#tomato writes

[romanitas]

homesick (1/?)

summary: It’s Annabeth’s wedding day. She leaves the groom at the altar. 

Or, the day she runs away for the last time and everything that follows.

The dress is white. She always thought she wanted a color, partially out of spite against all the customs and etiquette and expectations of matrimony. Just because the Chase family likes to adhere to customs doesn’t mean Annabeth does, and she’s certainly got the juvenile detention arrest record to prove that. Her hair is tied back out of her face in an elegant updo; they’d attempted to straighten her curls at Helen’s behest, but even the strongest hairspray couldn’t keep them all down, and some of her hair waves and coils anyway. The veil is pinned in neatly and trailing down her back. The dress has sleeves - she wasn’t so sure she wanted them either, but her stepmother insisted in the alterations.  “Something borrowed,” she’d said of the sleeves, given the lace was from her family. Annabeth isn’t even technically related to them, and they never liked her.  She looks at herself in the mirror and frowns. Her frown only deepens when she thinks she probably shouldn’t be frowning. It’s her wedding day. It’s supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Somewhere in the church, her fiance is waiting, presumably looking handsome in his suit. She touches the necklace at her throat.  “Something blue,” Helen said, offering the gold chain with the small blue sapphire attached. Piper had frowned, because they’d just been talking about the seashell earrings Annabeth had wanted - in blue. 

( read the rest on ao3 )

anyway i've been reluctant to share this weird thing i'm working on given my track record for finishing things, but it's been a WEEK of a few days so. fuck it we ball.

[tomato-turn]

"You're really attractive!"he says. The redhead,he proposed, looked at him perplexed.

"That's flattering, I suppose." The redhead replies while looking at the rose, the taller man had brought.

"Well, I hope you'll accept the compliment and my heart~My lady~" he says and adds,"I'm Dazai, Dazai Osamu!" While stretching out his free hand cheerfully.

The redhead snorts a little at the word 'my lady'. "I'm not a lady." He says, chuckling and taking brunnet's hand, adds "The name's Nakahara, Nakahara Chuuya. But please call me Chuuya." Amused.

Dazai's brain had stopped due to shock. What the hell was he thinking? It was obvious Chuuya was a boy, even though he had quite a feminine structure, that is if you look closely, and Dazai has been looking at Chuuya for a year.

Back of him, his friends, Ranpo and Yosano, were snickering and chuckling, trying to smother their laughs but failing miserably. In front of him, Chuuya's friends, Shirase and Yuan, were chuckling too. Dazai was having a hard time processing the information.

"Ah. I knew that!" He adds, quite hastily.

Chuuya snickers and says, "Oh? So you admit I'm pretty attractive, or was that a joke?" With a smirk.

"Oh, please." Dazai replied while rolling his eyes. "You're just flattering yourself. Of course, that was a joke! I'd never date a man and especially not a man as short as you." Dazai lies pretty easily.

At that Chuuya retorts. "Fuck you! I ain't that funking short! I'm average." He adds the last line quite hesitantly.

At this reaction, Dazai can't help but smirk. "Oh? But you as short as a plankton. I think I'll need magnifying glasses to see you." Dazai snorts. Chuuya's friends couldn't help but burst out laughing.

Chuuya ears and cheeks become a little red due to anger and embarrassment. He furrows his brow with irritation.

"Hey bud!" He starts talking, grinding his teeth. "I'll let you go with a warning. Don't call me short, or else I'll beat the living shit out of you!" He says threateningly.

Dazai snorts and starts talking. "Sure, chibi sure, you can't even -" He was cut short with Chuuya's fist landing on his fist within his gut. It was quite painful. Dazai seriously hadn't counted this one bit. He groans with pain. "Oww."

"Do that again, I'll make sure the next time I do, I'll aim for the face." Chuuya says with a grin plastered on his face. He turns and leaves with his friends laughing and snickering, leaving the hurt Dazai groaning in pain.

That was their first interaction. But certainly not their last.

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

Dazai Osamu is an odd character to many. He's a 22 year old, tall brunette, a student in a college with odd features.

Firstly, he wears bandages almost all over his body, ALWAYS. He prefers not to be called by his birth name, which is odd, even when if it is his friends calling him that. He gives them a cold look and requests them not to call him that.

But despite that, he's a very cheerful person, which would've been nice if he didn't talk about suicide and death alarmingly. He's also that kind of person who is very laid-back, chill, and annoying.

Right now, he's in his second year with his friends Edogawa Ranpo and Yosano Akiko. How did they meet? Dazai is one of the top 3 in his first year and even helps his seniors with their studies, too. This had caught the eye of Ranpo, Dazai's senior, since he's the top 1 in the whole campus. He thought it would've been nice to meet someone with high intellect because he knows that Dazai isn't top 3 just because he studies hard. Yosano was already Ranpo's friend the time Dazai met them.

It has been a year since he joined the institute, and it has been well and good. Until a redhead showed up a month later. Somehow, he had gotten the brunnet's eye and has been eyeing him for a year. Until Ranpo pointed it out to do it as a dare.

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

Chuuya joined a month late at the institution. He's a redhead with temperamental issues. His eyes are bright blue. And he's short, shorter than an average man. His facial and bodily features are quite feminine at first. But soon enough, it is obvious that he's a male.

His attire is very odd to Dazai. He wears a simple white t-shirt with a leather jacket over it. The pants he wears are also leather. He wears a choker and a very tacky hat, which Dazai says,'it makes him look like a slug with a bad fashion sense'.

His friends, Shirase and Yuan, are from the same year. He'd been with them for seven years now. They're from a group named 'the sheep' which Shirase formed. Of course, there were other members too, but they have gone to other institutions, they keep in touch though.

Although Chuuya is temperamental, he's a very genuine and caring person. He loves animals and nature and is humble. Even though at first he gives the 'bad boy, no else matters other than me', impression.

He also had been in the institute for a year like Dazai and had just started the second year. Until the whole confession thing. Somehow, Dazai had also caught his eye long before this, when he had never officially met before.

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

[bestjeanistmonster]

Dc au- felt like being goofy

…but since Shadow is raising these plants i think we can classify this as a case of passing on generational trauma.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Truly, one of the greatest love language is someone agreeing to eat something atrocious for your benefit.

My first experience with this was in college. My friend Charlie invited me to a jazz club. One would think he’d learned his lesson. I thought nothing of this and agreed to a fun night with a guy friend. We arrived and I saw nothing romantic in the outing.

The menu at the club was very traditional date food- steak, oysters, romancey food. But still, I didn’t catch on. This food didn’t sound like what I wanted. In fact, what I wanted was a hummus plate. Charlie took this turn of events with a slight wince but ordered one for us.

The hummus plate arrived. Sitting politely on the corner of the garlic bomb was a spicy pepper. Laughing, I teasingly dared Charlie to eat it. You see, this kind of rough humor was common among buddies. I thought we were in Buddy Rules. But Charlie was operating under Date Rules; eating the pepper would be a romantic test of his bravery.

He bit the pepper.

His skin was almost as pale as mine and he went bright red instantly, tears stood in his eyes as sweat broke out across his whole body in protest. He barely managed to swallow as he began coughing, his body reflexively trying to spew forth the poison in his mouth.

I was doubled over with laughter and didn’t feel bad until a few days later when Brendan informed me it had been a date. I scoffed initially and only slowly realized Charlie had been intending it as a date. I repented the pepper and promptly dated Brendan in self defense.

Charlies act of romantic heroism went unappreciated but the spirit was there.

Many years later when I’d given up on boys I was dating my beloved wife. Together we took a trip to Taiwan. One of the wonderful things about new places is the food. I still dream about the food in Taiwan. Even the humblest train station cream puff was several orders of magnitude better than any I’ve ever had in the states.

But one place we went was like. Italian food as interpreted by Taiwanese cooks. Some of the combos were as bizarre to me as many Italians probably feel American Italian food is. Specifics escape me, but it felt like I was dreaming some of the menu at the time. At the end we decided to get a chocolate fondue, because why not. We were on vacation.

The liquid chocolate was served with all the things one would normally expect, strawberries, sweets, the usual chocolate accompaniments. And then we saw the tomatoes. Tomatoes and chocolate. We all stared at the tomatoes in horrified fascination.

Now, I hate tomatoes. I can stand a tomato sauce but raw tomatoes and I have nothing to talk about. So I knew that if I tried it I’d find it as repugnant as I’ve always found tomatoes. But I was haunted by the idea that someone who actually liked tomatoes would like tomatoes in chocolate.

My beloved loves tomatoes. And chocolate. I turned the biggest puppy dog eyes on them and begged to know if the combination was actually somehow delicious. My wife insisted that it would be heinous. Still, they speared a tomato sacrifice and coated it in chocolate, for me. For me, they ate it.

It was so wretched that their face collapsed into instant regret. But they didn’t spit it out. They knew I got sick if people spit out half chewed food. So they soldiered on and swallowed the cursed chocolate fruit.

Their devotion utterly delighted me, and even years later I adore that they suffered that tomato to reassure me that indeed, it was bad.

[peachylynnie]

house edge

word count: 3.5k (making up for my absence) synopsis: in which sylus finally talks to you, alone. contains: pt 3 of blackjack, pt 2 of ace, sylus x fem!reader (non mc), moderately obsessive sylus, LOT'S OF TENSION, the twins appear, alcohol consumption, cursing, weapons, violence (death, mentions of suicide), and references to gambling. a/n: house edge refers to the odds advantage in the house/dealer's favor. haha this totally isn't late haha. i'm back in school and wifi sucks so this took awhile. i still hope you enjoy. reblogs and comments are always appreciated. lmk if you want to be tagged for the rest of the series. tagged: @sprout341 @miffysoo previous chapter | lads masterlist | next chapter

before he can savor that addictive look on your face (he couldn't care less about the cards), sylus' phone rings.

