#you might be thinking. ''all of the adult doodles of him have glasses. when does he get them?''

[doodle-do-wop]

Kotlc theory: spoilers for Stellarlune

I'm probably gonna slap this on discord cause I like rambling to my friends but it felt like a fun theory to drop here anyway

It's a very very VERY long plot point that I honestly kinda maybe somewhat thought about the first time it popped up but the missing star stone Gisela had commissioned into a hair thingy

Biana mentions her dad taking her to buy a comb once when she was young and that was that up until Stellarlune when the star stone is essential now for Elysian and Biana, brilliant girl that she is, has a theory about the stones and as per use, she's right. Whenever Biana has a theory there is like a 90% chance she's right or she was still right but just slightly missed the target. So it turns out Biana has had the star stone this whole damn time sitting in a box because little baby Biana didn't think it was pretty/it wasn't the one she wanted

But Cyrrah purposefully gave the star stone to Biana and yeah it could just be because no one would think twice about some little kid having what is essentially the government's biggest secret in a jewelry box for who knows how many years but could Biana have been essential to Elysian in some other way besides being the keeper of the place?

Had Alvar ever been ordered to snoop through his family's jewelry because Gisela heard they bought something from Cyrrah but everyone just shrugged her off because she's crazy and paranoid and none of Della's jewelry was special but womp womp Gisela uses her brain for something other than kicking kids and she right

I know Biana is Shannon's favorite plot device for moving things along and Dex is her favorite when she remembers he exists and needs to set a kid on fire (I really hope Dex doesn't die in the final battle because if anyone is going down to an exploding glittery rock it would be Dex but knowing him and fire Dex might survive this) but I genuinely think Biana might still have a foot in the door with this whole Elysian thing

And yeah, big shocker I'm talking about Stina again, but where the fuck did this kid get a book on BATTLE STRATEGY??? How did this 'cowardly' character who has only been in ONE FIGHT THAT WASNT EVEN GIVEN TO US IT WAS JUST SPARK NOTES NEVER TO BE TOUCHED UPON AGAIN( Shannon when I catch you Shannon) HOW DID SHE OF ALL THE CHARACTERS WHO HAVE NEARLY LOST THEIR LIVES USE THAT THING INSIDE HER SKULL CALLED A BRAIN AFTER ONE BATTLE AND THINK "hey i should learn battle strategy" WHEN NO ONE ELSE DID

Shannon hates me, it's true, she stuck a sticky note to my door that says 'I hate you Doodle-xoxo go piss girl (Shannon)' and I saw her in a Mazda waiting for me to read the note and then dramatically burn tires as she drove off, so I know this blonde woman will do SOMETHING that will make me wanna throw book 10 into the ocean. It will probably be the page count of the book for the number of 'last time on Shameless' filler paragraphs. But she'll do SOMETHING to piss me and only me straight off and it's gonna have something to do with Stina I feel it in me bones.

Cause where did she get a battle strategy book????? Who did Stina go up to and say 'hey does my library card work for goblin writings on battle strategy?'. Elves don't have those types on books they're allegedly peaceful but I mean if they made themselves forget about Nightfall and Elysian the elves might have a super secret dark history of battle strategy.

Biana, Fitz, Tam, Linh, Wylie, Stina, Dex, (I don't even remember if Keefe was there I just recall the Horse Girls and Sophie punching stained glass while Marella shows her support for the LGBT) and the rest of the adults who have so far been nerfed beyond nerffing

Unless Shannon decides she needs a book 11 book 10 is about to be the longest book I've ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on or worse, broken into two book parts

Shannon can't drop cookie crumbs no more she can only drop the full fucking box of cookies so that battle strategy better come in clutch like the deus ex machina I know it's going to be but I also think it's hilarious that Sophie and the gang leave Stina to her own devices for maybe less than 24 hours and Stina managed to set up a full armada in that time.

Shannon had Stina do far too many things in Stellarlune that are never touched upon/mentioned after they're said and once again, she can't drop crumbs she can only drop the whole cookie. Stina in Stellarlune volunteered to 1) talk to a psychopath 2) search through Kenric's library for a crystal that still wasn't found and 3) read battle strategy while calling herself their strongest asset

Stina has to have something up her sleeves and it better be something big or I'm fighting Shannon in the park lot again. Stina could have gotten the book on battle strategy from Kenric's library tbh and asked to check it out or she was only allowed to read it in Kenric's library. Who knows. I think it's hilarious that Oralie might've had to report back to the council that Stina Heks is reading battle strategy books. Lord only knows how Timkin handled telling the Collective his daughter is reading those books.

Can't believe Stina might be a deus ex machina in book 10, I will go crazy if book 10 is too long and has to be broken up into two parts. I still feel like Biana plays a bigger part because she always does. And this has gone from theory to nonsensical rambling but that's just how this blog rolls

[vaguely-concerned]

zeblue sketch dump

here we go! :) this will go long because I Love them

I personally think of Blue’s glasses as less of the conventional nerd kind, more of the insufferable tech bro vibe. He IS a nerd but he’s also a scammer trying to get you to think it’s a sound financial investment to buy his cryptocurrency

God I wish I was more interested in/better at drawing clothes and fashion, because the idea of Blue wearing Aava hand-me-downs is one of the greatest mental images I’ve ever incepted myself with and I don’t think I can ever do it justice. + obligatory blue's dumbass jester my beloved

The Most important version of fullly armoured knight zero that I unforgivably forgot to include in my original post

Introducing Nephili ‘Neph’ Ax-Vel, one of the Force-sensitive kids that I invented for my ever-fixed mark ‘verse! Featuring an omwati redesign because the idea behind the species seemed so cool and yet what little art there is looks like uh… just humans with 80s hair and that was Not It for me. 

She is incredibly interested in technology and is showing signs of integrating her connection to the Force in that, exactly as Aava was so interested to see someone do! However (the monkey’s paw curls for Aava) Blue is her absolute favorite adult in the whole world, for unknowable reasons. (It probably comes down to them having some ineffable yet powerful autism2autism communication going on; he is surprisingly non-awful with her.)   

She’s also the only one of the kids small and literally bird-boned enough for Blue to be able to carry. (Dar-Yen — who even as a little babby 10 year old besalisk is pretty solid — once made a bet with his BFF that Blue would catch him if he jumped into his arms, Brooklyn 99 meme style. This experiment ended with several bruised ribs on all sides and a stern talking to. To this day the kids argue over whether Blue at least tried to catch him before they both went down like matching sacks of potatoes, or was just trying to save his cup of caf. Reader, I think you know in your heart what the truth is there.)

Before Aava and Zero started trading off haircutting duty, Blue’s hair got pretty long, which Neph took as prime free ‘I’ll braid your hair!!!’ real estate. 

Feared lethal assassin Agent Zero play fighting with the kids and dramatically pretending to fall to their combined might is something that can actually be so personal (is so personal I guess considering I made it up for myself lol). It is partially just to be an uncle-shaped jungle gym, but also a way to sneakily train them in working as a group the way he used to when running with a pack in his youth  

*blue voice* but why did theseus seduce ariadne though. Why did he not put the moves on the minotaur instead. This seems like the more obvious and productive cause of action long-term (and I have no other horny reason to think this)

*affectionate Zero voice* you’re insane (and extremely gay) but alright I’ll be insane along with you

(I could imagine this being a real in-universe statue that got commisioned and that they'd pose for fdskajfa Zero has gone through all the stages of grief long ago when it comes to what Blue does to his libido and has arrived at the perfect Zen of 'this will awaken something in me. and that's chill we live and learn about ourselves')

:') they

(Slightly older?) Neph and Blue, and some Zeros I doodled as a means to cling on to my sanity while stuck on a train for a couple of hours. Aava is right he handsome

important information being exchanged (the fact that blue specifically calls the hired killer he employs pretty... I will never be over it what is wrong with him)

The silly stupid little arms-wide-open-in-welcome doodle of Blue in this might be my favorite thing I’ve ever drawn. He really saw bae, went :) , and it fills me with such simple delight

(there’s also a Zero looking sad on this page of my sketchbook that didn’t make it in here, but that’s the context lol)

[khuns]

who else is there to love but you; a khunbaam au

He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

“Come on, Baam, it’s our graduation. It’s the last time any of us are gonna have time to travel before we settle into jobs and fall victim to the monotony of everyday li-“

A snort crackles through the speaker, and Hatz’s voice rings clear, “Speak for yourself, Isu. Some of us still can’t find jobs-“

A jostle over the phone, then: “-anyway, as I was saying, it’s just one last hurrah before we officially start adulting. Please just say yes, Baam, nearly everyone else has agreed-“

Baam sighs and sets down his pencil. It’s literally the week of finals; every time he rubs his eyes he sees syntax trees tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. How does Isu expect him to make big decisions when his entire brain is clouded with theta roles?

He opens his mouth, about to ask Isu to please just ask him when he gets back to their dorm room because his brain really can’t handle thinking about budgeting and accommodations, but Isu’s sly voice beats him to the punch. “Khun’s coming.”

Baam lets his head drop into his hands and groans.

Damn Shibisu.

-

The first time Baam meets Khun, Baam is splayed out on his stomach on Hatz’s kitchen floor, honey dripping from his hair.

The laughter on his tongue dies out; Isu stops flinging flour at where Hatz is crouched, taking cover.

Baam watches in dismay as the most beautiful man he’s ever seen in his life stands at Hatz’s doorway, mouth pressed into a thin line and eyes as hard as flint. The man’s fingers are still curled around the door handle as he surveys the mess before a clipped, “Hatz.”

He feels Hatz tensing up from where he’s knelt beside Baam, hands braced against the fine dusting of flour on the floor.

“I’ll make sure the kitchen is spotless,” Hatz bites out, tone frosty.

Baam’s eyes meet the man’s through a slow tangle of honey, and he can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine. Even backlit and haloed in the artificial hallway light, he reminds Baam of someone royal, hair pulled away from cheekbones high and regal and bangs barely covering eyes cool as glass.

An eternity stretches before the man breaks eye contact with him and makes out a curt nod, “Make sure you do.”

And then he’s gone, door locking behind him with a neat click.

Isu is the first to break the silence- “Fuck, Hatz, when you called to tell me your new roommate was an ass you didn’t say he was a beautiful one-“

“Shut the fuck up, he’s a royal pain in the ass, that’s why I called you to come over- “

“His eyes, Hatz, did you see them-“

“I hardly feel the need to look into the eyes of someone who pisses me off from day one-“

“You ask me to come over and make cookies for you, but you just neglect to mention how beautiful-“

“You saw for yourself, he’s so fucking pretentious - look, Isu, if you’ve done quite enough salivating over my arse of a roommate, do you mind helping your poor roommate up?”

Isu squeaks and slides through the flour to Baam’s side, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Baam says. “Yeah, no, I’m alright.”

As Isu helps Baam pick himself off the floor and sends him into the bathroom to rinse out his hair, all Baam can think about is the man’s cool blue eyes and the way the image keeps sending his heart back up his throat.

-

It’s ten in the morning after his last final and Baam barely has time to stuff his duffel in the trunk when Rak calls shotgun.

It sets off a squabble between Hatz and Isu about who should drive and devolves into an argument over whether Rak can navigate (he cannot) and when Isu will even let anyone else drive his precious car (never).

There is a soft huff of amusement from where Khun is leaning on the side of the car, hands fiddling through what looks like a GPS, and Khun looks up at Baam, grinning. “We’ll never set off at this rate.”

“We’ll have to spend the first night back in our dorms and leave tomorrow instead,” Baam returns, biting back a smile. Khun laughs at that, his eyes sparkling through his bangs and curved into crescent moons, and Baam has to tamp down a familiar flare in his chest.

Keep it under control, he tells himself. It’s just a weeklong road trip, after which Khun will move somewhere in the big city for a job at his father’s company and Baam will move back home, despairing over what little job prospects a linguistics major brings. Useless crushes are just that, useless.

He watches as Khun pushes off from the side of the car and tosses the GPS to Isu. “Keyed in a place for lunch,” Khun grins as Isu squawks and fumbles to catch it, “Now you won’t need either of those two idiots up front.”

