this point. Time was dead set on not leaving Twi’s side, and while Wars would like to avoid talking to Legend after their little spat last night, he knew he had to check on them eventually.

“Fine. Just yell for me if anything happens.”

“Will do.”

And he left without another word, taking a deep breath as he shut the door and walked towards where the others most likely were.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Wild couldn’t really focus on the task at hand. His hands shook slightly as he cut one of the palm fruits he had pulled out of his Shiekah slate, the knife in his hand cutting in a wonky line due to that. He was thankful that the others were talking to themselves, leaving him to his thoughts in peace.

He kept repeating the same mantra over and over in his head, all in an attempt to soothe himself. That everything was okay, and that he was just stressing over nothing.

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the cubed fruit into the bowl beside him with the others, and made a silent prayer to Hylia for some strength. Or perhaps Zelda’s grace would be more useful in times such as this. She was always level-headed, even in the most stressful of situations.

He could hear the small whispers between Sky and Legend, the latter having a slightly scolding tone. He was confused about how Sky’s stitching had come undone throughout the night, but it could’ve been possible that Hyrule caused them to come loose due to his own nerves and worries when he did them.

He would sooner die before telling Rulie that’s what he thought, but it made the most sense.

After a few more minutes, he gave everybody a small bowl of fresh fruits and bread, which Wind began to scarf down and the others took theirs to the other room. His went untouched on the counter. He didn’t have much of an appetite if he were to be honest.

“You with us there, Cook?”

Warriors’ voice caused Wild to jump slightly, his head snapping to his left where the other stood. He hadn’t even noticed he had come into the kitchen, and from the looks of it, the others had yet to as well. He gave Wars a small nod, forcing himself to eat one of the chunks of fruit in an attempt to act normal. He knew that not eating was something that always gave away his nerves and stress, and he didn’t need anybody worrying over him at the moment.

“Peachy. Why? Did something happen while we were asleep?”

Wild had asked, trying to deter any worry from himself.

“No, but our Rancher will be out of it for at least today if not a few days. Other than that, he should be fine.”

“And his sight? Will it return?”

“I don’t know, but we can only hope it will.”

Only a hum of acknowledgment left Wild’s throat as he ate another piece of fruit, the usually sweet wildberry tasting oddly sour on his tongue this morning.

“The others need to talk to you as well, Sky mostly. Legend’ll probably be in the room with him, so heads up in case he’s still hostile around you.”

Not once did Wild look Wars in the eyes this entire time. He hated to admit it, but he felt like he just couldn’t. Guilt ate away at his core as that small part of him blamed Wars for what had happened. He wanted to be angry too, to yell at him just like Legend had.

But he couldn’t.

Either it be his love for his brother, or the fact that he knew Wars did what had to be done, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry at anybody but himself.

“I’ll be fine. What’s the worst he can do to me, bite my ankles?”

The attempt at a joke fell flat, and the silence that followed made the room all the more awkward. Wars cleared his throat, continuing.

“I suggest you steer clear of the room where Twi and Time are. Time is on edge and will probably drag you out by the scruff of your shirt.”

With that, he left the kitchen, leaving Wild and a now confused Wind behind.

He had also forgotten Wind was there.

Perhaps he needs to sleep off this stressed haze over his mind.

“So… I guess I’m sticking with Four and Hyrule today.”

Wind said as he finished his bread, now eyeing Wild’s untouched one in his bowl.

He simply slid the bowl his way, and Wind beamed.

(It's fun writing how everybody feels in this situation so far, but I'm kinda stumped on how Four, Hyrule and wind would react. But it's really fun to write and be able to share with you! You better be taking care of yourself)

-❄ anon

Everybody needs to be nice to Warriors. :( He's doing his best.

[plural-affirmations]

hello! they potentially willo but not sure anymore system again!

My headmate and I have not found this other potential headmate, though we’ve had some more switchyness, one of which basically kicked my headmate out of co-con once, and another of which had both me and my headmate out of the front for a few minutes before he was able to make it back.

we really appreciate your insights, we have had a lot of dissociative experiences with our system, but we thought it was our brain overloading, and while i definitely know that my headmate is willogenic, it seems things might be a bit more wonky than I thought… We’ve both always had a difficult time remembering things, we definitely have very little to no memory fuzz between each other but a lot of my childhood has always been a tad bit fuzzed out, and I’ve always had a ridiculously hard time remembering simple things throughout my days… This may be something for us to look further into, since I was a kid I’ve described to people around me how I go on “autopilot” and most of the time i’ll remember the important bits but not much else. I’m not sure! But we really do appreciate this, and if you or anyone else does have any more insights we will adore whoever it is forever!