"tch," he clicks his tongue, ready to decline whoever's interrupting his moment with you.

however, his brows furrow upon reading who's calling.

the twins.

sylus curses under his breath as he stands up. he can't reject their call. he's made it clear to them that they should call only when it's important.

"i'll get back to you on my wager soon, gentlemen," he says as he strides towards the door, ignoring sherman and his lackey's frantic attempts at a compromise. "sweetie," he nods at you, brings the phone to his ear, and steps out of the lounge.

as sherman and his lackey lunge for sylus' cards to search for signs of foul play, you frown at the door he just closed.

this guy. he's no ordinary guy. of course, you knew that when your handler stationed you here. he's the head of onychinus for fuck's sake, the infamous person who runs the infamous faction that runs the infamous n109 zone. but seriously? anyone in their right mind would stay after seeing the hands on the table, especially after a whole night of losing. your handler emphasized that despite how much the rumors about him vary, they all point to him being a cunning man, capable of bringing a rival faction to their knees in less than a day. 

it’s not like he’s a gambling addict either. you’ve seen your fair share of them, and they all have this crazed look in their eyes. but no, this fucker gave you the most smug look before tapping the table. it's almost as if he knew he was going to win.

"hey, we need you at the bar," your one-day manager calls for you. "lounge's closing in five minutes."

"yeah," you exhale a deep breath. you need to calm down. it’s bad enough you lost your composure (in front of the head of onychinus of all people). for now you’ll focus on what’s important: no longer the commission but getting out of here. as soon as the last cup is put away, you’ll ring for transportation and book it. 

"goodnight gentlemen," you step away from the table. sherman and his lackey stand up in pursuit. "i would advise against any attempts at violence," you say as politely as you can. "this is a lounge, after all. one that is closing too. have some tact, will you?"

and with that, you walk towards the bar, paying no mind to their insulted faces. if they still decide to follow you, you'll use your evol to the max. you can’t afford to care about anyone who’s within fifty meters anymore. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing your chances of escaping sylus qin. did you see that nod? he's nowhere near done with you.

luckily, you don't hear footsteps chasing you. once you reach the bar, you quickly scan the lounge before collecting the empty glasses. 

all seemed well for a moment. there were little signs of your one-day manager assigning you more tasks. there were many signs of sherman and his lackey waltzing out. most importantly, there was every sign of you finishing your task, meaning you could soon leave without running into a certain silver-haired man.

however, there were no signs of sherman's gun on the table.

♢♢♢♢♢

it's raining by the time sylus leans back against an alleyway, a hand in his pocket and a foot against the wall.

"speak."

"hey boss!" luke and kieran greet simultaneously through the phone.

"you'll never guess what we found out," the older chirps.

"idiot, he's the one who sent us here," the younger reminds.

"what did you just call me?!"

"cut to the chase," sylus snaps. "i'm in a hurry right now." he is very much in a hurry right now, damn it. every additional second spent here is jeopardizing his chances of seizing you, having you. he needs to get back to the lounge as soon as possible. he needs to see you, talk to you, squeeze out of you that enticing look you had on your face less than five minutes ago.

"woah there, boss. is everything okay? you sound tense," luke asks.

sylus sighs, pinching his nose bridge. "yes, everything is fine, luke. thanks for asking." he glances at the rain-covered window across from him to see if you're still at the table. he frowns when he doesn't see you. "did you confirm what i asked you to?"

"yes," kieran answers, earning a grumble from his twin about his stolen thunder. "there are no authentic protocores here at sherman's warehouse. actually, there are no protocores here at all."

"seems like he was trying to strike us a deal with nothing," luke pipes in.

"how disappointing," sylus chuckles drily. "not surprising, though."

"should we go after him, boss?" the twins excitedly suggest at the same time.

"no need," sylus peels himself off the wall and moves over to the window for a better view. "i'll take care of him myself," he assures as he wipes the glass. he's delighted to find you at the bar drying a glass while sherman and his lackey make their way towards the exit, which leads right into the alleyway he's in. "in fact, i'll take care of him right now."

and with that, he hangs up the call. right on cue, sherman and his lackey step out of the lounge, their faces twisted with frustration from all the losses they experienced tonight. however, their faces immediately morph into fear upon seeing the head of onychinus.

"gentlemen," sylus smirks as he pockets his phone. "i just heard something very interesting."

in a blink of an eye, bloody, inky wisps wrap around the two men's necks and slam them into the wall. the very wall the feared man was leaning on moments ago. how unfortunate.

"w-wait," sherman chokes out. "let's t-talk about t-this."

"what could there possibly be to talk about, sherman?" sylus mocks with crossed arms. "surely not the fact that you tried to deal me not even fake protocores but none at all?"

one would find it difficult to determine if the two men were going pale from the lack of air or the abundance of fear. perhaps both. how unfortunate.

"no matter," sylus shakes his head. "let's talk about my wager instead, shall we?"

the air shifts as his evol tightens around sherman and his lackey's necks. the crimson and ivory tendrils rampage faster and faster, signaling for a brutal execution to come, a signature move every bastard in the n109 zone is aware of. however, the dreaded crushing and disintegration of flesh never comes. seizing this chance, sherman desperately searches for something in his pocket. 

“looking for this?” 

his eyes widen upon seeing his gun in sylus’ hand. 

nobody, not a single one of you, noticed him swipe the gun before leaving. 

“now, about my wager,” sylus cocks the gun. “how about your lives?” he aims at the drenched forehead of its owner. “surely it’s the least both of you can do after trying to trick me.” he places a finger on the trigger. “again.”

before sherman can open his pathetic mouth, sylus pulls the trigger, a glorious bang ringing through the rainy night sky. he doesn’t give the lackey a chance to mourn. instead, he gives him the same fate as his employer: a bullet lodged deep into his skull. not a single one of them was worth his evol. 

wiping the blood off his cheek, sylus tuts. “felled by your own gun.” he releases his evol. “how unfortunate.” 

after chucking the gun on the floor, he approaches the entrance of the lounge. he doesn’t have time to clean up the corpses. he’ll just escort you out another way (yes, this man plans to accompany you wherever you go after tonight). unable to hide his frenzied smile, he grips the door handle and steps in. 

♢♢♢♢♢

the brief pitter-patter of rain let in by the door should’ve been your first sign to hightail it out of here. the silver-haired man who’s currently seated at the bar with an elbow planted should’ve been your second. the red hungry eyes trailing over your figure most definitely should’ve been your third. 

but you’re too busy drying the glasses with your back turned. big mistake. 

“a glass of gin fizz, please.”

you still.

“make that two, actually,” he adds. 

you don’t turn around. you don’t dare to. instead, you slowly grab the last glass, prepared to put it away. 

“i’m afraid the lounge is closed, mr. sylus,” you counter gracefully. 

the man chuckles, leaning back in the stool. “surely this lounge can make an exception for the head of onychinus.”

“of course!” your manager dashes out of the employees' room, eager to earn the lounge additional funds. “what are you doing?!” she scolds you with what she thinks is your name. you’re thankful you have an alias tonight because the idea of sylus knowing your identity turns your stomach, which you’re sure is what he’s trying to do by ordering two glasses past closing time. “pour him a glass of gin fizz!” she instructs and dashes back into the employees’ room. you resist the urge to curse when you hear the employees’ entrance lock, meaning she clocked out for the night, meaning it was just you and sylus. couldn’t she have just made the drinks herself if she wanted the additional funds that badly?

exhaling deeply, you use the glass in your hand to scoop up some ice. no point in resisting. last thing you want is for your handler to nag you for not cooperating with the client’s staff, especially when you already gave up on the commission. might as well just get this over with.

“i wouldn’t scoop the ice first if i were you, sweetie,” sylus snaps you out of your thoughts. “it’ll dilute the alcohol.”

you don’t say anything. you just grab a bottle of gin and pour it into a jigger. your customer scoffs. 

“are you ignoring me, sweetie?”

you pour the gin into a shaker and squeeze some lemon juice. 

“if you’re upset about something, then you should tell me.”

you take out the simple syrup from the fridge and pour it into the jigger.

“how about this?” he starts. 

you add the syrup to the shaker along with three ice cubes. 

“i ask you a question, and you ask me a question.” 

you equip the shaker with its strainer and start shaking it violently. 

“aren’t you curious as to how i won?” 

you freeze. only now do you feel the chill of the liquor from the shaker. 

“go ahead, sweetie,” sylus coaxes, thrilled to finally have your attention. “ask. i know you want to. your face back there said it all.”

placing the shaker down, you open its lid, pour its contents into the ice-filled glass, add a generous amount of soda water, turn around, and slam the glass in front of sylus. 

that’ll shut him up for a minute or two. 

but it takes everything in you not to gasp when you look up from the glass. 

since when was it raining outside? he’s seated with his shiny, silvery hair messily slicked back, beads of water slowly dripping down his face and neck, his drenched button-up suit clinging onto his chest and forearms for dear life, and his ruby-streaked blazer not only hanging from his broad shoulders but also adding to the puddles forming beneath the stool.

you make a mental note to inform your handler that the head of onychinus is NOT some old, short man with a face only a mother could love, like some of the rumors say. 

enjoying your gaze on him, sylus tilts his head teasingly. “well?”

you can’t back down. it sounds like he won’t either until you talk to him. pinning your hands on the counter, you lean in. “why did you hit? you knew your chances were low, even after looking at my cards.” 

he doesn’t answer immediately. it’s your turn to expect something from him, want something from him. it’s the least you could do after driving him in circles the whole night. besides, he wants a closer look at your face; commit it to memory in case you even think about leaving without compensating him for the absolute torture you put him through. 

after taking a slow sip from the glass, sylus asks, “ever heard of gambling addicts, sweetie?”

you squint at him. “yes, but you aren’t one.” 