Hatz splutters indignantly and the rest of them just laugh, scrambling to get into the car so they can finally, finally get on their way and maybe get a decent cup of coffee.

(Rak, much to his disgruntlement, is relegated to the backseat, sandwiched between Khun and Baam.)

-

The second time Baam meets Khun, Baam neither is on the floor nor has any sticky substance in his hair (thankfully).

He knocks on Hatz’s door, ready to deliver Hatz’s notebook from where Hatz left it in Baam and Isu’s dorm room during an earlier study session.

(A ‘study session’, Baam has learnt, is just an excuse for Isu to bother his best friend into coming over to their room so they can talk about everything other than homework. Not that Baam minds, of course - conversations between Hatz and Isu flow like water, stories from their shared childhood spilling out as they try their best to embarrass each other in front of Baam.)

There’s a click as the door unlocks and Baam’s mouth opens, ready to remind Hatz that even though they only live just a few floors above him, it’s best not to leave his Physics notes behind ever again for Isu to doodle senselessly on, but when the door swings open, it’s Blue Eyes.

Oh.

“Looking for Hatz?” The man prompts, after a beat of silence. “He’s in the shower.”

Baam flushes and makes the conscious effort to shut his jaw. He holds Hatz’s notes out to Blue Eyes, “Hatz left this in my room earlier, could I leave this with you please?”

Blue Eyes raises an eyebrow at the dick drawn in Sharpie on Hatz’s notebook cover. He looks back up at Baam.

“It wasn’t me,” Baam blurts, suddenly anxious to inform Blue Eyes that no, he wasn’t the one childish enough to draw dicks onto other people’s notes. “My roommate and Hatz, they’re pretty close, I guess it’s their thing-“

He’s not sure why words are just tumbling out of his mouth, but Blue Eyes just snorts, corner of his mouth turning up in amusement. He takes the notebook from Baam and nods, “I’ll leave it on his desk.”

“Thank you...” Baam trails off, because for the life of him he absolutely cannot remember what Hatz has called his roommate other than ‘The Royal Ass’ and ‘That Fucking Asshole’. Neither of which, Baam is sure, Blue Eyes would like to be called.

“Thank you,” he manages, and turns to hightail it out of there before he embarrasses himself for the third time in a night.

“Hold on,” Blue Eyes says, and he waits until Baam fully turns back around to meet his gaze. “Who should I say left this for him?”

“I’m Baam.” Baam pauses, then tacks on, “From the twenty-fifth floor.”

“Alright, Baam-from-the-twenty-fifth-floor,” Blue Eyes says, and grins. “I’m Khun.”

Khun, Baam repeats all the way back up to his room, Khun. He tucks the name into the pocket of his cheek the way a child savours hard candy - Khun. Khun, Khun, Khun.

(Baam makes it all the way to the lift lobby before he realises that Khun has in fact cracked a dad joke, and when he tells Isu this Isu can’t seem to stop cackling.)

-

They stop for lunch at a cute diner at the edge of the city. The lights are dim and the booth seats are cracked, stuffing leaking out from where legs have over the years worn the leather down, but the food is warm and the coffee is strong and that’s all that matters.

“More coffee?” The sole waiter nudges Isu’s coffee cup with the jug.

Isu nods. Might as well, if he’s going to be driving for the rest of the day.

He takes a sip and leans back. Rak and Khun are arguing over routes, phones opened to Google Maps and fingers jabbing at the highways. Baam is listening intently to the road talk, slowly pulling the pickles out from his sandwich and setting them in a pile on the edge of his plate, ready for Khun to pick at later.

Isu smiles softly to himself as Rak leans over him to holler at Hatz. He’s glad they cobbled together this trip - it seems the perfect way to end four years of living together before they disperse and are only able to meet on weekends, or worse, every couple of months.

He’ll miss them, of course - if there’s one thing the university did right, it was their random roommate pairings freshman year. Isu’s heard horror stories of roommates going out partying and coming back to puke on rugs, but Baam clicked with him on all sorts of levels, from cleanliness to sleep schedules to taste in films, and it was only natural they applied to continue living together all four years.

And Hatz, despite his deep loathing of Khun during their first month rooming together, quickly warmed up to him too; they were both quiet and studious, were complete night owls and were quite alright with Isu coming to blabber their ears off every once in a while.

(Hatz also strenuously denies this, but after The Physics Lab Incident halfway through the first semester freshman year, Isu is pretty sure Hatz would follow Khun to the ends of the earth and back. And Hatz’s loyalty is hard-earned; he would know.)

Rak was a lucky happenstance in their second year, a constantly sexiled sophomore from across the hallway who more often than not ended up sleeping on their couch. When Isu found out Rak could make a mean beef stew, well? Isu adopted him into their little family straight away.

“What do you guys think?” Khun turns to his left, spearing a pickle off of Baam’s plate. Baam hums his approval and Isu shrugs. He hasn’t really been listening, but he trusts that Khun’s come up with a good route. If anything was weird, Rak and Baam would have pointed it out anyway.

“Doesn’t matter to me where we go,” Hatz says around a full mouth of fries, “As long as we make it to the hotel tonight.”

“Alright then,” Isu says, brushing crumbs off his shirt, “Where has the Great Rak and Khun planned to bring us next?”

“The Museum of Turtles.”

Rak is grinning so broadly Isu can’t help himself - he laughs.

-

The third time Baam meets Khun, it’s for dinner with Hatz and Isu.

They’re crowded around a table heavy with pizza Hatz must have grabbed on the way back from class. It’s somewhat towards the middle of their first semester - Khun and Hatz must be getting pretty close if Hatz has invited him to eat with them. So much for Hatz’s obstinate declaration that he’d never be friends with someone “that stuck-up”.

“-completely winded because as I said, I fell on my fucking back, and the crazy girl goes, “Oh my god, you’re looking up my skirt!” Like, I’m the one you knocked over literally half a second ago and you’re accusing me of looking at your ugly ass?! How fucking ridiculous is that?” Hatz waves his slice of pizza in the air, pepperoni somehow clinging to the cheese by sheer force of will.

Baam winces in sympathy. He’s not sure what he would have done in Hatz’s place. Maybe die.

“Then Khun - bless Khun - leans over from his bench and says- oh man, I think you better tell this part-“

Khun huffs and wipes his mouth. He sets his half-eaten slice back down, eyes sparkling with mirth, and continues, “So I’m quietly working on this stupid Physics lab sheet when I hear this idiot fall flat on his ass behind me and when I turn around to laugh at him-“

There’s something that resembles a protest from Hatz but it’s covered by Isu’s guffaw.

“-his lab partner looks like she’s about to scream bloody murder to the whole class so I lean over and - see, ordinarily I’d just laugh at Hatz and turn back but this was the girl who looks down on Hatz because she saw that his textbook was second-hand, and more importantly, she insulted my earrings once-“

“Your earrings! How dare she!” Isu is cackling even louder.

“Right?” Khun smirks, and Baam thinks his heart skips a beat, “Anyway, I lean over and I go, “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve fallen again,” and Hatz is on the floor looking at me like I’m some kind of fool instead of his damn roommate trying to get him out of trouble, so I have to tack on, “Sorry, my boyfriend is such a klutz, he’s always bumping into things. And don’t worry about him looking anywhere at you, he’s not interested.” The look on both their faces, priceless-“

“Boyfriend!” Isu howls, pounding the table, “Straight-as-an-arrow Hatz! Boyfriend!”

Hatz grins, “Whatever, you idiot, you missed the best part - then Khun says to her, “Not that there’s much to see anyway!” Oh man, her face must have been some seven shades of purple-” This sets all of them off and as their laughter dies down Baam is pretty sure if he laughs anymore his cheeks might just split in half.

But through his bangs he sees Khun looking, looking at him, and he instantly flushes. He reaches for another slice of pizza, just for his hands to have something to do, but he brushes against something cool and sees Khun retracting his own hand. Khun gestures for him to go ahead, eyes fixed on him.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, then as an afterthought, “Thanks.”

Khun’s smile is absolutely blinding.

-

Baam hums happily, flicking through photos from the museum exhibit. They were nearly kicked out for being completely obnoxious, yes, but he got the absolute best photos and he knows Isu has more.

“We’re nearly there,” Rak says from where he’s finally wrangled shotgun. Sure enough, Isu turns into the gravel driveway of a small hotel.

Hatz is the first to tumble out of the car, stretching and nearly knocking Baam in the face. It’s been quite a ride from the museum to the hotel, including a boisterous karaoke session, and Baam can’t wait to check in and dump their stuff so they can grab dinner.

“Bad news, y’all,” Isu says, not even ten minutes later. “They have two rooms, but they’re all big beds instead of those individual ones. Hatz and I can take one - we shared beds during sleepovers - but two of y’all have to take a bed and someone has to take the cot.”

Rak, of course, lays claim on the cot instantly. “I kick in my sleep,” he points out, and everyone groans. He does.

Baam nods, but realises with a sinking feeling-

“That leaves Baam with Khun, then,” Isu says, satisfied. He shoots Baam a barely-veiled triumphant look as he hands him a key card and Baam can’t help but flush. This is a terrible, terrible idea, and Isu is a terrible, terrible friend.

He nearly groans in despair when they finally head to the rooms - even with the bed taking up most of the space, it looks barely big enough for two.

Khun clears his throat.

“I can take the floor,” Baam blurts. He doesn’t want to make Khun uncomfortable. With his luck, there’d be some sort of accident in the night and... he’d rather just take the floor and nap in the car tomorrow.

Khun glances sharply at him. “Don’t be silly, you’re going to ache all over tomorrow. We’ll just, you know, set boundaries.”

Baam thinks about the photo Isu once took of him starfishing all over his own bed and clinging to his pillow like a lifeline. Boundaries. “Um,” he says. “Um.”

“Fantastic.” Khun says, already dropping his duffel on one side of the bed.

Fantastic.

--

Khun eventually loses track of the number of times he meets Baam. It seems like he’s always there whenever Isu comes downstairs to go bother Hatz, or whenever Hatz pulls them all outside for dinner.

(Not that Khun minds, of course - Baam is... interesting. Khun refuses to explore why.)

He ends up seeing Baam outside of the dorm too, sometimes waving to each other across the street between classes. It’s not until Hatz pulls all their schedules together to find a time to go cake-shopping for Isu’s birthday that Khun realises they share a lunch time most days.

Baam volunteers to get the cake the day before Isu’s birthday, since Hatz has classes until late. Which doesn’t quite make sense to Khun, since they agreed on hiding the cake from Isu in Hatz’s and Khun’s room anyway, so he makes an executive decision to join him.

He leans against the wall, picking at his nails, until he hears shuffling from inside the classroom. A few minutes later, Baam emerges from his Phonology class,  scarf tucked messily around his neck.

He raises his hand in a half-wave, and waits for Baam to make his way over.

“Heard from Hatz you’re going to pick Isu’s cake out and thought I’d come with,” Khun says in lieu of greeting, and Baam beams at him.

“Great! We can put it in your fridge right after.”

“Exactly why I came,” Khun returns easily, but it seems like the wrong thing to say - the light in Baam’s eyes shutters a little, but before Khun can think about what he said, Baam’s hitched his backpack a little higher and takes the lead out of the linguistics building, waving goodbye at the security guard.

Huh.

He scrambles to catch up, long legs bringing him back up to speed with Baam easily. “I’m thinking chocolate?”

“Isu only ever eats chocolate cake,” Baam informs him, and flashes him a smile. “The only time I ever get to eat a full slice is when I get strawberry or some other fruit flavour.”

“Strawberry? Good taste,” Khun offers, and Baam’s beam returns.

If Khun waits by the exit of Baam’s phonology class the next week just to see that beam again, well, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

-

Time melts into months, and Khun and Baam’s weekly lunches melt into nearly daily lunches.

Sometimes Khun stops by the linguistics building to wait for Baam to end class; sometimes Baam finds himself waiting outside their agreed-upon dining hall before Khun shows up, waving goodbye to one friend or another.