Thank you so much, and we will definitely be doing a lot more research!

I'm not a professional by any means, but that definitely lines up a lot with stuff that we've experienced as a disordered system, so it's just something to think about! Not trying to pressure you in either direction, just here operating off good intentions :)

I wish you the best of luck!! Let us know what happens if you're willing to share any updates later on! ❤️

🖤💜💙💚💛

[titanicfreija]

"So unrelated to everything else, I learned how to do wood-burning."

Sunny deliberately flickered at her guardian to express her question.

"Okay, well, you told me to find an art I liked. Sort of. You said find a thing to do and then suggested sculpting, anyway, and so I went to Thomas, 'cos he's the arty one, and I told him what you wanted for me and he took me down to the City, and he showed me these marketplaces where people who do the art shit all sell their things, and-- I didn't realize there were so many kinds of... Things, stuff you could do."

"Mediums," Sunny said, wishing she liked this conversation more. "Anything can be a medium."

~

"Yeah! And how you use it as one. But, Thomas took me around and... I don't like being all awe-striking most of the time, but everyone was real excited to let a guardian try their stuff, even before I paid them. I tried sculpting, and you were right, I liked it and found it natural, but it reminded me of my hammers and grenades, and I knew you didn't mean for that to be what I did with it."

Sunny chirped, but didn't say anything, so Freija continued.

"So we went to just about everything that looked interesting. There's a whole corner for the Eliksni. A weaver, two scrap-sculptors and one who dances out front when I went. Space for more. Crowd was thinner over there, so I made sure to stay longer, watch the dancer and weaver for a while. The weaver-- Eliksni and their manual dexterity. Got a scarf, you can just look yourself later.

"And I did try the scrap, and the dancer tried to teach but I don't have enough arms, and those were kinda important.

"And I tried painting, and I tried sculpting, like I said, I tried like six other ways of making pictures. Pencils, stencils, pastel... Stuff, there were like three things with that word about it. I did not try singing, we know I have fun but do not do well, and I have no intention of fixing that.

"I did try a couple of instruments. The bow-using string ones were my favorite, but I was best with a horn. Liked the drums but was constantly worried I was going to break them. Strum strings were my least favorite. The breath-- ah, I remember, the wind instruments were good but surprisingly hard sometimes? I remember coming away wondering about the ways people come up with to make noises. Lots of them had regional histories, but so many were alike, even from hot places."

Sunny glanced at Freija and felt her light flicker again. "Would you like to do that again?"

"Huh?"

"Go into the city? See... Normal? Mortal? Living people?"

"You're sounding more and more like me. I know what you mean. Non-guardians. I hadn't thought about it."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeah."

"Then why not do it again?"

Freija shrugged.

"We can visit the City again. Artist alley and all."

Freija seemed puzzled at the idea, for some reason. "Sounds good," she agreed. "Oh, but, so, we got to this one with wood-burning, which wasn't what it sounded like, but was still really neat. And I wanted to try it, but I ended up doing it my way. Which is basically finger painting with heat, but using different parts of my hands, and using Light. I drew my sun, first, and your flower on your main shell, cos that oblong shape is easy with my little finger, and I turned that into a drawing... Etching? of you. I could never draw your winter lotus, that wonky line of your petals and pointy end threw me off, but burning the shape with my fingers and fingernails worked really well. Singed a Hareball shell right next to it. Even got different shades of char going to look like the color transition. I'll show you when we get home."

Sunny chirped again.

"I kept a plank to practice on. Thomas thought it was funny. He asked if I'd use my hammer. I tried for my face after that, but the only feature I got right was my tattoo. Do you like doing art stuff? Have you ever tried?"

"I doodle with my shell points and I dance," she murmured. She hadn't done either in a very long time. Maybe since Freija.

"I've seen you dance sometimes, there's been music and you'll do that little throb bounce with your pieces, but I'm pretty sure that's not what you mean. How do you doodle with your shell?"

This definitely didn't happen since before Freija. "I would find flat or smooth places and impress on them, like in sand or dust. Murals of things I'd seen, mostly animals eating or hunting."

"Wanna do it again? We can get a tray for sand or paint or ink or something. And I know I don't dance and I remark on the moving all the time, but you wouldn't be you without it and I'd love to see you dance."

Sunny hadn't thought of it in a long time, and now understood Freija's confusion around visiting the market again.

"That sounds nice."