“oh,” he quirks a brow. “so you know of me?” 

“everyone in the n109 zone knows who you are, mr. sylus.”

“yes, but you aren’t from the n109 zone, miss dealer.” 

you tense. although the shift in your shoulders was incredibly tiny, it was taken hostage by his eyes. he’s impressed by how controlled your reactions are. 

but now it's his turn to ask.

standing up from his stool, sylus leans in dangerously close and whispers, “what brings you to the n109 zone, sweetie?”

you don’t answer. but you don’t back away either. sylus likes that. he likes what’s happening right now. when was the last time he felt this ecstatic from a conversation? even though your answers were cryptic, he was able to conclude that you come from a place or are in a position where his existence is made aware, and probably in certain detail too, given your insistence on him not being a gambling addict. when was the last time he had a gin fizz that tasted this good? he’s delighted the serving he had at the previous table was also made by you (how does this psycho know that). and most importantly, when was the last time he felt threatened? something is unsettling about the way you won every single game tonight, with a look of indifference too. 

by chance, are you an evolver?

“i assure you, i am from here, mr. sylus,” you answer with a small smile. it doesn't reach your eyes. removing your hands from the counter (he frowns when you do), you turn around to make another glass. hopefully his previous request for two will serve as a distraction. “you’re welcome to look into my name, but i’m sure the head of onychinus has better things to do than to worry about some dealer.” 

sylus laughs. he actually laughs. although it isn’t loud, the intervals as to which his rich voice seeps through are enough to convey that your lie hasn’t convinced him. “sweetie,” he shakes his head endearingly and sits down. “because i am the head of onychinus, everything and everyone in the n109 zone is subjected to my worrying, including intruders who use fake names.” 

you spin back around, your eyes full of alarm. how does he know about your alias? no, how does he even know you’re not from here? from the beginning, that’s what he’s been insisting on. there’s no way someone as busy as him could know about every single person residing in the n109 zone. at least, that’s what your handler said (oh how wrong she was). 

“do you truly expect me to believe that is your name?” sylus repeats your alias with scorn. it’s an injustice to your frame. “it doesn’t suit you. you need to pick better names, sweetie.

what the fuck. he’s convinced you’re an intruder because your alias doesn’t suit you?! this guy. this guy’s not sane. that’s it. now you really need to get out of here. glaring at him, you snatch his glass and dump its contents down the drain. damn it, you wasted too much time. he got you. he got you good. he never intended to uphold his “a question for a question” deal in the first place, given his bullshit answer about gambling addicts. 

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie through gritted teeth. “now excuse me, mr. sylus. the lounge was supposed to close fifteen minutes ago.” 

sylus licks his lips. he can almost taste the frustration in your face and voice. it’s intoxicating. that’s the second time he’s forced a reaction out of you. how much more until you beg him to stop? 

“of course, miss dealer,” he concedes mockingly. "allow me to escort you out.”

“that won’t be necessary,” you hiss. “my car is right around the alleyway.” 

“still,” he blocks you from exiting the bar. “it’s dark and raining outside. it’s the least i could do to pay for the drink.” 

“money will do,” you frown. 

“i’m afraid i’m all out, sweetie,” he smiles. “you did quite the number on me, after all.” 

you scoff. not only is his smile shameless, but so is his lie. you may not be from here, but you know damn well it’s going to take an eternity of games to even leave a dent in the head of onychinus’ bank account. you glance at the clock. you should have called for transportation by now. technically, you still can, but you need to be outside. and it doesn’t look like he’ll let you go anytime soon unless you accept his offer. 

“you can walk me to the alleyway,” you sigh. 

“not to your car?”

you scowl at him. don’t push it. 

sylus chuckles and steps aside. when you exit the bar with a huff, he can’t help but think you look like a cat, a cute little one who scratches when agitated. perhaps kitten will be what he calls you next. 

after turning off the lights, you step out of the lounge. only to freeze in your tracks.

corpses.

corpses of the two people involved in your commission. narrowing your eyes, you notice a bullet wound in each of their foreheads. you scan the ground, searching for any traces of the murderer. however, your blood runs cold when something catches your eye. sherman’s gun. you crouch to pick it up. did he kill himself? no, that doesn’t explain why his lackey has the same wound. 

“ah,” sylus interrupts your thoughts. “i forgot to escort you out the other way. my apologies, kitten.”

he knows violence doesn’t faze you as it normally would for any other outsider. still, he didn’t want you to see this kind of violence since there’s a substantial difference between witnessing an arm get crushed and witnessing the glassy eyes of lifeless bodies. 

though, he supposes he worried for nothing since you’re being eerily quiet with your eyes fixated on the gun. 

skillfully, you unload the gun. no bullets left. you exhale deeply. from the looks of it, sylus killed them since he knew the bodies would be here. furthermore, he used sherman’s gun, which initially only had two bullets, given the lack of bullet marks in the alleyway. you just happened to miss the sound of gunfire since you were too occupied. but if that’s the case, that means sherman and his lackey died quite the unfortunate death where the former’s gun was their undoing and no one could’ve heard them, which means… your evol. it did its job. too good of a job. 

“at least the commission is complete,” you murmur. 

sylus furrows his brows. “you, what did you just say?”

for a moment, all that is heard is the downpour of rain and the distant rumbling of thunder. 

you pull out your phone and press a contact. “delilah, open it now.” 

“what?”

you sprint down the alleyway, not bothering to acknowledge his confusion. 

sylus immediately chases after you, his legs moving like never before. shit, you completely took him by surprise. what was that phone call? no, what did you mean by a completed commission? and why do you know how to unload a gun? clenching his jaw, he prepares to teleport to the end of the alleyway, determined to intercept you. he’ll be damned if he lets you escape. 

although he blinks to the end of the alleyway, you make a sharp turn, evading his outstretched arm. 

“tch,” sylus clicks his tongue before continuing his pursuit. however, you make another turn around the corner, giving you three seconds out of his sight. 

by the time sylus turns around the corner, you’re gone. not a single trace of you left behind. but what infuriates him more is that this is a dead end. not a single way out but the way he got here. he slams a fist in the wall, ignoring the blood that seeps down and the deep cracks in the bricks. using his free hand, sylus pulls out his phone and dials his most recent contact. 

“luke. kieran. get me access to the cameras surrounding this lounge,” he spits the lounge’s name. “now.” 

♢♢♢♢♢

you breathe rapidly as you fall onto the floor, your throat burning and your ears ringing. you’ve never run so fast in your life. 

“welcome back,” a smooth voice says your name. your actual name. 

you look up to face your means of transportation, delilah. 

“what the— did it rain over there?” an acute voice asks. 

stella, your handler enters your vision. 

both of them reach out a hand for you to take. 

you begrudgingly accept and swiftly walk towards the door, eager to give yourself a fucking break after all that happened today. 

“what’s the rush?” delilah asks with a yawn. “don’t tell me you failed the commission—"

"how was your first time in the n109 zone?” stella interjects, warning delilah with her eyes. 

you pause before turning the knob. 

“never send me there again.”

[voidsuites]

can you play ken?

IT’S an act of sorts— a performance, if you will— being a notable figure. plaster on a smile in front of the camera, dress to the nines whenever you go out in public, and always thank the fans for getting you to where you are. none of this is new to art at this point in his career, but it’s never been so apparent and in his face until now.

it shouldn’t be. it’s just a few test covers for the next vogue issue— he’s done plenty of magazine photo shoots this far into his career— but it’s never been both him and you modeling together. it’s brand-new territory.

your smile, all pearly and sweet, plastered on your lips from the moment the first shutter was removed. your hand perched atop your favorite spot on his body as of late, lithe fingers curled around his shoulder in a way that feels more staged than affectionate. he’s smizing, his expression cool while his hand curves around your hip. if he squints hard enough, art can tell just how firmly his fingers are digging into the fabric of your outfit. he’s stiff, rigid— just like the ken doll that lily tucked into his suitcase because it “looked like daddy.”

and he does look like art in the photos, down to the cropped haircut, fixed posture, and subtle upturn of his lips. huh. does he look this plastic in real life?

… he can’t ever relax, can he? this kind of thing was always your element— the front-facing side of your shared fame— since he was more than content to stick to the sidelines. smile for the camera. sell the story. prove to the world that your knee blowing out in college isn’t a sore spot between you two— that it should be art prepping for a promising run at the u.s. open and not you.

but besides his fingers digging into your hip like you’re going to slip out of his grasp in the preferred option, the covers are good… really good. it’s the perfect way to generate buzz as you two head into the open, with art taking point and you right behind him leading his coaching team.

“they came out good,” you say from behind him, fresh from the shower if the lingering scent of your body wash gives anything away. your hand drops to that same spot on his shoulder like clockwork, and art’s minuscule flinch doesn’t go unnoticed. “… what’s wrong?”

nothing, he wants to say, nothing, don’t worry about it. however, it’s futile to even try and get away with a lie that even he’s not confident in telling.

“do you ever feel like all of this is just… fake?” art asks, ignoring the way his stomach turns when he looks up at you. just like he expected your eyes are narrowed, your brow raised slightly like you’re waiting for him to continue. so he does.