Khun’s relatively popular, Baam thinks, until Khun corrects him one day with a, “No, it’s just that business majors have to network a lot. I expect we’ll either end up being employed by each other or buying up each other’s businesses ten years down the road.” He laughs at the mildly terrified look on Baam’s face.

Baam tells Khun about the calculus class he’s been forced to take for his math requirement, and Khun gripes about having to take a Physics class to fulfill his science requirements even though he’s a business major. Conversation flows easier than Baam expects, and the more he talks to Khun the smoother it flows.

He learns about how Khun is a business major because he’s expected to take over the family business. He learns about how Khun is interested in a Computer Science minor because he’s convinced the future of the world lies in tech, and Khun learns how Baam might be taking a Psychology minor because he just wants to learn more about the people around him.

Baam learns how Khun talks with his hands, long fingers swirling and jabbing as he maunders around his point. He learns how Khun’s laughs runs from derisive chuckles to laughter as bright as moonlight on icicles. He learns how Khun would rather carry around a hair tie than have to go to the barber’s every two months, and Khun learns, after an incident where his hair tie snaps and he can’t lean forward without getting hair in his soup, that Baam has taken to carrying a spare one around for him.

Baam learns how Khun takes his iced coffee with milk but no sugar, and Khun learns about how Baam’s favourite boba order is lychee green tea. Baam learns about the way Khun doesn’t really believe in dating for fun, not since he watched his sister run away from home with a boy and come back, badly bruised and begging to be loved again as though her family would have ever given up on her the same way that boy did. And Khun learns Baam is a hopeless romantic, and laughs at the way Baam flushes while admitting he believes in love at first sight.

They talk and talk, and as November melts away and Khun introduces Baam to someone as his best friend, Baam grins and feels as though he’s known Khun all his life.

(“It seems as though,” Isu remarks to Hatz one day, “instead of Khun-and-Hatz and Isu-and-Baam, we’ve become Isu-and-Hatz and Khun-and-Baam.”

Hatz throws a pen at his head. “We’ve always been Hatz-and-Isu, you fool. Ever since I saved you on the playground-“

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you swapped the order of our names, you bitch!“)

-

They’re settling in for the night, Hatz and Isu on the bed and Rak on the fold-out cot.

Rak is tapping away on his phone, setting his multitude of alarms for the next morning, but Hatz doesn’t bother. He’s sure Isu will shake him awake somehow.

He wrestles a good amount of blanket away from Isu’s octopus grasp, and gets ready to close his eyes when Isu suddenly says, “We really need an intervention.”

Hatz frowns. Did he take too much blanket?

“About Khun and Baam.”

Oh. Isu kicks all the covers off in his sleep anyway.

“Khun prides himself on how perceptive he is,” Isu is saying, “But it’s really stupid how he hasn’t cottoned on about Baam.”

Rak bursts out laughing. “We’ve has this conversation before, yes.”

“It’s so slow burn it feels like one of those frog-in-hot-water kind of stories, you know? One of them makes a move, but the other thinks it’s just bros being bros, one of them slips up but the other blames it on fucking Mercury in retrograde or whatever-“

Hatz snorts, “Pretty sure neither of them believe in astrology-“

“Point is, they practically orbit around each other and everyone, everyone, sees that but them. I mean, have you seen the way Baam picks food he doesn’t like off of his meals and Khun just straight up swipes it off of his plate, no questions? Who does that? Every time I swipe food from Rak he threatens to kill me-“

“It’s because you swipe the food I like, you stupid turtle-“

“Anyway, I pointed it out to Baam once and you know what he said? You know what he said?” Isu rubs his hand across his face. “He blinked and said he didn’t even notice! He doesn’t even remember when they started doing it! Khun does the exact same thing and you know how he hates people touching his food! I tried picking carrots off of Khun’s plate last month because I know he always sets his carrots aside and he fucking hit me so hard with his fork I bruised!”

Hatz hears the slight whine in Isu’s voice and finds himself suddenly unable to hold bubbles of laughter in. It’s ridiculous, it really is, four years of Khun being the absolute softest for Baam and Baam not noticing, and he hears Rak’s low rumble of laughter from Isu’s other side.

“The worst thing,” Isu says over their laughter, “is that you know Khun’s the type of person to not do anything if it might put his friendships in danger. Bet you he thinks Baam doesn’t like him like that.” That sobers them up pretty quickly.

“And you know what the absolute kicker is?” Isu’s voice is quieter now, as Hatz’s and Rak’s laughter die down. “Baam won’t do anything about it because - and I know this for a fact - the fool thinks the same.”

Rak groans and rolls over. “We really need to do something before everyone moves home, huh.”

“Damn right we do.”

(They don’t manage to figure out any sort of concrete plan before Rak drops asleep, but Hatz and Isu agree in the vaguest sort of way that Something Must Be Done, Even If We Don’t Know What.)

-

When their very first set of finals are over, Isu insists on dragging everyone out for drinks.

They find themselves in a small, dimly-lit pub a short walk away from their dorm, teeming with college students temporarily freed from the shackles and chains of higher education. It’s loud and it feels like there are too many people than there should be on a snowy weekday night, but Isu snags them a table and leaves them there to guard it while he goes to grab their first round.

Khun leans across the table, “How were your finals?”

“Glad they’re over,” Hatz says, unwinding his scarf. “I never want to see a physics formula again. How were yours?”

Khun shrugs. “Same about that physics requirement, I suppose. But we’re taking statistics together next semester, right?”

Baam looks up. “Which professor? I’m taking statistics too.” He’d like to take a class with friends, he thinks, and a small flame blooms in his chest at the thought. Friends.

Cheesy as it is, he’s glad he’s come out of his freshman semester with a group of friends to call his own.

“-Yoo, I think,” Hatz is saying, “The Monday and Wednesday morning one.”

“Neat,” Baam grins. “The three of us can study together then?”

“I leave to get drinks and you’re already plotting to take a class without me?” Isu plops a tray down on their table, sounding more amused than affronted.

“You’re the engineering major,” Hatz points out, but Isu waves him away.

“Enough school talk,” Isu says, and raises an eyebrow. “Let’s talk about more fun things.”

Isu’s idea of fun things, apparently, includes a list of get-to-know-you questions, and he grills each and every one of them as if he’s about to have a final on the details of his friends’ lives.

“-past relationships in three words, go.”

Hatz winces, “She… wanted… fencer?“ Isu groans at Hatz’s poor summary, then gestures for Baam.

“Um,” Baam says. “She… wanted better.” Not technically true, he thinks, but that’s as clean as he can get to describing Rachel without prying open a can of worms he had trouble closing in the first place.

Isu pats his hand in sympathy, “One of those, huh? One of my exes dumped me because he had his sights on something higher too. I’ll go for the other one then… his gay experiment.”

Hatz hisses at that, and drains the rest of his beer. “Deserved every last punch I gave him.”

Isu laughs, light and hollow and carefully wiped of emotion, and the sound, emptier than the thud of Hatz’s glass on the table, rings in Baam’s ears. He’s glad Hatz was there to dole out the hits all those years ago, because tipsy on three whole glasses of beers, he’s ready to go out and start a new fight himself.

Isu gestures for Khun’s turn, but Khun’s eyes are on Baam. His gaze has a sort of scrutinising air, as though he’s trying to figure something out, and Baam feels his scowl disappear and a tremble run under his skin.

“I don’t believe in dating,” Khun says, after a measure of silence, and Baam’s heart gives a soft thud from where it has sunk somewhere near the floor.

He isn’t sure why he’s disappointed; he’s known about it ever since Khun told him about his sister, of course, and he’s not even sure what he’s hoping for - they’re great friends and it’s already more than Baam could ask for. Khun is kind and smart and pays attention to the people around him and he has a sort of determined dedication that Baam has never quite figured out how to instil in himself. And even if Khun was up for dating, Baam thinks, he’d be too many leagues above Baam; just in the time they’ve been sat down, there have been countless looks thrown at their table, soft giggles about the boy with the messy blue ponytail and eyes like sapphires, quiet and not-so-quiet whispers daring each other to go up and talk to him.

None of them have, though. It’s just something about the way Khun’s eyes have never wandered from their table that has kept everyone away.

“-couldn’t press charges against him,” Khun is saying. The napkin between his fingers has been torn to shreds, and Baam wants nothing more than to be able to curl his hand around Khun’s in comfort without the tug in his heart begging for more.

He keeps his hands to himself.

“Well, I thought I was the most miserable story, but fuck,” Isu says, and stands up. “I’m going to get another round.”

He comes back with a tray full of soju bottles, and they end up drinking all the way through Isu’s list of silly questions.

They learn that Hatz would name his hypothetical bunny General McHoppers, and that Khun would rather fight a duck-sized horse than a horse-sized duck. Baam can’t remember if they decided on hot dogs being tacos or sandwiches on their way out of the pub, but somewhere along the way his gloves have been fumbled onto his hands and his beanie jammed onto his head.

Isu has his arm around Hatz, talking a mile a minute about how the flat earth theory could theoretically be true while Hatz is struggling to support his weight. Baam could laugh at the way Isu’s stumbling, but come to think of it, he isn’t so sure about the structural integrity of his own legs.

He feels an arm slide around his waist and a laugh, low and breathy in his ear. He shivers at the sound and the way it feels so achingly close he could just turn and- he decides to blame it on the wind chill.

“You’re a lightweight,” Khun accuses. There’s a ribbon of a laugh in his voice and Baam mutters out a stubborn, “I’m not,” that goes unheeded.

“So when are you coming back?” Khun asks, voice light and conversational. “We can probably do something together before winter break is over and the next semester starts.”

Baam squints at him, as though it will make Khun’s voice amplify through the cotton wool of his brain. “Mm not leaving for break,” he says carefully. “Staying here.”

Maybe taking phonology was a good idea, Baam thinks. Makes his enunciation clearer and all that. Maybe Khun will stop thinking he’s drunk and unhand him.

Khun just snorts, and if anything, his hold on Baam gets tighter. His voice is tinged with amusement as he leans closer, lips brushing Baam’s ear. “You are drunk,” Khun informs him, “and you’re saying all your thoughts out loud.”

Baam flushes and immediately clams up. That’s enough thinking and thoughts for tonight, he decides, and is rewarded with a silver peal of Khun’s laughter.

-

Khun tosses and turns.

There’s no reason why he can’t sleep - the curtains are drawn and Baam’s breathing is even and quiet. He can only imagine the storm coming from Rak just next door.

Khun groans quietly. This is the worst time for his insomnia to act up - they’re planning to go to an amusement park tomorrow and damn if he’s going to be tired through all the fun.

He gropes blindly about until he finds his phone. Isu and Baam sent photos from the museum earlier; he might as well use this time to go through them and save them.

He thumbs through them quickly. Most of them are shots of Rak staring open-mouthed at the exhibits, but there are some silly shots of them looking absolutely ridiculous.

There’s a mirror shot with all of them crouching in front of four huge turtle shells, with Rak standing in the middle, cackling his head off about them finally being “turtles”. Isu’s holding the phone and yelling at them to stop squirming and to please align themselves so they all show up at the correct angle in the mirror or god so help me, my arms are gonna fucking fall off. The photo is slightly blurry with his efforts and Khun can almost hear Hatz’s helpless giggles ringing through the photo.

His thumb stills.

Picture-Baam’s arm is half-raised, fingers coming up to brush away his bangs, and picture-Khun’s arm is slung over his shoulders. PIcture-Baam’s eyes are crinkled up, mid-laugh, smile bright and golden as sunflowers and not quite as radiant as Khun knows it is in real life, but radiant all the same.

And picture-Khun is looking at him, smile soft and head slightly bowed, eyes brimming an emotion Khun does not yet know how to describe.

His thumb swipes to save the photo before he realises it, and there is a flash of an idea about setting it as his wallpaper before he is distracted by a sleepy snuffle. By the light of his phone he sees Baam spread out on his side of the bed, face-down on his pillow.

Khun frowns. There’s no way that’s good for respiration.

He reaches over and gently tugs on the pillow, enough so that Baam has to shifts his head to accommodate for the change but not enough that it wakes him up. He waits until Baam resettles, head tilted and eyelashes brushing his cheek. His mouth is slightly open, lips soft and parted, and Khun is dimly aware of the urge to brush Baam’s hair away from where it is falling across his face.