“the photo shoots, the commercials, the brand deals… it all just feels fake,” he sighs, and art turns back to the spread of potential covers laid out on the coffee table. “i-it’s all staged, and why is anyone supposed to care that i’m trying to win the open again when the article’s focused on what cologne i wear—”

“it’s a personality piece,” you supply easily, running the towel in your hands over your hair to dry off while your robe hangs loose around your frame. “letting the people in on who you are, who we are. that we’re not just out-of-touch celebrities who haven’t been human since 2006.”

he scoffs. “it’s ridiculous.”

“you’re ridiculous.” you shake your head before stepping towards the hotel suite’s closet to find pajamas to change into. “i don’t know why you’re so upset about this.”

art stands from the desk, following you towards the closet while his stomach continues to ache. “because i shouldn’t have to prove that i’m a real person to the world by telling them my cheat meal between dieting and training— i’m a real person because i fucking exist.”

(it’s a happy meal: cheeseburger. fries. substitute apple slices for extra fries. extra-small coke if he’s feeling especially risky, milk if not. no toy unless it’s something lily would like. but that’s besides the point.)

“you can’t tell me that you like this,” he sighs, clearly exasperated as you drop the robe and move to pull one one of his shirts. if his eyes flit elsewhere instead of the bare stretch of your back, he doesn’t say. “it just feels like we’re pretending to be people we’re not, all for the sake of money. attention. bullshit.”

you fix his shirt over your shoulders while you spare him a glance. “it’s a part of the job, art.”

shaking his head, art moves around the edge of the california king and goes to unbuckle his watch from his wrist. “yeah— well i didn’t sign up for this.”

“art.”

“i’m going to bed,” he replies, somewhat thankful that he’d showered and changed earlier when you both got back to the room. it’d be more awkward for him to be all pissy like this, then have to walk past you to go into the en-suite.

“art.” the mattress sinks behind him, and this time he doesn’t flinch when your hand falls on his shoulder.

and this time, he doesn’t snap as he turns around to face you. “what?”

your lips purse when his eyes meet yours, and the pit in his stomach is back. “… we need to let them know what cover we want them to use.” a pause. “did you have a preference?”

his pinched expression mirrors yours. art knows you don’t really mean it— the magazine execs really did a response sooner rather than later— but the synergy’s off and he’s just ready to leave today in the past. no more pretending.

“… i don’t care,” he sighs, hand meeting your thigh as his fingers dig slightly into your skin, “just pick your favorite, babe.”

he doesn’t let you respond as his lips meet yours, but the kiss is more fleeting than they normally are. less hungry, less needy… less art. and even though he’s reluctant to let go of you and turn onto his side, he does.

he wish he didn’t. mottled blue eyes meet the ultramarine, painted-on irises of ken on his nightstand and his stomach starts to ache again.

“goodnight.”

silence. then the mattress shift again as you go to look over the tests covers. art wonders if you recognize just how plastic he looks in the photos (and whether or not you still see it as his eyes shut).

“… goodnight, art.”

[brchyura]

ceritanya sekeluarga lagi berkebun 🙏

[bamsara]

why do all my friends hate tomato. i love tomato. in all friend groups online and in real life, no one like tomato :( but then all my friends pick tomato slices out from their hamburgers and go 'here sara' and i have so many tomatos :) love is real

[thatsbelievable]

[justatinycatgirl]

Oaths & Loyalties

link to ao3 version

(direct fan content of @havanillas' roleswap au)

���No.”  A terse and firm rejection.  Lapis Lazuli had expected this from Sapphire, his coworker known for his unwavering dedication to his oaths.  The oath to treasure his cornerstone like his own life is no different.

“Oh come on Sapphire, it’s not that terrible of a plan, is it?” Lapis groaned.  It wasn’t such a terrible plan to himself, deceiving The Family with two cornerstones that are not his own.  It was a gamble whether they would take the bait, but that’s what Lapis specializes in.

“It’s a horrible plan!  Not only do you intend to put I and Miss Topaz’s cornerstones at risk for your scheme, but also risk your own life at the end of it all.  Are you even sure any of this will work?”

“Well of course not, no scheme is ever one hundred percent certain to go through as planned.” Lapis shrugs.

“Mine always are.” Sapphire retorts, causing Lapis’ face to twist into a sneer.

“Well, aren't you a genius.  Perhaps I could make some ends meet and get you hooked up with the Genius Society?” Lapis derided, leaning forward with his hands on his hips.

Sapphire’s eyebrows raised at Lapis’ contemptuous mocking, before letting out a derisive huff of his own.  He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Did I mistakenly probe at an old wound, Lapis Lazuli?  As far as I knew, you had cut ties with any and all factions related to Nous.” Sapphire quirked an eyebrow at the man before him, who’s shoulders now tensed at his pointed statement.

Lapis’ gaze leaves the slender man in front of him, now resting on his shoes. “Yes, I did.  I was only being sarcastic.” His gaze shifts to the side now, brows furrowed in irritation.

“While we’re on the topic, your loyalty is…concerning, to say the least.” Sapphire begins, rising from his seat and slowly making his way to the broader shouldered man. “You gave up on Erudition after the Genius Society rejected you, you couldn’t fully dedicate yourself to The Hunt, I do wonder how long it will take until you break your oath to Preservation as well.” He was now standing directly in front of Lapis, looking down his nose at him with a contemptuous glare.

Lapis grit his teeth, clenching his fists at his sides.  He wanted to say many things to this man, things he knew he couldn’t if he wanted his plan to work out correctly.  They need to at least tolerate each other for things to work out.  But this proud bastard is making that really difficult right now.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking again. “I can assure you, my loyalty to the IPC is unwavering.  This corporation has done a lot for me, I have no reason to be so fickle.”

“Now,” A swift topic change, lest he blow a gasket. “As for my plan for Penacony.  I can assure you that your and Topaz’s cornerstone’s will be safe.  Even if The Family despises the IPC, they should know better than to mess with our property.”

“I suppose you do have a point…” Sapphire reluctantly admits. “But what of yourself?”

“Well,” Lapis smirks, shrugging his shoulders. “We will just have to see on that.  If all goes well, both the cornerstones and myself will return unscathed.  At worst, only the cornerstones will, and Penacony will still be back in the IPC’s grasp.  Either way, it will be a success.”

Sapphire narrows his eyes at the man, lips pressed together tightly, until he sighs.  He hangs his head and his shoulders slack, and he uncrosses his arms to hold out a hand to his coworker. “Fine then.  Against my better judgment, you shall have my cornerstone.”

Lapis could almost jump for joy at Sapphire’s delayed acceptance, but he knew better than that.  He had to keep his poker face.

He takes his hand in his own, and gives it a firm shake. “You won’t regret it.”

“I hope you won’t give me reason to.”

[aealzx]

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Update Post

Prologue | AO3

Previous Next

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“Everything’s fine, Danny just wanted to join us for lunch,” Tim declared when he entered the dining room with Danny. It wasn’t the complete truth, but it was still better than telling them they had left Danny without enough water and he had collapsed trying to get it himself.

“Oh! You’re finally ready for something other than toast, huh?” Stephanie asked as everyone’s mood seemed to lift with that declaration.

“Y’yeah… It’d be nice to get back to eating anything I wanted,” Danny agreed, going along with the reason Tim had provided as Tim helped him get situated in an open chair next to Danielle, who gave him a thumbs up. Seeing, and smelling the food the others had made him realize he actually was a little hungry as well as thirsty.

“You’ll love Alfred’s cooking, trust me,” Tucker chimed in around his own lunch. It looked like they had some sort of creamy soup and small sandwiches.

“Pretty sure that’s what I’ve been having already,” Danny snickered.

“Yeah, but this is actual food,” Tucker corrected.

“Just don’t push yourself,” Jazz cautioned, not wanting Danny to make himself sick even though he hadn’t had any issues lately. It was a comment that helped Tim understand a little more why Danny was so bad at asking for help.

As soon as Danny had been brought to the table Alfred had left the dining room to fetch lunch for him as well, soon to return with another tray of food. Unlike the others though, the bowl was full of a mild tomato soup that was pleasantly warm. And that and a small plate of two slices of lightly buttered toast were placed in front of Danny along with a glass of water. It was a welcome change from the broth he’d been getting, and Danny couldn’t help smiling.

“Thank you,” Danny was sure to bid, looking up gratefully at Alfred.

“You’re welcome, Young Master,” Alfred responded, pleased to see their house charge feeling well enough to join them at the table.

“He still looks a bit like death warmed over,” Jason commented casually before putting a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

“That’s rich coming from the dead man walking,” Danielle returned just as easily.

“Morticians wish they could match my liveliness,” Jason retorted, raising a hand to frame his face for a moment.

“Guys, could we not do the dead jokes? You’re gonna make people hole up,” Stephanie chided, noting how others at the table were grimacing or otherwise looking rather sullen.

“Oh come on. You have three dead people at the table. It’s not that insensitive,” Danielle protested.

“Dani, I dont think it's a comfortable topic for everyone,” Jazz hushed, glancing towards Bruce, who’s expression was looking significantly distant.

Danny hadn’t commented in favor of blowing on the tomato soup enough that he could eat it, and then was distracted by the surprisingly gentle yet rich flavor from the simple food. It definitely made the trip to the dining room worth it, though Danielle’s comment made him end up looking around at the others in mild confusion. She obviously meant him and herself for two of the people, but who was the third? He realized it was rude after he was caught, but he couldn’t help looking towards the girl with ashen skin and black hair. Wait… who was that again?

“No, it’s not Raven. It’s me,” Jason snickered slightly, pointing to himself and grinning slightly.

“....You don’t look dead,” Danny admitted, subconsciously comparing Jason to the other ghosts he’d had to deal with over the years.

“Not anymore,” Jason clarified, sparing the others at the table, and inevitably himself, the trauma trip by keeping the explanation simple.

“He died before though. That’s why he has that weird vibe not like anyone else,” Danielle added, sounding rather proud for knowing that now. “Figured that one out finally.”

“Hn,” Danny hummed around some toast, figuring if he got the option to ask about more details he’d have to do it with a smaller crowd.

“It's good to see you up and about now though kid. How are you feeling?” someone with red hair that Danny also didn’t recognize decided to change the subject to.

“.... Okay,” Danny answered, squinting slightly trying to remember who this person was also. “Better than a few days ago at least.”

“Good, good.”

“This is Wally, and Raven,” Dick spoke up after noticing Danny getting increasingly confused trying to place names to the new faces. “They both were a big help with your recovery, and we figured since you were starting to feel better we could start trying to figure out how to get you guys back home. Both of them are familiar with interdimensional travel, and Wally is pretty knowledgeable about the mechanical side of things while Raven is more versed in the mystical.”

“Oh. Are you guys going to build another portal? I guess that makes sense,” Danny acknowledged, now understanding who the new faces were.

“Well, that depends,” Wally admitted, grimacing a little. “From the sounds of it, with talking to Raven and some others, it doesn’t sound like even attempting to open a portal to the Liminal Realm is a good idea.”

“She mentioned before that attempts usually end up with some sort of explosion or implosion,” Jazz recalled.

“But she was able to do it just fine, wasn’t she? That’s how she got the ectoplasm,” Tucker pointed out.

“That was only because Dani and you two were present. And because I closed the gateway before it could react,” Raven clarified, and Danny noticed her hand seemed to have a residual injury that made him frown. “The gateway was also only one way. I was able to accept the gift it was giving to Dani, but if I’d tried to send anything through it in return I’m sure it would have broken down.”

“And based on the research Barry and I did, there isn’t much for anyone in this dimension to go off of when it comes to the Liminal Realm. It’s only really known as the most fussy realm to deal with, and most people don’t bother,” Wally concluded, only a little upset about the matter. “Which is why we wanted to ask you about how your parents were able to make a portal that’s permanently open. Everyone else said you’d know the most about that topic.”

Danny inevitably grimaced a little at that fact, not feeling like he knew much about how his parents had made the portal to the Infinite Realm either. But if it would help them get back to his parents, then he could at least try to help. “They’re not the greatest at documenting their work, but I guess I did get curious enough to look into it a little some time ago. What do you want to know?”

“Do you have any idea how the portal was constructed?” Wally prompted.

“Trial and error?” Danny grimaced again, and backtracked when Wally looked unimpressed. “Look, my parents took notes, sure, but they weren’t organized and I’m not completely sure which ones were part of the final product. I won't be able to tell you exactly how to build one.”

“That’s fine, I wasn’t expecting you to have a blueprint memorized,” Wally chuckled, not sure if Danny was being vague on purpose, or just hadn’t worked with anyone before on constructing anything. “You can just tell us what you remember, and we can try to fill in the blanks and figure out if it’s a viable option. Jazz said it was a structure on the wall in your home basement?”

“Mm,” Danny nodded around a mouthful of soup. “It looks flat when it’s on, but it’s actually a tunnel about… maybe the length of this table?” he guessed, squinting slightly as he tried to remember. “I think they changed the size of it several times, the first prototype was only about this size,” he added, gesturing to a tabletop model size in front of him. “It’s about… 2 meters in diameter? The measurement isn’t exact- is this what you want to know?”

Both Wally and Raven were listening intently to Danny’s descriptions, and Wally blinked when Danny interrupted himself to clarify again if he was saying anything useful. “Yeah, it’s great. Anything you know about it will help, even if you think it’s not important.”

“Would it help if we tried to recreate what they can remember in a 3D space?” Tim spoke up suddenly, noting how Danny seemed to be struggling in explaining in words something he’d only dealt with in physical space.

“We can do that? I’m not exactly… a sculptor or whatever,” Danny asked, fumbling over his thoughts and words as he was once again starting to feel incredibly dumb.

“We’ll have to go to the basement, but the computer down there should allow you to draw a hologram of sorts based on what you remember. That way we can see what you’re thinking, more or less,” Tim explained, then inevitably glanced over Danny’s form briefly. “If you’re up for it of course. We don’t want to push-”

“No. It’s fine, I’ll do it,” Danny agreed quickly, not sure how to accept Danielle trying to reassure him by placing a hand on his arm for a moment. She knew her brother tended to get flustered in anything that resembled an academic setting, but wasn’t sure how to convince him he wasn’t as dumb as his school told him he was.

“Cool. We can head down there after lunch,” Tim nodded, returning to his own meal.

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You ever have hair that's 100% def too short to get in your food when you're eating, but you still push it out of the way anyway? Yeah I'll admit this drawing was 100% self indulgent 'cause I remember seeing a similar drawing of a different chara before and just loving it XD I love when charas get drawn doing really subtle but oh so casually human things.

Anyway, tomato soup with bread is my favorite food ever, so I tend to default to that when charas get some notably "good food" or comfort food for once.

fast update because this is part of that bug chunk I had to split into 3 parts XD just had to get a drawing

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

[romanitas]

friends, pals, countrymen, etc - here we are nearly ten years later with the final installment of my percabeth spy au. still kind of shocked after all this time i managed to finish it, but thanks for coming along for the ride! <3

here it is on ao3 ! this one's for you, spy au anons. -

Annabeth goes to the stupid aquarium. 

It takes her over a week to decide to use the tickets, if only as a favor to Sally. It takes her another few days of backtracking through old notes, determined to make sure she goes on one of the days Percy isn’t volunteering. She logics herself into it by determining it’ll be a conclusion - she’ll create the real ending for herself where she started it all first. One more visit, because she honestly doesn’t know if she’ll be able to hit up this particular aquarium ever again. She can say goodbye and create her own bookend. 

She wears her owl earrings, matched with a pair of leggings, with pockets, and a long tunic with an old jean jacket split open at one elbow. She doesn’t get to dress down much, with most of her wardrobe often carefully calculated for the task at hand. Today her only task is to look at some fucking fish and maybe get a strawberry milkshake from the overpriced cafeteria. She doesn’t even brush her hair. She thinks about inviting someone to come along, given she has two tickets, but she’s struck with the notion that she wouldn’t even know who to task. 

Reyna? Ridiculous. She’d get called out immediately for it being a bad idea. She almost texts Frank, but decides she needs to do this by herself. Maybe there’s a family she can pass off the other ticket to and that can be her good deed of the day. Sally would approve. 

She arrives at the lunch rush, slipping into the jellyfish quarter while most of the families are scurrying off to eat. She likes to say she thinks long and hard about her life, but mostly she allows herself to be distracted by the way they light up against the dark tanks. They float aimlessly and Annabeth wonders what the sensation is like as she watches them swim idly around, to be so weightless and mindless. 

She walks through the shark tunnel, dodging around running children. She spends a moment studying the arch of the tunnel itself, smiling to herself before she realizes. Maybe there’s a world out there where she did go the architecture route instead of espionage recruitment out of college. She doesn’t want to think about that, not when there are fish to observe. There are so many fish. Too many fish. If she’s honest with herself, they start to blur together after a while, and only the brightly colored ones stand out. 

Part of her hates to admit it, but she starts to feel calmer. Steadier. Like when she walks out of this place, she’ll be Annabeth Chase again and ready to stop moping like a goddamn idiot. 

She probably shouldn’t have saved the penguins for last. 

There are babies now, and Annabeth finds herself smiling at them in the tank. They don’t look too young, but she can’t tell how far from infancy they are at this point. She’s no expert. She just has wikipedia. She tries to remember what she’s read or learned about them, and even though she’d rather not think of the source, she’s not sure she’ll ever forget the facts. 

She’s watching one of the babies slowly and carefully slide into the water when she hears him. 

“Annabeth?”

Her entire body freezes, and she wants to disappear, maybe into one of the artificial icebergs. She looks sideways in the glass and finds the warped reflection of Percy Jackson staring at her from the left. Unfortunately for her desire to submerge, the glass is only transparent for eyes and not bodies. She takes a deep breath without moving her chest and slowly, carefully turns around, looking into his face for the first time in weeks. 

He looks tired. 

Percy stares at her, befuddled, but he’s made the first move by calling out to her. She hadn’t seen him. He could have just walked away and left her ignorant to his existence, but he hadn’t. And maybe it’s just his ADHD, but she selfishly thinks maybe he made the choice to get her attention - which means she has no choice of her own but to acknowledge him in return. 

She swallows. And then she gestures stupidly at the baby penguin behind her. “Did you know baby penguins have to be at least four months old before they can swim? It’s their feathers. They aren’t waterproof at birth.” 

He continues staring at her, and she has to fight the urge to literally run away. “I do know. I’m pretty sure I told you that.”

Shit, he did, didn’t he? She had pre-gamed enough penguin facts to steer their first conversation, but anything and everything she learned since came from his wealth of aquatic knowledge. “Oh. Yes. I just - there are babies now.” 

“Born just over four months ago,” he says, and his tone is the faintest bit teasing.

“Hatched by the males,” she adds on, without thinking. Like his attention to her architectural rants, she seems to have absorbed far too much about penguins, because she could keep going, and it’s only force of will that she doesn’t. 