Beautiful.

The word springs, unbidden, to his mind and he freezes.

Baam. Baam, with the biggest heart of anyone he knows. Baam, with his thoughtful smile and easy laugh and the quiet way in which he lights up the room.

Baam, with the way he finishes Khun’s sentences and laughs at all of Khun’s stupid puns, with the way he understands Khun without either of them having to exchange a word, with the way his loyalty to his friends is fierce and burns with the heat of a thousand suns. Baam, with the way he fits, just right, into Khun’s side, like two hands made to hold.

Baam, with all his kindness and his constancy and his optimism and all of his warmth.

Baam, his best friend.

Khun breathes out shakily, puts his phone down, knots his fingers together, and wills himself to go to sleep.

--

Baam yanks his chair out from his desk. He’s sopping wet and his bangs keep dripping in his eyes and his goddamn bag is soaked and he feels that awful discomfort of clothes sticking to his skin and really, all he wants to do is take a warm shower and curl into his bed and forget this day ever happened.

“Your mood,” Isu remarks from his bed, “seems to be absolutely foul.”

“You think?” Baam snarls.

Isu blinks, then shuts his laptop. “Wanna talk about it?”

Got caught in the rain, he wants to say. Got called out in class to answer a question about the reading I didn’t do. Got leered at by some creep on the street. But everything is stuck on the top of his tongue, dwarfed by a bigger truth threatening to slip out.

Got stood up for lunch by Khun again.

“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be here to listen,” Isu says, voice soft and gaze even softer.

Just like that, Baam feels the angry knot in his chest loosen, gently unwound by the unquestioning kindness in Isu’s voice. He lets his backpack tumble to his chair, then sinks, wet clothes and all, onto the floor.

He opens his mouth, intending to apologise for snapping at Isu, but all that slips out is a sob.

Immediately Isu is on his knees, hugging him tight and cradling Baam’s head. Baam tries to bat him off, tries to say through a nose full of snot, I’m getting your clothes drenched with rainwater, but Isu just swipes Baam’s bangs away from his forehead and hugs him again.

“Go take a warm shower,” Isu says, “I’ll make tea, and you can tell me what happened.”

Baam nods, and Isu herds him off the floor and into their bathroom.

He tries to get his shit together in the shower, and emerges ten minutes later, red-eyed and sniffly-nosed, to Isu’s promised cup of tea. It takes five minutes for him to gloss through the shit-show that was class, then another five for him to meander around the topic of Khun.

Isu leans back, finally. “You were meant to meet Khun for lunch, but he stood you up and you’re upset because it’s the second time this week he’s done it without warning.”

“I mean... yes, but now that you put it like that, it sounds like such a stupid reason to be upset, I sound so stupidly clingy-“ Baam falters.

“Do you know why he didn’t show up?”

Baam looks down at the chip in his mug. It fits the shape of his fingernail exactly, almost as if he could have, at one point, dug his fingernails in so deep he chipped the mug himself.

“Yeah,” Baam says at last, “He was meeting his partner for their marketing project.”

“The marketing genius? The one he’s been nattering on about for the past two weeks?”

Baam swallows the bitter taste in his mouth that really has no reason to be there. There’s an uncomfortable knot in his throat, and he sighs. “The first time, I waited twenty minutes before I called and he picked up and apologised for losing track of time because he was talking to her. Which is fine, you know, we all do it.”

“And this time?”

“Called a couple times but he didn’t even pick up the phone. And it was raining, so I thought he might have been trying to wait out the rain and lost battery or something, or maybe something important popped up, so I ran through the rain to the business building to look for him, but he was just standing in the lobby of the building talking to his project partner and laughing with her and-“ Suddenly there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t speak around, and he falls silent.

It’s so stupid, he thinks. He’s acting like a spoilt child, crying because he doesn’t have someone’s undivided attention. It’s so, so stupid that he thought he had a monopoly on Khun’s time, that he thought he was so important that-

“It sounds,” Isu says carefully, “like you’re upset that he didn’t respect your time, and that he temporarily held time with his project partner in higher regard than time with you. Combined with the rest of your day, it’s understandable that it’d be a last straw.” He’s squinting at Baam, as though he doesn’t expect to be right, as though he expects there to be something more but can’t quite put his finger on what it is.

Baam nods at him anyway, but there’s an unsavoury, wiggling feeling at the bottom of his stomach that laughs at that.

If it wasn’t Khun, you wouldn’t have minded as much, it taunts him. If it was Hatz, you’d have just brushed it off as his scatterbrain and just waited out the rain. But it was something about seeing Khun with that girl that made you so upset you had to run home in the rain, wasn’t it? I think you’re-

“You’re jealous,” Isu says, slight incredulity colouring his tone as he arrives as the same conclusion. He rocks back in his chair slightly, and repeats, “My god, you’re jealous.”

Baam chokes. He briefly considers denying Isu’s scarily accurate mind-reading, but his head is so, so heavy, and there’s a tiny bloom of relief now that the nasty knot in his throat has finally been given a name.

He lets his head hit the table, and his question comes out more like a smothered whine. “How do I make it stop?”

He feels Isu’s fingers tap along the table as he works out the answer to Baam’s question.

“You’re acting like you’ve just got your heart broken,” Isu says, after a while. “I think that should tell you something.”

“I’m not in love with him,” Baam says, protest dulled and muffled. “I’m not.”

Isu remains silent.

“I’m not,” Baam insists. “He’s my best friend.”

He waits for the familiar bloom of pride he gets whenever Khun introduces him to someone as his best friend, but the words ‘best friend’ no longer taste like they used to.

“He’s my best friend,” he says again. As the words leave his mouth, Baam no longer quite knows who it is that he’s insisting to.

(Khun knocks on his door that night to apologise. Baam takes a deep breath and they both ignore his red eyes and pretend nothing ever happened.)

-

Baam shifts. It’s warm under the blanket and really, if someone could turn that fucking alarm off and let him sleep a couple more minutes, it’d be great.

There’s a slight shift behind him, and a small whine comes from the crook of his neck.

Baam freezes, suddenly more awake. There’s a heavy, warm sort of weight around his waist and a cool press against his calves. He doesn’t dare open his eyes to see what they might be.

This can’t be happening, he tells himself, then nearly laughs aloud. Of course it’s a dream, Baam thinks. His unconscious must have lifted something out of all the things he’s never allowed himself to consider, much less daydream about, and stuffed them all into a dream-

Lips brush the back of his neck and Baam’s mind stops working.

He’s sure his heart is thumping loud enough to wake Khun up, but Khun just mumbles against his neck again, whispers of a breath making Baam’s hair stand on end. “The alarm-“

He feels Khun still. Stars burn and burst and civilisations rise and fall in the spaces between Baam’s heartbeats. He can almost hear the cogs in Khun’s brain turning, and he’s so busy trying to keep his heart still and his breathing even that he thinks he imagines the barest press of lips on the back of his neck before Khun pulls away.

He nearly whimpers at the loss of contact, but Khun has already shut off the infernal alarm and is shaking him awake, hand warm against his shoulder.

Khun’s voice is rough with sleep and something else as he tells Baam to get up and get dressed for breakfast. Baam tries not to think about it.

-

Isu is convinced Baam just needs to go out more and meet people that don’t live with him and are not Khun.

Baam disagrees.

He doesn’t understand why Isu is squeezed onto his bed next to him, flicking through Tinder and showing him faces that frankly, look nothing close to Khun’s. “I’m not interested in dating anyone,” Baam mutters for the fourth time.

“You’re not interested in dating anyone that isn’t Khun,” Isu corrects. He swipes left a couple times, then frowns. “How about this one?”

Baam groans, and shoves him lightly. “Get off my bed, Isu, your bed is literally three feet away.”

“You can’t see faces on this screen from three feet away-“

“I don’t want to-“

“Listen, Baam, you want to get over Khun? Go on some dates. Seven billion people on this earth and you think that blue shrimp is The One?”

“I don’t think he’s anything, he’s just my best friend-“ Baam falters under Isu’s withering look. He has to admit that even to himself, his repeated denials have sounded particularly pathetic as of late.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” Isu says finally, setting his phone down. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, and frankly? It reminds me of the way I used to look at Hatz.”

Baam’s eyes widen. “Hatz?! But-“

Isu waves him away. “Briefly thought I fancied him way back in ninth grade. Had a whole dramatic little crisis about pining after my straight best friend too, it was a nightmare for my mum.”

“And then what happened?” Baam’s voice is smaller than he intends.

Isu snorts, tipping his head back and letting it hit the wall, “Then I went on a date with someone else and realised that I was an absolute fool and Hatz wasn’t all that great, that’s what happened. My mum’s theory is that since there wasn’t anyone else in the picture, my brain went for the only one who would show me affection. Which was really stupid, because something in me already knew that even if Hatz and I were soulmates, we’re in no way relationship material, you know? It just took me a little nudge to better figure out what I wanted in a relationship and realise that Hatz wasn’t it.” He chances a look at Baam, and exhales a shaky laugh, looking back up at the ceiling. “Don’t tell him, though, don’t want to get his ego to get more inflated than it already is.”

Baam looks up at him. He sees how Isu’s biting his lip and avoiding his gaze, and he sees how Isu’s sharing a part of himself that he’s never told anyone, how Isu’s just really and sincerely trying to help. “I���d never.”

And so he agrees. He agrees to let Isu set him up on dates and he agrees to sit down and figure out what it is he wants. Because it can’t be -  and it shouldn’t be - Khun. It can’t be Khun and his smart quips and his messy bangs and the way he smiles at Baam like Baam’s the only thing in his world and the way that makes Baam’s heart skip a beat every time.

(Khun catches him, one day, stumbling out the dorm, running late to a date with some girl named Endorsi? Androssi? “Where you headed? Wanna get dinner?”

“Maybe later,” Baam mumbles, distracted and looking at everywhere else but Khun, “I’m late to a… to a date.”

Then he slips away, like sand between Khun’s fingers, and Khun tells himself for the rest of the day that the hollow feeling in his chest is because his professor only gave him an A- on that marketing project that he and Yuri slaved away over.)

-

“If I have to go on another rollercoaster, I’m going to throw up,” Isu warns the group. He’s bent over heaving, hands on his knees, and his glare just makes Hatz laugh even harder.

Khun chuckles and takes pity on him. “You all go on ahead, I’ll take this one and get us snacks. We’ll meet you at the exit of the next coaster.”

It takes all of two seconds for Hatz and Rak to cheer and haul Baam off to the next one.

“You didn’t want to get on another one too, huh?” Isu whispers conspiratorially, bumping his shoulder against Khun’s.

Khun snorts, “I can handle a couple more-“

“Liar!” Isu sings, and winds his arm around Khun’s shoulders. Khun bats him off, laughing, and they head over to the nearest concession stand.

Isu orders them hotdogs, but the churros in the display case catches Khun’s eye. A vague memory of Baam mentioning churros flashes in Khun’s mind and he makes a quick decision.

“And a churro,” Khun tacks on, then fishes out his wallet.

Isu eyes him. “Hungry?”

Khun shakes his head. “Baam likes churros, he hasn’t had them in a while.”

Isu just looks at him strangely, then turns to collect their orders from the operator.

Khun frowns. Should he have gotten all of them churros? Hatz doesn’t like sugary things, though-

As they walk back, foil-wrapped hotdogs and churro in hand, he hears Isu whistle quietly. He bumps his hip against Khun’s, and nods over to their right. “Look at that guy.”

Khun glances up, trying to keep the mini hotdog-churro mountain in his hand from toppling. The guy in question has short silver hair barely covered by a backwards cap and eyes red as a snake’s. The flimsy white tank top he has on leaves little to the imagination, and from the way he looks positively sculpted, Khun can see why Isu singled him out.

“Right Baam’s type, isn’t he?” Isu says, and Khun nearly drops the churro.

“Baam-“ he splutters, trying to salvage the churro from where it’s clamped in the turn of his wrist. “Baam’s type?”

“Yeah. You think he’s Baam’s type?”