His mouth quirks, almost a smile. She doesn’t know what to do with that. She wasn’t sure she’d get to see him smile again, stuck with the image of only his anger as a final parting gift. 

“Did you put a tracker on me?”

Annabeth doesn’t know what to do with that either, and she sputters. It’s ungraceful. Unprofessional. And she feels ashamed, despite the way his tone still sounds like a joke. “No - Percy, no, that’s - ”

He grimaces. “Sorry. It was a joke. I’m trying to not be awkward. It’s not working.”

She would very much like the earth to swallow her up. 

“I wouldn’t,” she insists, finally. Like she needs him to know that. 

He pauses. “Jason?”

Annabeth wrinkles her nose. She hates this turn of conversation, but she wants to let him steer it this time. “There were never any trackers.” 

“What are you doing here?” he asks, pivoting away on his own. 

“I’m visiting the penguins,” she says, with only sincerity. He studies her, like he’s trying to gauge how truthful it is. She fidgets, then adds on, “You weren’t supposed to be here.” 

He actually looks shyly taken aback. “I changed my days at the station. I thought it might be…” Safer, is the word he wants to use, she knows it, but instead he lets it hang in the air. “So I had to switch my day here too.”

Annabeth thinks she really should have accounted for that, because Percy can be obtuse but he’s not stupid. It was probably one of the first things he would have done, and she feels stupid for not considering it in her own plans. 

“Your mom gave me the tickets,” is what she says next in lieu of anything else. That’s part of why she’s here, duty to a simple kindness from Sally Jackson. 

Percy’s expression becomes puzzled. “You saw my mom?” 

Oh. That surprises her too. She assumed Sally would have passed it along. She nods. She does not say anything about her own conversation with his mother, because that means he really is here by pure happenstance, and she doesn’t know what to make of that. Everything about her interactions with Percy Jackson from the start has been pure calculation, and right now she feels like she is flying on the seat of her pants. There’s no end game, no goal, just spontaneity. 

Maybe she should lean into that instead. 

“She bought me a coffee.” 

“That… sounds like her.” He pauses. “I didn’t tell her anything. About - you know, your job stuff. All she knows is we broke up.”

He says it like it’s such a normal occurrence. They broke up, like a real couple does. They broke up, they’re no longer together, and not because she shot a man in front of him and lied about her entire existence. “She was probably too nice to me,” she admits. 

Percy looks up and studies her again, and she swallows nervously, both under his expression and the way he doesn’t refute her comment about his mom. “What did she tell you?”

There is a part of her that feels like she shouldn’t go there, but the other, louder, part of her doesn’t want to lie to him ever again. “She - she said you were miserable.”

His shoulders deflate. “Well. She’s not wrong.”

Annabeth stares at him. 

“Look,” he starts, running a hand through his hair. It makes the dark strands stick up in multiple directions, and she needs to clamp down on the urge to fix it for him like she used to. “I was really mad. Part of me still is. But… it was real to me, you know? I can’t just erase what I feel. I’m still working through it.” 

Her expression falls, her shoulders heavy too. “For what it’s worth,” she starts, not sure it’s worth much of anything, “I’ve been miserable too.” 

Percy’s face scrunches up. “Even though it was fake?”

She bites her lip. “I might have met you under false pretenses. But I wasn’t lying to you, when I told you it wasn’t fake to me anymore. I spent so much time with you that I found myself wishing more than anything else it was real. I promise. If you believe one thing I say, believe me now when I promise that I’m never going to lie to you again.” 

He looks up at her, green eyes scrutinizing her like she’s under a microscope. Instead of trying to hide or put up a front, Annabeth simply lets the unhappiness hang on her like a shroud. Her bag is falling off her shoulder, the dark circles almost feel physical beneath her eyes, and her hair is a borderline rat's nest. She was always very carefully put together in front of him, even when she was trying to appear casual. Nothing about her right now is pre-planned for Percy. In some ways, she’s glad for it. 

He just watches her, and his frown deepens. She bites her lip and resists the urge to look away at the penguins. 

“Okay,” he says, after a too long silence, and she stares at him like he spoke in Greek. “I believe you.”

Her jaw drops, but she smoothly closes it. Her voice is quiet, anxious, startled and hopeful all at once, and she can’t seem to compartmentalize any of it. “You do?”

Percy purses his lips, like he can’t believe what he’s saying either. “I’ve never seen you like this,” he says, gesturing, and Annabeth’s face goes red at her dishevelment. “It feels like I’m looking at the real Annabeth, you know?”

She barks out a laugh, then covers her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t - I’m just not really fit for polite company. Fish notwithstanding.” 

“Yeah,” he says, and he grins a little. “I think that’s why I believe you.” 

Annabeth swallows anxiously and blinks back a sudden onslaught of tears. “I’m sorry, Percy. I know it was my job, but you’re so… good. At some point, it started to feel like I wasn’t pretending. I realized I really, really liked being around you. Being your friend, being with you. You didn’t deserve me lying to you, regardless of how it started.”

The last time she apologized, they were arguing. Now he just looks at her. “Thank you,” he says. It’s not quite forgiveness, it’s not an ‘it’s okay’ or the standard follow up etiquette of apologies, but it’s better, she thinks, because it feels genuine. Like he is accepting the truth of it, that she is sorry, and the fact that he believes it settles in her in an odd way. 

“Are you still… you know. Uh, working?” 

She nearly laughs at his word choice. “I’m on break. And I’m not - I was pulled from the Jupiter Industries stuff. So I’m not… working.” 

“So you’re literally just here at the aquarium for fun?” 

She hesitates, though she doesn’t know why. “Yes. And, well, you know - Sally gave me the tickets. I felt like I should use them, after our conversation.” She pauses. “I think she’s worried about you.”

Percy runs a hand through his hair again. She knows he hates stressing his mother. She knows so many things about him that she can’t seem to put down. “She always worries too much. Can I ask what else she said to you?”

It’s phrased in a way that she could turn him down, but Annabeth has promised herself as well as him that she’s in the running to be honest. 

“She asked me if I wanted to fix things with you. I told her I didn’t know if I could.” It’s not all she asked. Annabeth just doesn’t know how to bring the other part up, or if she even should.

Percy frowns. “Do you�� actually want to fix things?” 

Annabeth draws in a quiet breath. “I miss you,” she admits, and his face twists with surprise and what could be relief, but maybe she’s projecting. “But I wasn’t lying when I told her I didn’t know if I could. I hurt you. It’s not up to me to forgive myself for it, no matter how much I miss you.”

His frown deepens, but he doesn’t look unhappy - more like thoughtful. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” he mumbles. 

“I don’t think she wanted to interfere too much,” she offers quietly. “There’s one more thing.”

Percy looks up at her. 

Annabeth swallows again, but this time she’s pushing down her pride. “She asked me if I loved you.”

He looks at her carefully. “What did you tell her?”

She keeps his gaze. “I said I did.” She curls in on herself a little. “I do.”

Something in Percy Jackson deflates, but not in a way that suggests loss. It’s like he’s stopped carrying a heavy box. His shoulders sink, even if his face looks as confused as it does lighter. “It’s like everything in me wants to believe it. And I think I do,” he starts. 

Annabeth’s stomach flutters. 

“It’s crazy. Like, it’s so crazy to me that you still love me, because everything about it is so… wrong? No, not wrong - but we started wrong. We started wrong, but everything I felt was still so real. The bad and the good. I was really scared at that restaurant, for the obvious reasons - but I think I was scared about what it meant for us too.” Percy puffs out a breath of air, and his eyebrows crinkle. “I don’t have a good sense of self-preservation.”

Annabeth can barely breathe. She holds herself back from reaching for his arm. “Do you think… we could start over, and do it right?”

Percy studies her again, wary but curious. “What, like a do-over?”

“I guess. A re-meet.”

“A real meet-cute?”

She cracks a small smile. “I mean, I did run into you randomly in the aquarium.”

“Happenstance fishes.”

“We’re by the penguins,” she corrects, automatically. “Happenstance birds.”

Percy cracks his own smile, dimple pinching his cheek. “Did you know the babies don’t swim until they’re four months old?”

Annabeth’s smile widens. “You know, someone might have told me that already,” she starts. “But I could use a refresher.” 

“I’m still on shift,” he says, a little awkwardly. “But I’ll be done in about two hours.”

It takes a few moments for what he offers to sink in. It doesn’t seem fair or right to her at all that Percy Jackson is here before her, yet again in front of the stupid penguins, willingly telling her when he’s finished - offering to spend more time with her. But it’s better this time. There’s no frustration on her part, no trying to drag it out of him - he’s offering because he’s also offering her a chance, and Annabeth knows she is going to take it, regardless of how much she deserves it. She’s going to work to deserve it. Neither of them were forced to be here. She isn’t coercing him into a date. She’s letting him lead it. 

And he’s still choosing to see her. 

“I still have to visit some octopi,” she says, nerves alight, “But I could meet you back here in two hours…?” 

Percy’s silence is scary, but Annabeth gives him the time. It’s a final shot for him to back out if he wants to, and she won’t even blame him if he changes his mind even now. But he’s Percy. And somehow, she isn’t surprised by his answer. 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Annabeth is going to cry all over again. She holds out her hand instead, and even though he gives her a confused look, Percy takes it. She shakes it, relishing the feeling of his palm against hers, the warmth spreading through her fingers as he squeezes it. She thought she’d never get to experience his touch again. 

“Hi,” she starts, feeling silly, but allowing herself to run with it. No more thinking or calculating, she’s just going with this strange flow. “I’m Annabeth Chase.”

He laughs, his own smile edging on silly too. “Percy Jackson. Hey.”