“I don’t know, he’s only ever dated girls-“

“You’re his best friend and you never once asked? Also, he’s only had one girlfriend, but I set him up with all genders-“

“You set him up?!”

“For the whole of freshman spring, you fool, did you never catch on?”

“He’s never mentioned it-“

“That’s because he wasn’t interested in any of them, and I tried my best, mind you-“

“And that’s Baam’s type?” Khun twists slightly to look back at the man.

Isu bites his lip, grinning, and Khun has a strange feeling Isu’s just making it up in his head.

“He isn’t, is he?” Khun says, and ignores the way his heart lifts slightly.

“You’ll just have to ask,” Isu sings, and Khun groans.

Before he can think too much about why he even wants to find out in the first place, they see a brown blur barrelling towards them, and Khun has to take a step back to avoid being ran over by Rak.

Hatz and Baam are slower to head towards them, still talking about the animatronics in their last ride. Isu hands Hatz his hotdog, and Khun is about to tell Baam that hey, the concession stand was selling churros and I remember you mentioned a while ago-

“The animatronics were really cool, Khun, you should have seen it. You would have liked them.” Baam’s eyes are shining, soft muted gold, and Khun finds himself smiling softly back.

“I’ll go with you next time,” Khun promises, and is rewarded with Baam’s breathless beam.

(“Gross,” Hatz mutters, mouth full of mustard. Isu isn’t sure if he’s talking about the way Khun and Baam can’t stop looking at each other or if it’s the obscene amount of mustard he slathered onto Hatz’s hotdog as a joke.)

-

As it turns out, Baam gets along with all the people Isu sets him up with like a house on fire.

Not in the way Isu expects, of course. Baam finds out that Wangnan was forced to do it by his friends too, and they spend an hour commiserating over meddling friends with good intentions before realising they share their sociolinguistics class and move on to commiserating over that too. Ehwa is slightly clumsy with her words, but is completely endearing, and when she admits to Baam that she’s not really looking for a relationship because she’s still hung up over an ex, Baam finds himself equal parts relieved and sympathetic. Urek confesses that his main motive for downloading the app is to convince people to join his school’s flailing LGBTQ club, but it backfires when they realise they attend different colleges. Baam laughs and agrees to attend some of Urek’s club events anyway.

He ends up great friends with all of them, and with the flow and ebb of the semester, ends up spending less time in his dorm than usual.

“Getting popular, huh,” Khun says one day, as Baam taps out a reply to Ehwa that absolutely yes, he‘d love to hear about the new boy she’s been seeing. Baam hums distractedly in response, and sets his phone down when Khun sighs.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the dorm,” Khun tries again.

Baam blinks. “Some of my friends living in different residence halls.”

“You’ve been spending less time with us,” Khun clarifies. Baam wishes he could see Khun’s eyes to figure out what he’s thinking, but Khun’s frowning down at his nails.

“You jealous?” The words slip out of his mouth before he can help it, and he nearly laughs at their irony.

Khun glances sharply at him, full force of a blue stare wiping away Baam’s smile. He’s looking straight at Baam with a seriousness that they’ve never shared in their nearly-two semesters of friendship, and there follows a moment of silence so loud that it echoes in Baam’s ears and with each beat of his heart Baam knows that Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong, Isu is wrong and that there will never be anyone for him but Khun.

Suddenly Khun blinks and he’s pouting, lower lip jutting out in petulance. “So what if I am?”

(When Hatz walks in, he says Baam laughed so loudly he could hear him all the way from the lift.)

-

Rak eyes Baam’s hotdog. He’s long since finished his, but Baam’s been stuck, starry-eyed, on the churro Khun bought for him, and Rak grumbles to himself that if Baam doesn’t get started on that hotdog soon he’ll rip it out of Baam’s hands and inhale it himself.

“Baam? Is that you?”

An unfamiliar man is standing behind them, head cocked to the side and unzipped hoodie barely clinging onto his biceps. Rak winces as Isu grabs his shoulder and whispers, “It’s him!”

Before Rak can ask Isu what he’s talking about, Baam has burst into a smile - “Urek!”

“Baam, baby, I knew it was you!”

Rak blinks. Baby?

He wants to ask Isu about this strange man with silver hair, but everyone’s mouth hangs open as Urek envelopes Baam in a bone-crushing hug and lifts him off the ground.

“Thought I wasn’t going to see you again, not with my club leaving for our trip two days before your finals ended, but I’m so glad to see you, babe-“

Isu issues a faint squeak as Urek plants a loud smack on Baam’s forehead, and clutches Rak’s shoulder even tighter.

Rak turns to Isu. “Explain,” he demands, under his breath.

“I thought he looked familiar when I saw him just now, fuck- I set up him with Baam ages ago, back in freshman spring, I thought nothing came of it since Baam talks about him like he’s just a friend but-“

“But babe?” Rak hisses. Khun isn’t going to like this, he thinks. He’s going to go into one of his infamous sulks and Baam’s going to be the only one who can pull him out of it, and good fucking luck to whoever gets the job of explaining to Baam why Khun was sulking in the first place.

“So you gonna introduce me to your friends, Baam?” The man says, slinging his arm around Baam and smiling genially at everyone. Baam’s smile is so wide it nearly cracks his face in half, and Rak wonders faintly how Khun is faring.

“Everyone, this is Urek, he goes to the college uptown. Urek, these are my best friends Hatz, Isu, Rak and... where’s Khun?”

Rak pauses as everyone turns to look around. He swears Khun was right beside Hatz half a second ago, but there’s absolutely no trace of him now. Half of Rak is relieved that he’s not on the other end of one of Khun’s patented glares, but the other half of him knows Khun well enough that he can smell the Brood building just right round the corner.

He sighs, and gently disentangles Isu’s arm from his. “He mentioned something about needing to run to the washroom, I’ll go see if he’s there.”

Rak waves a friendly goodbye at Urek, and as he walks away to search for a flash of blue hair, he hears a sly, “Oh, Khun? Your Khun?” and Baam’s flustered spluttering.

Ah.

He spots a messy blue flash a little ways down from them, and hurries over before Khun can see him.

“So,” Rak says by way of greeting. He clamps a hand on Khun’s shoulder as Khun turns, blue eyes flashing in surprise, “Our mighty Khun has run away.”

“I’m not running from anything,” Khun mutters, turning away again, “I just... saw this really interesting... thing and came over to look at it.”

“Terribly fascinating, these... uh,” Rak follows Khu’s gaze, “these trash cans.”

“They... they might talk.”

“Talking trash cans.” Rak is unimpressed, and he makes sure to let it into his tone.

He crosses his arms and lets Khun avoid his gaze for a few more seconds. Khun’ll start talking soon, Rak knows - he hates awkwardness, especially when they’re centred around him.

“He’s… he does seem close to Baam, isn’t he?” Khun says, eventually. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off the trash cans, and Rak briefly considers tossing Khun into one.

“I don’t know, you tell me. You’re his best best friend.”

There’s a flash of a wince before Khun’s cool mask is back. “He hasn’t told me anything about that guy.”

Rak waits.

“He’d… he’d tell me if they were dating, wouldn’t he?” Khun’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Why hasn’t he said anything about being someone’s… someone’s babe?”

Khun spits out the last word with so much disgust that Rak nearly laughs. “You’re an idiot,” Rak chooses to say instead.

He waits for Khun to look up before continuing, “You’re an idiot and lest you forget, you're his best friend-“

“Just his best friend-“

“-and what that means is that if he hasn’t told you anything about this guy giving him pet names, it probably isn’t significant enough to him and he hasn’t feel the need to mention it. To you or to any of us. Whoever Urek is, he doesn’t mean anything to Baam other than a friend, and you, of all people, shouldn’t worry that Baam is keeping anything from us. He’s your best friend, Khun. Trust him.”

Khun lowers his head, worrying a fingernail between his teeth. They remain silent for a moment, until Rak finally processes what Khun has said.

“Just his best friend?” Rak tries not to smile too widely. “You looking to be something more, then?”

Khun freezes slightly, then lets out a laugh that is far too cheery. “Course not.”

Rak isn’t as smart or perceptive as Isu is, he knows, but he likes to think that after more than two years of friendship, he can read Khun pretty well too. He kicks lightly at the trash cans, and offers quietly, “I know his friendship is valuable to you - I know all of our friendships are - but I don’t know if you see the way Baam looks at you sometimes. There’s… there’s something different there. There’s something there that Hatz doesn’t have with Isu. And I know you’re afraid of losing him, and you’re afraid taking the chance that one day he might leave you behind but… for what my opinion is worth, I think Baam might be a chance worth taking.”

He watches Khun take one breath, two, three. Khun’s hands are balled up into fists and Rak can see the cogs turning as Khun processes and reprocesses what Rak is presenting to him.

When Khun speaks, his voice is small. “The way Baam looks at me?”

“You’ve been walking around him with your eyes closed, haven’t you - he looks at you the same way you look at him.”

Khun’s mouth opens, as if in denial, and Rak huffs. “He looks at you like if you were to hypothetically be more than best friends with him… he looks at you as if he might like that.”

Khun shuts his mouth. He stays lost in thought for a while, and Rak feels an itch on the back of his neck like someone is watching him. He suddenly remembers the way they have left Baam and Hatz and Isu standing, waiting for them, and curses. “Come on, they’re looking for you. Should I tell them you were jealous that someone called Baam baby or should I tell them you were entranced by talking trash cans?”

Khun flushes and turns to walk away from said trash cans, tossing Rak two fingers.

Rak just cackles.

--

The first snow of sophomore year falls on a Tuesday.

Baam wakes up to a flurry of white outside his window, and as he trudges through the ankle-high slush and the snowflakes that threaten to glue his eyelashes together, he realises he forgot to bring gloves.

Ah, well. He’ll just suffer, then.

His phone buzzes with non-stop texts from Hatz and Isu all throughout his second lecture of the day, and he fumbles to set it on Do Not Disturb when his TA starts glancing over at him.

Best Roommate Ever: snowing!!!! Fencing Champion: snowball fight in the park, 2pm Best Roommate Ever: bring it on bro I’m not scared of you Fencing Champion: yeah, not scared of me keeping my winning streak alive  Alligator Overlord: get ready to get SMUSHED, cowards, the Great Rak is coming Khun: good lord, y’all couldn’t wait until classes were over?

Baam bites back a grin, heart oddly warm, and he finds himself unable to sit still for the remainder of the lecture. He ends up counting down the minutes to the end of class, and as soon as it hits 1.45pm he tosses his notes into his bag and his scarf around his neck.

He is the first one out of the building, and nearly blows by the person leaning by the entrance. The person reaches forward and tugs on his backpack, and Baam turns around, startled, only to come face to face with Khun.

“Woah there,” Khun laughs, arms reaching out to steady him. “In a rush?”

Baam grins in response. “Left my gloves at the dorm, thought I’d go grab them before meeting everyone for the snowball fight. Wanna come with?”

Khun raises an eyebrow, and produces Baam’s gloves from his own pocket and holds them up to Baam.

“Absolute hero,” Baam beams, and he tries to tamp down the wonderful sort of warmth curling out from his heart all the way down to his toes. “How’d you know?”

Khun shrugs. “You always forget your gloves. Thought I’d just let myself in and check if you did.”

He hands Baam his gloves, and wait for him to put them on before they begin the cold and slippery trek to the park.

Isu and Hatz are already there, wrapped in beanies and scarves and long winter coats.

“Get ready to get wrecked, losers!” Isu calls out, waving to them.

“Where’s Rak?”

“Rak’s here,” comes Rak’s voice, somewhere near Baam’s feet. He’s lying on his back, limbs spread out and tongue sticking out. “Mm trying to catch snowflakes.”

Baam just laughs, and helps him up. There are already multiple groups spread across the grass, flinging snowballs at each other with peals of laughter carrying in the wind.

“We’re thinking a three versus two game,” Isu offers, now that Rak is back on his feet. “How do we want to split?”

They decide on rock, paper, scissors, and by some feat of magic (“Manipulation,” Hatz insists), Khun emerges on top.

“You get first pick,” Hatz tells him, “but the other side gets the third person.”

Khun twists to look at Baam. “How’s your aim?”

“Terrible,” Baam answers honestly, and Khun grins with far too much delight.

“Great. I want Baam.”

“No cheating,” Hatz warns. “Just the both of you.”

Khun bumps his shoulder against Baam’s and grins at him, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Always been us, hasn’t it?”

And when Baam laughs, full and delighted, Khun swings, hidden snowball hitting Hatz right between the eyes.

(Baam dreams about us sometimes. He dreams of an us, a universe in which Khun is ice and he is fire, and they burn together in an endless firework instead of melting into a tepid puddle.

He dreams of a Khun that hurtles through space and time, and of a Baam that will rip rifts into the fabric of the universe if it means he can follow wherever Khun goes.

He dreams of a Baam that spins illusions out of thin air in a circus for those without a home, and a Khun that tells the future and flips cards and is the flip side of his card, the way people are in the best sort of love stories.

He dreams of a Khun that wraps his hand around Baam’s and tips their foreheads together in soft moonlight, and of a Baam that is brave enough to rest his head against Khun’s heart, finally brave enough to dance with him to the quiet song that is three o’clock.

He dreams of a Baam that charges into battle, cloaked in red, sword drawn and burning with the rage of a thousand souls, and of a Khun that grits his teeth and charges in right behind him.

He tells Isu about the latest of his strange dreams one day, and Isu just laughs.

“Of course he would,” Isu says, picking up his book again. “Khun looks at you as if he’d follow you around anywhere.”)

-

“Come on, eat faster, we’re gonna miss good spots for the fireworks!”

“What good spots?” Khun snorts. “In case you forget, fireworks are in the sky. Anywhere’s a good spot.”

Rak levels Khun a glare, and brandishes a fry in his face. “Not if the only place left is under an awning and all our views are blocked. Remember junior year?”

Everyone groans at the memory and starts eating slightly faster - they waited for the fireworks to signal the end of the pride parade, but when the fireworks started and they finally clambered outside of the coffee shop they were waiting in, all they could see was the red underbelly of an awning that desperately needed a clean.

“So,” Baam says, “Urek asks if we want to meet his club for lunch tomorrow.”

There is instant reaction around the table - Rak drops a fry on the ground and squawks, and Isu chokes on his soda. Hatz has to thump him hard on the back before Isu inhales, red-faced. He flashes a grin at Baam, “Why don’t you ask Khun?”

Khun looks up from where he is staring daggers at the table, and frowns. Why me? He wants to ask, but Baam has already turned to him, eyes hopeful and fingers poised over his keyboard.

He swallows hard. As much as he doesn’t like Urek (Which doesn’t make sense, by the way, a small voice in his head tells him primly. Urek’s been nothing but friendly to you.) he doesn’t want to be the one to deny Baam anything. “If you want to, sure.”

Hatz huffs in annoyance, and Khun shoots him a look. What’s with all his friends today, he wants to demand. First with Isu joking about Baam’s type, then Rak being uncharacteristically insightful about things Khun doesn’t want to think about, and now Hatz? But he sees an opening to get answers, and he goes in for the kill.

He turns to Baam, and slaps on a smirk. “So he’s your type, huh?”

Baam’s mouth hangs open, a faint blush painting his cheeks. “He’s- what- he-” Baam flaps his hands in Khun’s direction. “What made you think that?”

Khun affects a casual shrug. “Looked like you were pretty pleased to see him.”

“He’s a friend from uptown,” Baam says. “Nothing like my type.”

“And what would that be?” Khun says, then makes the mistake of looking into Baam’s eyes. Like honey, he thinks, dazed, the kind that is sweet and sticky and impossible to ever escape once you’ve fallen in.

He nearly misses Baam’s nonchalant answer, delivered as if he’d rehearsed in his mind a thousand times before. “You know, kind, smart, resourceful. Takes the time to get to know me. Same sense of humour. Always knows what to say. Remembers the small details about me, stuff like that.”

There’s a snort from the other end of the table that sounds suspiciously like sounds a lot like Khun, but the tips of Baam’s ears are red as he breaks eye contact with Khun and he’s pouting so fiercely at Isu that Khun’s mind nearly goes blank at how… how cute it is.

But Rak is growling at them about how if they don’t finish eating in five minutes he’s going to head out to see the fireworks without them, and so Khun’s mind shuts up pretty quickly.

(They manage to find a good spot, of course. Not many awnings in amusement parks.)

The first firework to go up is red, and the crowd oohs and aahs as their video cameras capture the peony bursting into a thousand tiny stars. The next one is a yellow brocade, and as the golden stars fade away, Khun can’t help but think that it doesn’t quite match the golden of Baam’s eyes.

Baam.

He turns to his side, shoulder brushing Baam’s, and is stunned to see Baam already looking at him.

Baam blinks rapidly at having been caught, and Khun can see a small flush making its way up his face in the dim light. Khun’s eyes unconsciously trail down, a small part of his mind wondering, wandering-

Khun finds himself leaning in, and his eyes dart back up to Baam’s, suddenly closer than they’ve ever been. They are full of… hesitance, Khun thinks. Hesitance and a quiet sort of yearning and something that resembles hopefulness that makes Khun’s heart flip in a peculiar sort of way.

He opens his mouth, but under the bursts of the fireworks and the thunder of his own heartbeat, he finds that for the first time in his life he cannot think of anything to say to his best friend.

He doesn’t know how long they stay like this, encased in all the things Khun doesn’t know how to put into words, a frozen bubble of their own, but all too soon the lights are flickering back on in the park and everyone is cheering for the fireworks display. There is a resigned sort of smile on Baam’s face as he raises his hands to join the applause, and Khun notices too late that Baam never pulled away.

“They were beautiful, weren’t they, Khun!” Hatz is saying, and Khun snaps away, shoulders jolting away from Baam’s and mouth fumbling through a yes, of course, of course.

-

When Khun is five, his sister tells him about her first boyfriend. What kind of person do you want to date in ten years, Khun? Khun thinks about it, and tells her, with all the gravity a five-year-old can muster, someone who eats all my carrots so I don’t have to. His sister bursts out laughing, then hauls him onto her lap. My boyfriend is tall and smart and handsome, she says, tickling his sides. Will you be tall and smart and handsome too? But he’s wriggling around too much to answer, answering shrieks of laughter echoing down the hallway.

When Khun is eight, he comes back from school with a backpack full of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, and when his mother laughs and asks him who he got them all from, he shrugs. Here and there, he tells her, and he hands her the stack of letters he gets along with them for her perusal. You didn’t open any of them, she says, but he has already wandered off. He ends up stuffing some chocolate into his sister’s jacket pocket, and when she disappears that night he wonders if she ever finds them.

When Khun is ten, his sister comes back home, bruised and empty. She sometimes forgets the motions she needs to go through to love herself again, Khun’s mother tells him, so he needs to love her extra until she remembers. He hears - he can still hear - the quiet, trembling way she tries to rebuild herself and when he climbs into her bed to hug her and pepper her forehead with kisses the same way their mum does, he tells her it’s okay to cry, and he tells himself that he will never let someone consume him the way that monster has consumed her, because even at the age of ten Khun has come to learn that sometimes the wounds that hurt the most are the ones that don’t show scars.

When Khun is fourteen, Novick gets a crush for the first time. He tells Khun all about her after school one day, and Khun nods politely in all the right places while trying to solve a rubix cube. How do you know? Khun asks, hands fiddling with his cube. How do you know you like her? Novick flops over onto his bed and sighs. Can’t get her out of my mind, Novick says. I can’t stop wanting to make her smile.

When Khun is seventeen, Dan applies to the same college his partner does. You’ll regret it, Khun and Novick tell him. Think about what college is best for your education, not who’s going to go there, but Dan just laughs. It’s a reach school anyway, he says. He might not make it in. But he’s test-savvy, and he does, and when it comes down to the decision between Khun’s school and theirs, Dan chooses them. Don’t sacrifice your future for someone you might not even remember down the road, it doesn’t make sense, Novick tells him, and tosses a pen at his head. Love isn’t supposed to make sense anyway, Dan grins, and that’s that.

When Khun is eighteen, he comes back to Dan and Novick for the summer with one name on his tongue. He tells them all about Baam and the way Baam’s eyes sparkle when he’s excited and the way he hates pickles and the way he laughs at all the bad jokes everyone else groans at. He talks about Baam until Novick swipes him on the head and laughs. You talk about him so much it’s insane. You in love, bro? And Khun remembers the flames that burned his sister, the way love ate and ate and ate away at her until she had to build herself again, and he bites his tongue and shakes his head, insistent. I’m not.

When Khun is twenty two, alone in a hotel room crowded with his own thoughts at two am while his best friend lingers outside, he calls Dan and Novick. They hear the worry of fingernail between his teeth, and they ask him what’s wrong, Khun, what’s wrong, and joke about how they’ll help him hide the body. He takes a deep breath, and whispers, I think I’m in love with him.

And just like that, the dam breaks.

He tells them about the way he cannot stop thinking about Baam - the way he has never stopped thinking about Baam since the day they met - and the way he’d do anything to make Baam smile. He tells them about the way Baam’s eyes shine a soft, subdued gold when he’s thoughtful and a fierce, flashing gold when he gets worked up, and the way Khun has tried his best but has never quite figured out if it’s the gold of dusk or dawn. He tells them about the way something inside him aches when Baam looks away, the way Khun’s hands itch to hold his every time they touch.

He tells them about the way Baam eats his carrots (Novick laughs) and the way Baam has a stupid sweet tooth that can only be satisfied with copious amounts of chocolate and the way he walked forty blocks once just to find the sort of chocolate Baam likes because he knew that Baam’s beam at the end of it would be worth it. He tells them about the way Baam looked, under the dim light of the fireworks, the way Baam looked at him, hopeful and yearning and sad all at once, and the way Khun wanted nothing more than to kiss him in that moment. He tells them about what Rak said, about the way Baam looks at him, and the way he looks at Baam and how the past few years suddenly clicked and made sense.

He tells them about the way he’s discovered that Baam has dismantled him, piece by piece, and has diffused through him so thoroughly that everywhere he looks, it just echoes Baam, Baam, Baam, and as a tear rolls down his cheek he tells them about the way it doesn’t make sense, because he’s told himself that nobody is supposed to cut through him like this.

Love isn’t supposed to make sense, Dan says. Now go, go and tell him.

-

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Baam looks up. He watches as Khun emerges from the shadows, hair almost pearlescent in the sharp moonlight. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he looks almost nervous waiting for Baam to allow him to sit.

Baam shifts, and he settles down next to where Baam is sitting on the curb, hugging his legs and chin on his knees. The curb is narrow, and Khun is nearly totally pressed up against Baam by the time he’s fully sat down, adopting the same pose Baam is.

Baam swallows. He feels the warmth of Khun’s leg through his own jeans, and the dangerous brush of Khun’s hand on his.

“Nice night.” Khun comments.

Baam hums in response. It is - the stars have all come out in this dark distance between them and the city, and the only things Baam can hear is the song of the cicadas and the low buzz from the neon sign outside the hotel.

“What brings you outside at 3am?”

Everything, Baam thinks. You. Me. What I want us to be but daren’t ask for.

The way I keep replaying that moment under the fireworks in my head. The way that when I close my eyes, I keep seeing the way you looked at me, keep feeling the brush of your shoulder against mine, but knowing it doesn’t mean the same thing to you as it does to me. The way that even if it did, you’d never act on it, and oh, the way I wish you would.

“Too stuffy,” Baam says instead.

“Me too,” Khun says, and his voice is so close, so close to Baam’s ear that he’s sure if he just turns his head a fraction Khun’s lips will be there. “Too many thoughts for one small room, you know?”

Baam swallows again, and stays still.

“Baam,” Khun murmurs. His voice sounds slightly strangled and all sorts of breathless, and it takes everything in Baam not to shiver in response.

“Baam, look at me, please.”  

And so Baam does, because he never can resist when it is Khun asking. He turns, and he sees the way the moonlight dances between Khun’s eyelashes, the way it brushes Khun’s cheeks and makes him glow, makes him look so ethereal that it makes Baam’s chest hurt.