“Do you work here?” she asks, trying not to smile and failing completely. 

He shakes his head. “I just volunteer. I’m a firefighter.”

“You got some kind of affinity for water?”

He breaks into a grin that’s almost a laugh. “I’ve always liked the ocean.” He pauses then, hesitation slipping into his face. “What about you?” 

She studies his face, the kindness and the anger and everything in between flashing through her head. She’s already memorized it, but she can still bask in it anew. She doesn’t really know where she’s going from here, least of all with Percy, but she once again opts for honesty, even if nothing comes of it. “I’m thinking I might get into architecture.”

Percy looks surprised. “Sounds like a big change.”

Annabeth pulls her hand away, straightens her shoulders. “Sometimes a person comes along and gives you a whole new perspective on things.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ll see. I’m working on it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” 

“I think,” he says, hesitating, “You should do what makes you happy.” 

She laughs. “Again,” she says, quieter this time, “I’m working on it.” 

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’re kind of hyper-competent.”

“Only kind of?” 

Percy snorts. “I just mean, you’ll probably figure it out.” 

She looks at him in wonder, that he could still stand there and offer a kindness to her after everything. It doesn’t surprise her, if she really thinks about it. She fell in love with him for a reason, after all. For a lot of reasons.

“I want you to know me,” she says suddenly, which goes against every single part of her existence as a spy, but Percy has already broken through all of those rules. She wants to be known, by him specifically, which is wildly scary and completely against all manner of protocol, but she is no longer lying to him. She promised. She promised and she wants to open up everything about herself that she’s kept quiet for him to witness. 

Percy’s mouth opens and closes like a nearby fish. “I know you like owls. That wasn’t fake.”

She blinks, and he gestures at her earrings. She touches one instinctively. “They’re my favorite. So is strawberry, and I do really love Gaudí, and I’m starting to really like penguins too.” 

“The penguins are pretty cool,” he says with a very small smile. 

A quiet settles over them after that, but Annabeth finds it’s not uncomfortable. There is going to be some awkwardness, but the thing about it right now is it doesn’t feel scary. All the scariest parts are behind her, and right now she is only looking at the new possibility of Percy Jackson in her life, in whatever capacity he allows. She’ll take any of it. He gets to set the pace this time, and she’s more than willing to allow it. 

“Thank you,” she says, finally. “For giving me another chance.” 

His grin is haphazard, lopsided, and maybe a little self-deprecating. “When I saw you standing there, there was a part of me that wanted to keep walking - but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Maybe it makes me a little stupid. I really want to know you too. I want to keep knowing you.”  

“I’ve been stupid too,” she says with a shrug. “So we’re off to a great start.” 

“A start,” he says, huffing a laugh. “Not many people get to do that twice.” 

“No,” she agrees. “I thought I was coming here for an ending.”

Percy blinks at her. “I don’t really know what’ll happen, Annabeth.”

“That’s okay,” she says, breathing in deeply and relishing the way the air fills her lungs. She doesn’t know either. But that’s better than finality. “We can work on that too.”

His eyes flicker with a softness she knows she still doesn’t deserve, but she relishes in that too. “So… I guess I’ll see you again in about two hours?” He pauses. “We can get smoothies.”

“I like the Strawberry Whirl.” 

He pauses again. “I knew that had to be true.”

Annabeth laughs, and Percy beams, and she thinks somehow, some way, they’re going to be… okay. It might take time. She doesn’t know what it’s going to look like, fully expects a lot of difficult bridges, but it feels like a real chance she hadn’t expected. They could be friends. They could end up more. They could go absolutely nowhere and fall apart much more naturally, more smoothly, without blood and bullets - but she’s going to try very hard to avoid that. She’s going to be herself, and maybe that’ll be good enough for him to stick around. It’s the only way she’s going to enable the mere chance of it. 

As far as she’s concerned, anything involving Percy from now on is always going to be real. 

[mysterycitrus]

mary and john grayson are interesting in the peanut gallery of dead parents because unlike pretty much everyone else, they exist exclusively in the before, and rarely the after.

both the graysons and the waynes are plot devices for tragedy, sure, the literal inciting incident to heartbreak, but while the waynes tangibly haunt the story in the manor, in their painted likenesses, in gotham as a whole, the graysons remain largely absent.

jack drake returned from the dead only to die again. sheila haywood smoked over her son’s body. david cain heard his daughter speak and wept.

but who are the flying graysons? aside from phantoms their son thinks of fondly. their ghosts are crucial to literally everything. they must fall, they must hit the ground, and their son must watch. but what happened before? they live in the pocket anecdotes for every passerby who happened to be at the circus that night. they are a poster on the wall. they are the colours worn by children. but they still exist in absentia.

[normal-person-i-promise]

hushed affirmations and gentle caresses

arataka reigen x female reader

no tws :] just a bunch of fluff and kissing

first chapter here, though its not needed to understand this one :> it makes more sense though

Though his head hurts and his heart is beating so fast it threatens to burst, he still leans on the doorway, grinning so smugly you would've assumed you were the one hungover.

He calls your name in a smooth voice, one laced with confidence. "So we're dating now? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend type stuff?"

★ ★ ★

You wake up a little earlier than Arataka does. It's about... 10, 10 in the morning, when you awaken to see he hasn't woken up yet. The city outside your bedroom window is alive with the weekend chatter and the excited footsteps that come with it, though it's barely audible; you're too busy focusing on Arataka's slow, steady breathing as his chest rises and falls, studying the way his eyes would flutter as he shifts, trying to get comfortable...

You're still nestled comfortably in his arms, that familiar scent of his sharp cologne and the soft cotton of his white dress shirt bringing a sense of peace and comfort to you. He's warm, his arms wrapped around you almost protectively, your head resting on his chest as you lay on top of him — he's like the cutest, most comfortable pillow you've ever slept on.

And he's going to have the worst hangover.

You lay there quietly in Arataka's warm embrace, just... Staring up at his calm face, his kissable lips set in a slight smile, his eyes shut tightly as he dreams. His golden hair is disheveled, his bangs out of place and in a halo on the pillow.

He's so... Cute, god...

You find your hand on his face: tracing his jaw, feeling the sockets of his eyes and running your fingers through his hair, cradling his cheek and running a thumb across his lower lip — you're almost playing with him, like a child with a new doll, toying with and pulling whatever you can. It's hard to resist, after all; he's too cute not to touch.

Arataka doesn't awaken, thankfully.

You free your other arm from his embrace and now bring both your hands up to his face, a mischievous grin plastered on yours as your gentle hands settle on him. Pinching his cheeks, squishing and pulling them like a grandmother with her grandchild, you coo and fawn, mumbling and murmuring about how absolutely adorable he is. You run your hands through his messy hair, adjust his soft, white dress shirt, fidget with the digits of his fingers.

It's only a second later when Arataka stirs and you panic to rapidly remove your hands from his face. He shifts you in his arms, his eyes fluttering open slowly, slowly, taking a moment to focus before they find yours. He seems to short circuit as he stare at you in confusion, before—

"EH?!"

He pushes you off him quickly, scrambling to put some distance in between the two of you. He stares at you, shaken, before the events of the night come rushing back to him — it causes his face to flush a bright, bright red for just a moment before he hides his face in his hands.

Arataka grumbles and groans in embarrassment, and you can't help but find it absolutely adorable.

You were so... Warm, in his arms, it felt so... So right, like you were supposed to be there, and, oh— last night, your touch? Your sweet, sweet hands caressing his face so, so lovingly? And, god, your voice, your voice when you asked him if he was okay? The kiss—?!

He bends over on himself in the purest form of embarrassment you've ever seen, muttering and mumbling words laced with regret.

He can't help but... Miss you, though. Miss how nice it felt with you in his arms.

The whole time all these thoughts are racing through his groggy mind, you're staring at him with a mixture of concern and amusement, not sure whether to comfort him or tease him about it.

A splitting headache begins to pound at Arataka's head, an extreme fatigue forming in his muscles and limbs, and a sharp pang of regret starting to stab him in the pit of his stomach. A hangover, and regret.

"God, I messed up..." He mutters bitterly into his hands, low under his breath so that you won't hear. You hear it anyway, though.

"I warned you you'd regret it," you say to him, the smug grin you have plastered on your face audible in your voice, making Arataka grumble even louder. He stays quiet other than that, though.

Your grin widens when you don't hear a reply from him, deciding to see just how red you can get his cheeks.

You lean in close, just enough for your warm breath to ghost over his hands pressed tight to his flushed face. "And who was the one nodding his head when I asked whether he was sure?"

You let a beat of silence pass, before, with a voice laced heavily with a smug grin,

"You, was it?"

You stay quiet for a moment to see his reaction, feeling a surge of pride when you see Arataka's shoulders stiffen as he grumbles louder.

More memories, along with more opportunities to tease him, come to mind.

"And who, pray tell, was the one who asked to sleep in my flat?"

You tilt your head to the side, cradling your chin like a great philosopher pondering a deep question. Your eyes roam around the room for just a moment before they land on Arataka again — and he's aware of how your gaze traces his face, running up and down in an almost fascinated daze. You still manage to keep your tone teasing, though.

"Because it certainly wasn't me."

Arataka makes muffled sobbing noise, almost in pain as you watch the red from his cheeks spill over to his ears and neck.

God, you're so... Annoying, especially when you talk like that, reminding him of all the things he did when he was drunk last night...

He— he was drunk, okay?! He wasn't thinking straight! It doesn't matter how long he's wanted to kiss you, he—!

"Stop... Talking..." Arataka groans through gritted teeth, his tone begging and his voice thick with regret.

You arch a teasing brow at him.