He sees the way Khun’s eyes are soft and open and willing Baam to understand, but fierce and determined and brilliant all at once. They shine, and Baam’s breath stutters.

He wants to look away, wants to pry himself away from the trainwreck of a memory he knows he’s going to form, the memory he knows will replay in his mind’s eye over and over again when he lays down to sleep at night.

But Khun is beautiful, and Baam cannot take his eyes off of him.

Beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

And suddenly Khun is leaning over, hand warm on Baam’s jaw, eyes questioning, pleading, and Baam feels himself melt into Khun, carried by the ache of want he has hauling around by himself the past four years.

Khun tastes like iced coffee, like sunlight glinting off of fresh snow. He tastes like the crackle of lightning, like a multitude of city lights, like the sound of snowballs skimming across a frozen pond. He tastes like Baam has always thought of and more, lips slotting into Baam’s the way he has slotted himself into the space between Baam’s heartbeats, and Baam isn’t sure if he ever wants Khun to pull away.

And when they do break apart, it is with the feeling that everything in the world has snapped into place, brighter, clearer, right.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long,” Khun murmurs. “But I’m here now, and I don’t think I ever want to leave.”

====

anyway i just graduated and now i miss my friends and i don’t know what to do with my life what’s up with y’all 

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Ransom Drysdale Must Die (Chapter One)

Summary: Ransom Drysdale is a serial cheater. The only way to get him to pay for what he’s done is for him to die. Or at least be extremely humiliated. As long as you don’t fall for him.

Pairings: Eventual Ransom Drysdale x black!reader, Ransom Drysdale x Multiple OC’s

Warnings: Swearing. Eventual smut.

(Author’s Note: I was watching John Tucker must die and it made me think of my favorite sweater wearing murder daddy.)

Tags: @night-of-the-living-shred​

Word Count: 2.0k

It's not that you were invisible. You preferred to think of it as keeping a low profile. Growing up, you didn't really have a choice but to keep things to yourself. What was the point of trusting people if all you were going to do was leave? You couldn't make friends or keep them if you'd be moving in another four to six months anyway. Not that it was your choice.

It started at a really young age. Technically before you were even born. Your mom had been a teen parent. Your dad didn't stick around which was all you knew about him. It didn't take long for you to get used to the myriad of men walking in and out of your life. Then you got used to seeing your mom, your only constant, getting treated like garbage over and over and over.

She never had an issue with dating. It was them sticking around that was apparently tricky. The problem is that when it would happen the same thing always happened. She'd binge on chocolate. Use you as a shoulder to cry on. Then you'd be moving to flee into the next city. It was kind of fucked up.

While she cried over the hundredth guy your nose was either buried in a book or painting which had been your only escape. You never wanted to judge your mom. She didn't deserve to always have her heartbroken. But, you also didn't deserve having a mom that wanted to pack up at the first sign of trouble. She didn't seem to get that.

As an adult, you promised yourself that you would find one place and stick to it. It might have hurt your mom a little to watch you go, but she understood that you had to go away for college and stuff. Which is how you ended up in Boston. You kind of remember living in Boston once back in the day. You liked the winters surprisingly and the way the trees looked in the fall. You remembered being happy which is why it sucked so much to leave.

You’d gotten your degree, but finding a job had been difficult. Which is how you ended up working at this country club. Though you could live without all the snobby rich people being total assholes, at least they tipped well. You mostly waitress in the clubhouse where it was usually the older crowd and the families that sucked up to them for the inheritance.

It was also how you first noticed him. Hugh Ransom Drysdale. From the moment you laid eyes on him you could tell he was dangerous. Just like those men, your mother would fall for that would inevitably break her heart. That same air of arrogance hanging over him like a cloud, except much better looking with a trust fund to go along with it.

He insisted everyone in the clubhouse call him Hugh. Which according to everyone is what he insists the help call him. God, he's a fucking asshole.

You remember the first time you talked to him. He was so enchanting. It was annoying. He was like Gaston come to life. Just as handsome, just as charming, just as scummy. Sure he made those white polos he wore to play golf look like he'd just stepped off a shoot for GQ. His gaze was enough to make any woman swoon. Even you as much as you hated to admit it.

It'd been one of the few times you'd worked at the bar. Someone had called out and being the new girl you were told to take their spot. "Sweetheart, be useful and get me a bourbon," he'd said in this rude tone.

"Not even a please?" You muttered under your breath as you turned your back to get a glass.

"What was that?" He asked, with a quirk in his eyebrow.

You kissed your teeth before turning back to him,  "Excuse me?" You plastered a sweet smile on your face.

"You got something to say? Say it." He challenged.

You shook your head. "I didn't... I didn't say anything."

He chuckled. "Okay, lo-"

Your jaw dropped as you put your hand on your chest. "Oh my god, Sir, if you're already drunk I can't serve you. You'd be a liability."

"That's a big word. Did they teach you that in community college?" The glare in his eye was intense and you couldn't help it as a smile spread across your face.

"Actually I think I learned it from where you get your trust fund."

You were surprised when he laughed. But, not that little sarcastic chuckle. Like an actual laugh. "Usually I'd call the manager over and enjoy them firing you in front of me, but lucky for you I'm in a good mood and kind of enjoying this. Now get me my bourbon."

"One bourbon coming up." You shrugged.

You talked with him for the rest of your shift surprisingly. The conversation going from hostile to surprisingly pleasant. He’d told you about some issue he’d been having with his grandfather that he hadn’t told the rest of his family he laughed at the idea of them finding out. Said he couldn’t wait to see the look on their faces when they found out everything was going to the nurse.

It was the trashy rich people drama that you craved.

“I know there’s gonna be a lot of bullshit when they find out they aren’t getting that house,” he’d scoffed, looking up at you from his drink.

“I’d be pissed too,” you replied. “I’m sure that house looks like a museum. I’d love to see it.”

“It’s insane.” He nodded. “Imagine like a horror museum with one of those escape rooms.”

You laughed. “So like plastic spiders? Cobwebs? Ghosts!” What a turn around this had been from the initial conversation the two of you were having.

“Not at all,” he said laughing. “It’s more like everything he’s ever thought for his novels, he just adds to his home. Like he needs the visualization. He has a secret window and a chair with knives. It’s insane.”

“That actually sounds pretty cool. Your grandpa sounds like a pretty cool guy, you must admire him a lot.”

“I mean... yeah, but I’d never tell him that.”

“Why not?” You asked with a chuckle.

“It’s complicated,” he answered, before bringing his glass up to his lips. “Like, I love him, but....”

“No. I get it.” Of course, you did. Your mom was a complicated figure in your life, but you could never not love her.

“I’ve done a lot of shit.” He shrugged. “So, I think it’s mutual.”

“At least his house sounds interesting. Like a work of art. I’m kind of a sucker for art.”

“Do you paint? Draw? Doodle on an iPad.” The way he smiled up at you, you would have never guessed that he was the giant asshole everyone made him out to be. There was this softness there even if it was hiding under his arrogant exterior.

You chuckled. “I paint. Though I do partake in the doodling on iPads.”

“I’d love to see your work sometime,” he said. “Do you sell?”

“I haven’t,” you replied. “But, I’m open to it. I guess. I’d show you now, but I’m not allowed to have my phone on the floor.”

“Oh so I’m not worth risking being fired for, I get it,” he joked, shaking his head as if he was offended.

You laughed, tilting your head back. “I know right. I’m already risking it by even talking to you. Harrington is so strict.”

There was this squint on his face as he kind of looked you up and down. It felt like he was studying you and it made you feel like you were under a microscope. “You’ve got a cute laugh you know that?”

No. Don’t give in. You had to tell yourself. You didn’t want to get involved with anyone you’d have to workaround. Besides, it was Ransom Drysdale. You’d just seen him with a woman yesterday. “Thank you,” you brushed him off. “Can I get you another drink?”

He sighed, checking the time on his phone. “As much as I’d love to stay and chat. I have to get going. Maybe I’ll stop by soon so we can talk again. Maybe show me some of your work?”

“Sure.”

He’d left you a forty dollar tip. You were not expecting that.

You’d left work that night feeling pretty good. Not that you were expecting him to fall in love with you or anything. Or for anything to happen at all. It was just a nice encounter with the guy everyone was obsessed with here. Besides you promised yourself you’d never, ever fall into the same trap as Mom had.

It’s not that you didn’t date. You were picky, though. The few relationships you’d had were okay, but you didn’t want to get hurt so you never wanted to get in too deeply.

Then the next day you had come to work, he’d walked in with Marissa on his arm. That stopped any and all thoughts you may have had. It was during that lull between when they'd stopped serving breakfast and brought out the lunch menus. You weren’t surprised that a man like Hugh Ransom Drysdale would be dating a woman like Marissa Clermont. She was exactly the type of woman men like him go for. You know a model IT girl type of deal.

It wasn’t just because he’d been dating Marissa. Of course not. It was because the day before you he’d just come in with Amber Taylor. The daughter of a retired Boston Celtics player. Also, a beautiful woman (also a model you think) who clearly didn’t know her boyfriend was two-timing her.

“Fascinating isn’t it?” Your co-worker, Britt, interrupted your thoughts as she’d come back from taking their drink order. Her arms were crossed as she tried to not make it too obvious that was she looking over at them. “He comes in here with different women and none of them have any idea.”

You frowned as you saw him whispering in her ear, making her giggle, probably telling her the same thing he told Amber just yesterday. “Yeah, I see that,” you replied. “How does he get away with it?”

“Ladies! Back to work!” Harrington, your manager, barked towards the both of you which made the both of you scurry off before she even had the chance to answer. You didn’t even get to talk to her because her shift was over soon then you were off the next day. You weren’t even sure why you cared so much.

When you got back to work it was during that lull time. Ransom was there of course with a different woman. Chloe Daniels. A blonde that had been the sole heir to her husband’s entire fortune no matter how much his ex wife or adult children tried to fight it. You were happy you got to witness the drama for that.

“He messes around with girls that don’t talk to each other,” Britt was finally able to explain. “So, they never find out. At least, that’s what the story around here is.”

“Wow he has a whole system worked out...” you crinkle your nose. Ugh what a fucking pig.  Just like your mother and those douchebags she dated.

“I mean, I kind of get it,” Britt said. “He’s hot. I might put up with being treated like trash for that much. Hell, I’ve put up being treated like trash for much less.”

You held in the laugh you wanted to let out as you could see Harrington lurking around, waiting to say something to the two of you. He never missed his chance to give out orders.

For as long as the couple sat through you couldn’t stop staring. Britt was right. It was fascinating.

[memoriashell]

not entirely present in mind ( but sentimentally, feelings are always the same )

Characters /  Pairing: Fukawa Touko / Naegi Komaru, ft. WoH in the bg

crossposted on ao3

Notes: day 4 of tokomaru week!! shopping and night out prompts. the warriors of hope get mentioned in the bg as their kids but don't feature heavily in this fic.

tws for abuse / trauma mentions, touko is also slightly out of character because she's drunk ( they are both responsible adults and are safe the entire time! )

Summary:  sometimes it's nice to have a night to themselves.

When you have five kids to look after, it’s rare to for them get a moment to herself. Or a moment with her wife. Much less a night to go out. Well, it’s not like they don’t get to go out with the kids. In fact, she might let them indulge in that perhaps a little too often— or so Touko argues but can’t actually find it in her to say no to. Her point being that they do not get to go out by themselves. That’s usually the case, at least.

Which is why when Touko casually brings up the fact that she finally sealed a deal on her latest manuscript, Komaru uses that as an excuse for them to go out and celebrate. Their anniversary roughly over is a month away anyways, might as well kill two birds with one stone because god knows they will probably be too busy with the kids to actually remember to do much of anything. Not that they really need to, she knows how much they love each other regardless! It’s just fun to have an extra excuse to celebrate.

( And don’t get her wrong: she loves her all five of her kids— most days— she really, really does. And she’s happy she can have the opportunity to raise these kids with her wife, and show both them and her wife what a good, loving family looks like. But it also tires her out to take care of five children, along with her own job, and sometimes they need to take a brief break from it.