"Oh? And why is that?"

You lean in even closer, reaching your hands up to his wrists and wrapping your fingers around them, trying to pry his hands off his face to get a better look at his flushed cheeks. You manage to get them off, holding them near his cheeks.

"Embarrassed, are we?"

Arataka's eyes are wide with fear as he stares at you, his breathing quick and shallow, his face redder than the colour itself. Your eyes fall down to his lips, and his cheeks seem to flush even more, impossible as it is.

His mind is still reeling from the clumsy kiss from the night before — you'd tasted just like the cola you'd drank, your lips cold from the ice and your hands cooling on his hot skin. It felt so... Good, but, god...

Steam almost spouts from his ears as his mind overheats. His expression is overwhelmed as he stares at you with the reddest face you've ever seen on someone, his mouth slightly agape.

Arataka clears his throat, casting his gaze to the side as he struggles to get his hands out of your grasp. You let one hand go, bringing the other into both your hands and beginning to fidget with the fingers.

"Don't... Tell anyone, please," he almost begs in a whisper, his breathing growing shallow as you run a hand up and down his arm, fidgeting with him — bored with nothing to do with your hands. He likes when you touch him. He likes your warm, warm hands on his skin. He likes how you're so comfortable with just... Fidgeting with him like some toy.

Don't stop, please.

"Aww, okay," you say in disappointment, cracking each of Arataka's knuckles with a satisfying 'click!'. He lets you, watching as your hands move from one finger to another, almost mesmerized.

He lets out a sigh of relief at your words, just as you take his other hand and beginning to crack the knuckles on that one, too.

Though he won't ever admit it to you, he likes it. He likes how you handle him just like a little girl with a new doll, he likes how you so lovingly press your lips to his knuckles, he likes how gentle your fingers are as you run them across his cheeks and over his features — it makes his mind go haywire and his heart beat wildly in his chest.

He likes you. He likes you a lot, a lot more than he thinks he does.

You let go off his hands, getting up and off the bed. You stretch, your back popping.

"Hey, Arataka," you ask, your gaze growing worried. You reach a hand out to smooth his golden hair down, trying to make it neater — you're aware of the horrible hangover he's probably having right now.

He hums in response, closing his eyes in contentment.

"I'll go get you some painkillers for your hangover, yeah? Make you some soup and toasted bread?"

He leans into your touch as you cradle his cheek, a low, contented hum vibrating his chest. His eyes are closed tightly, and he startles when you remove your hands and he loses your touch, his eyes snapping open.

"Oh, u-uh, what? Yes, alright, mm-hmm, okay!" Arataka says quickly, embarrassed.

When you get there, Arataka is waiting for you, his cheeks flushing when he sees you again. Every time he lays eyes upon you, the events of last night come rushing up to him...

You prepare his food quickly — it's just a cup of warm tea and a can of boxed soup. You toast some buttered bread as the water boils, and when it's done, you bring the bowl of soup, the plate of toast, and the cup of tea to the bedside table.

He takes the bowl and toast, dipping the bread and biting a piece off with a loud 'crunch!" and swallowing loud enough to get you to know that he's enjoying it. You watch him; you'd prepared a simple breakfast of your favourite flavoured spread on plain, untoasted bread for yourself, and you munch on it as Arataka downs the tea greedily, chugging the soup and stuffing the bread down his throat.

He loves you, he supposes, though he's never loved someone before.

You'd made something for him. You, who's always kind and understanding with him; you, who always jokes with him; you, who he loves with all his heart, had made something for him, no matter how small. Him, Arataka, of all people, was the one you chose to love.

He can't even begin to explain just how much he appreciates you — his words would become nothing more than a mumbly jumble, his manners dissolving into a flustered mess.

"Anything else I can get you?" You offer politely and so, so lovingly, just as Arataka is swallowing the painkillers.

He grins.

"You can get me a kiss, but I—"

You cut him off before he gets to finish, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him towards you. He's taken aback by your directness, his eyes going wide and his body stiffening — though it's not long before he's returning the kiss, closing his eyes tightly and leaning into it.

Pressing your lips gently to his, you run a careful hand through his hair, caressing his cheek with a loving touch. You can feel the crumbs of the toast and the warm taste of the tea and soup on his lips.

He tastes... Comforting, you suppose. A familiar flavour, that scent of the mouth of someone who's just woken up, the warm taste of freshly toasted bread, the salty flavour of the powdered soup. He tastes nice.

You're careful not to make the kiss last too long, in case he loses his breath; and you're taking care to make sure your touch isn't too painful on his head, lest his headache return.

When you break the kiss, Arataka is nothing more than a mess of mumbly words and flushed cheeks, his hands shaky and his eyes wide. He's so, so cute, in the way that he'd struggle to form proper sentences, the manner in which he'd clumsily try to keep you close.

His heart is beating wildly in his chest, those familiar butterflies in his stomach making his head spin and his vision swim. You kissed him again, you kissed him again! Oh, god, you kissed him...

Arataka gives you lopsided grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his palm like he'd just eaten.

"That will suffice," he says with utmost confidence.

Just in case, of course, you kiss him again. He seems to be getting the hang of it — he tilts his head to press his lips more onto yours, keeps a hand to the back of your head to elongate the kiss, runs a hand up and down your spine.

When you break the kiss, you wrap your arms tightly around him, squeezing his ribcage so hard it elicits an absolutely adorable yelp of surprise from him, followed by rushed words to loosen your grip.

You're laying on top of him as you crush his torso under yours, your head resting below his shoulder.

You've noticed he's gotten a lot more confident: he can form proper sentences and talk without mumbling, his movements aren't as shaky and uncontrollable, and his kisses are getting better with each time he practices on you.

Arataka wraps his arms around you as you get settled on him, resting his chin on the top of your head. You're so... Comforting, so warm and soft... You're nice to have in his arms, and he finds himself adjusting you do that you're as pressed up against him as he can possibly get it.

You can hear his gentle snoring after ten minutes or so. You wake him up, saying you're going to go shower for a moment as you slip out of his groggy grasp.

You shower as quickly as you can, changing into your most comfortable pair of home clothes. The soft cotton hands loosely off your frame when you enter your bedroom, leaning on the doorframe as you bundle your dirty clothes and throw it into the laundry basket.

Your eyes fall to Arataka as he stares at you.

"Uh, right, I... Got this. Here."

You rummage through your cupboards. It's only a moment later when you take out a pair of folded clothes, slowly placing it next to where Arataka sits comfortably in your bed, lounging like he belongs there. Which he doesn't does, of course.

"These should... These should fit you," you say awkwardly, clearing your throat.

He likes it. He likes you. He loves you.

Arataka, too, showers, though he takes a lot longer. He's wearing your clothes (not that he has a choice, but not that he minds), and, god, he... He loves the fact that what he's wearing now, you've worn before — the cotton of the shirt worn from years of usage, the pants you lended him warm against his skin — and it smells just like you; a warm, soft scent as he slips the clothing on, feeling the old threads cascading down from his shoulders and hanging loosely around his frame.

He finds it... Cozy, and... And sweet, the smell of the laundry detergent and that warmness of the sun. It's so, very, very... Comforting? It's comforting, to him.

Though his head hurts and his heart is beating so fast it threatens to burst, he still leans on the doorway, grinning so smugly you would've assumed you were the one hungover.

He calls your name in a smooth voice, one laced with confidence. "So we're dating now? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend type stuff?"

You're scrolling on your phone when he asks you that question, and you switch it off. Seeing Arataka wearing your clothes makes you feel... Nice. He doesn't seem to be arguing about it, at least.

You shrug, a thin smile on your face.

"Must be weird, huh? Finally getting a girl after being single your whole life?"

You narrow your eyes at him as he sputters, your grin widening as his cheeks flush.

He presses a hand tightly to his mouth, gripping the doorframe as his knees almost seem to buckle. The red from his cheeks is visible even through his fingers.

"You're going— to KILL me," he chokes out, his tone laced with embarrassment.

"AND, FOR THE RECORD—!"

Arataka jabs an accusing finger in your face, and you watch on, amused, as he talks in such a panicked tone that you find it hard to understand more than the first few words. He's shouting, yelling.

"ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS AREN'T EVERTHING IN LIFE! TO NOT HAVE A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP IS THE SAME AS NOT HAVING A GOOD MEAL! YOU CAN SURVIVE WITHOUT IT JUST FINE, BUT IT WOULD BE NICE IF YOU HAD ONE!"

He scoffs in disappointment, crossing his arms, his tone almost annoyed — though that undertone of endearment is definitely there.

"I'm surprised you haven't learnt anything from working under me."

You roll your eyes.

"You can just say you're bitter about being single. It won't hurt you."

Arataka sputters again, opening his mouth to argue — but closes it quickly, realising that he's just making himself look worse. Instead, he crosses his arms tightly and grumbles, which an adorable display despite his agitation.

You grin, getting up and off the bed to ruffle his hair. He pushes your hand off, annoyance written on his face.

[the-barefoot-hatter]

a freshly human bill AU where he struggles with eating... not because the fear of medication or the texture or the act of eating is troubling... but because the taste is all wrong now.

Everything tastes off now, things he knows taste good aren't anymore, and it's all because the last time Bill had access to living taste buds was when he was inside Ford Pines, and Ford Pines is a freak who eats concerningly old expired food like starving raccoon and drinks coffee that can double as motor oil

the billford kicks in trying to find foods Bill actually likes idk not important, what is important is what is WRONG with Ford's palate

[skele-bunny]

Taps the mic...

..........

Asexual Dewdrop and Swiss.

Walks off stage..