...Okay it’s also because Makoto owes her a favor, and she’s very eager to cash in on that favor by getting her brother to help keep an eye on the kids for one evening. It’ll be fine. The kids love him? )

Touko rolls her eyes at her and tells her that she’s being unnecessarily dramatic about all of this when she informs her of their plans, once she works out the details. But Komaru can see the blush that accompanies this and knows that she’s won her over and considers that her personal victory. The only condition she has is to make sure her brother is not the only one watching the kids, which: yeah, fair enough, five kids was hard enough with two of them; so she just asks Makoto to make sure he’s not the only one watching the kids.

She knows Touko hates dressing up nice when they go out— she hardly likes dressing up for her own press releases, and those are like actually important events, so she makes sure it's a pretty casual thing. Most of their outings have always tended to be fairly relaxed, and she thinks both of them prefer it that way. The bare minimum of make-up on her face accompanies one of her nicer outfits; which is still a notable effort on her part, but doesn’t make too big of a deal about it.

( She can deduce that Syo probably had a hand in that choice, and just hopes they hadn’t bothered her about it too much. They’re usually good at recognizing limits, and if nothing else, she doesn’t like assuming the worst of their intentions )

Dinner goes well, once she can get Touko to feel less self-concious about herself. Not that it’s a bad thing that she is, it’s not her fault, and she knows she’s trying her best; it’s just more enjoyable when she doesn’t have to worry as much about how she’s feeling. Alright, the glass(es) of wine that she’d had might have also helped with that, but she seems to be handling it pretty well, so she’s not too worried. Even when it became apparent that some of her anxiety had been amplified by the alcohol, but again she seems to be handling it okay. She’s only slightly tipsy...okay, maybe a little more than slightly, but they’re responsible adults. Or, uh, have to be because Masaru won’t take to them being drunk well, and bringing up that trauma is not something she wants to do. And also because technically they’re supposed to grab groceries on the way home. Not exactly the most romantic end to a date night, but sacrifices must be made.

Now only if Komaru could convince her wife to let go of her long enough for her to go shopping, keeping her voice low as not to disturb her too much. “You could nap off some of the alcohol here in the car while I go shopping?”

“Noooo...” She whines around the bottle of water in her mouth, free hand gripping to her arm like her life depends on it. Komaru can easily pry her off, but she’d rather not do that. “Don’t leave...leave me alone. If I do...you won’t c-come back.”

That melts her heart a little. In like, a sad way; being reminded of her wife’s deep-rooted insecurities is never a nice thing. Komaru taps her wedding ring, which effectively gets her attention after a few minutes. “This is pretty good proof that I’m going to come back, right? But if you don’t feel like sleeping, you can come inside. You think you can handle sitting in the cart?”

“Uh huh. I...can sit fine, d-d-dumbass.” Touko responds in a very unconvincing way, but it does get her to let go at the very least.

“M’kay. Let me get out, so I can help you.”

“Can do...get it myself.” She argues, but also makes no effort to do anything other than sip at her water. For good measure, Komaru grabs a second bottle to slip into her purse; in case she manages to down all of that while they’re inside. She lets her lean against the side of the car while she grabs a cart, and watches her halfway launch herself into a flip to get over the side of the cart. Which was more Syo like behavior, so she figures they might be co-fronting? It wouldn’t be anything she wasn’t used to, but she should probably keep a close eye on them just in case.

“You’re okay?” She asks just to be sure, reaching out to brush the hair out of her face carefully and laughs softly at the way Touko tries to lean into her hand.

“Mhm...I love you.” Her voice is a soft murmur, and yeah it’s not anything she hasn’t heard before, but it still warms her heart to hear. It’s moments like these that make it hard for her to understand why people think so horribly of her. Most people don’t get to see this side of her ( usually, this is more like how she is early in the mornings and late at night, half asleep and vulnerable ) and see how loving she is— scared of loving and being loved. Touko has so much love, she knows the way she loves her and her friends and their kids and knows she is not the person people say she is, that her insecurities make her think she is. Komaru hates knowing all that because she deserves all that love and more, and makes sure she knows it as she presses her lips to the top of her head.

“I love you too! Are you sure you’re up to shopping though? You really don't gotta come with.” If it wasn’t for the fact she knows the kids won’t have breakfast in the morning if she doesn’t go shopping tonight, she’d honestly just call it a night and grab groceries another time.

Though truthfully, shopping with her drunk wife is still less of a hassle than trying to shop with any number of kids. Making sure they stay out of trouble is a chore within itself, and she’s thankful that’s not the case tonight.

“I’m...‘m good. Just go slow..?”

“I can do that.” She beams, even if she thinks that wasn't entirely necessary for her to mention— okay maybe she’s guilty of cart coasting down aisles with her feet off the ground, but that’s just to please the kids. She knows better than to do that with her drunk wife. Probably. She thinks she would realize it is a bad idea to do so ( on account of her getting sick ) before she would actually do so, at least.

Now it’s just a matter of trying to remember where she put their shopping list. It was more convenient to have it typed up on her phone, but it's easier for everyone to add onto if they just leave a notepad specifically for this. Even if on more than one occasion she’s flipped over a shopping list to find several paragraphs of something Touko has no recollection of writing ( that isn’t Syo either ), or realized that Jataro has doodled over half the list without meaning to.

She finally recalls which pocket she’d put it in for safekeeping, and they can get going. Slowly, adding things to the cart...and on top of her wife’s lap. Not that Touko seems to notice, since the next time Komaru checks on her she’s just staring straight up at her, face red. She’s so cute? She seems to realize that she’s got her attention, since she reaches up to tug on her sleeve. “Kotoko and Masaru w-wanted fruit snacks, right...? Don’t forget...”

“Already got it, don’t worry. Made sure to grab the vitamins too.” She reassures, a bit impressed that she manages to be that coherent in recalling that, gently prying her hand from her sleeve; holding it in hers for a moment before carefully dropping her hand back down to rest in her lap. She continues shopping in silence, making sure to double-check the list for anything else she might have missed— or at least make sure she’s not missing anything important.

After a while she has to stop again, when she realizes Touko’s trying to mumble something to her, leaning down to hear her. “Don’t forget the...the fish.”

Komaru’s brows crinkle in confusion. “Fish? Like, the fish snacks, or...?” She doesn’t have anything on the list that matches that description, nor does she remember the kids bringing up any requests along those lines.

“N-Noooo...” She starts to shake her head and then immediately looks like she regrets that choice. “Like, like the ones that go in a tank. Like the kids asked.”

It takes Komaru a minute to figure out what she’s trying to get at, and bites back a snort. “That’s not something we can get at the supermarket. Or that we’re taking care of tonight.”

( To elaborate: the kids recently brought up the prospect of having a pet. With varying degrees of effectiveness. To which they’d said they’d think about, mostly because again, they have their hands full with their kids as it is— but also on the basis that five kids do not agree on any one thing easily, and she can only imagine how much it will take them to agree on one pet. Komaru thinks it’s cute that even while drunk, she manages to be mindful of the kids )

“Oh. Thank fucking god.” She mutters. “I don’t want to be a mother this young.”

This one she has to laugh at, because there’s no way she can stifle herself this time: mostly because, while the implication might seem bad, she knows that’s far from what’s probably happening here ( not consciously, at any rate, she knows she’d had more than her fair share of concerns when the topic of adopting the kids had came up ). “Sweetheart, we are already parents...?”

“Oh...” Touko says, drunken awe in her expression, like this hadn’t occurred to her. “I g-g-guess you’re right...not the same.”

Komaru pats her gently, a smile curling at her lips. She’s curious about what she means by that, but she’ll leave that for another time. “Mhm, sure. Let’s get going, okay?”

There’s nothing inherently romantic about ending a date night by taking care of her drunk wife while doing grocery shopping, but it’s still a nice end to a good night— even if they both end up forgoing doing anything further that night, and just go straight to bed once they get home.

[evergreen-dryad]

time capsules

3 - soulmate AU

the one where whatever you write to them is bound to find their way to them, one way or another —

so Nene’s letters make its way to Amane in 1969.

Amane finds a note scrawled in loopy handwriting one day in his capsule. I wonder if my soulmate will ever read this.

Huh? His mind at a blank. He's never seen this sort of variation in any of the papers that come flushing out, disappointingly, instead of a more interesting product.

He pockets it without a word, heart in his throat, hands sweating

And it looks real. Really written. Just a thumb over it and he can feel the indents of graphite, from a deliberate hand inking it straight in.

Perhaps from repeated etching. His index finger curls around it, scrunching it slightly. He breathes, and looks out of the corner of his eye.

Tsukasa hasn't noticed a thing. He's pouting at the machine, wide yellow eyes round and baleful as he jiggles it with careful, measured motions, aiming for the yellow capsule on the bottom most left.

Amane exhales shallowly, and loosens his hands. This is the weekly capsule he often finds himself idly spinning for while wandering back home, tagging slowly after Tsukasa to keep an eye on him. And Tsukasa almost always meanders to the sweetshop.

The granny who runs it is perhaps the kindest adult around to them, who doesn’t just shirk her eyes away when she sees them, as if afraid of catching an infectious disease. But then again, the granny is quite getting on in years — her bottle-cap glasses are thick and rounded, and Amane isn’t quite sure he’s ever seen her eyes widen beyond the perpetual squint.

Still. It is a good place, and while Tsukasa may play rough with the shop’s cat, the cat is no-nonsense enough to not tolerate him if he gets up to one of his nasty ideas.

Often, Amane has caught the cat hissing at Tsukasa, his arms put up placatingly, while its entire body fizzes up into a bottle-brush.

Today, Tsukasa spins his third capsule, unable to stop. “Third time’s the charm, right, right, Amane?”

That’s what you say for any number, Amane thinks to himself, resigned to waiting. He knows Tsukasa will not leave until his attention has spun its cycle.

He sits there under the flowering tree, sunning his face through the cracks of the late afternoon. It’s a clear day — perhaps it’ll keep for the night, and Amane can track Orion’s progress.

“Hey, hey, what did you get, Amane?”

“A piece of paper.” He shrugs one shoulder.

“Aww… it’s one of those ‘Try Again’s huh… I hate those! I think I’ve got…” He counts rapidly on his fingers. “103 of them.”

“You’ve got them all labeled as usual then?” He humours. No, Tsukasa is the one who makes him count them with him. Tsukasa’s first reaction is usually to rip it into shreds or find a much more creative use for it. It pains him, but he lets it because they’re too small to be truly useful.

He wonders what he’ll do about this note. Too small, and the writing encompasses almost the entire strip. It looks like a line from an exercise book.

(Maybe they’re trying to do some schoolgirl love letter joke product.)

It nags at him, after they've gone through dinner and their mother's inquisition and are up in their room again, obediently folding their clothes for the next day.

Tsukasa does his sloppily all while humming the theme song from the radio, and peppering Amane with questions about what possible stars they'll see tonight.

Slowly, Amane smuggles the little note from the pocket of his trousers into the sleeve of his pyjamas, where it settles against his skin for the night

*

He finds the next one the same way: this time, it’s I dream of you everyday.

A little heart next to it, and a strange doodle. Amane thinks it might be a face, but he can't stare too long to find out. He casually slips it into his pocket again, with hopefully not too much of a beat in his movement.

Surely this is a prank. A not-very-funny one at that. It's a coincidence, nothing more than that. He rolled the dice and rolled this capsule out with a piece of paper with fortune nonsense on it, not his cosmic fate.

*

One two three four five, and Amane still hasn't answered. Yet he cradles these slips of paper close to heart, nestled together with the moon stone in his everyday pocket.

(He doesn’t know why. But he feels better about keeping them close on him, in a place he can reach out to touch for comfort.)

Little slips of paper through the capsules. Doodles unfurl in the corners of his notebooks, like his soulmate’s letting him in on secrets. He can almost hear the voice of the girl (it seems like a girl?) singing as she daydreams her way across the straight black lines with colourful pens. Highlighters of a shade he's never even imagined before.

(He finds himself liking the soft purple one best.)

*

And then the cat from the shop arrives with a letter round its collar.

.

// from this list of prompts here for August. this has been sitting in my drafts since Feb as well I think. It’s gotten really messy over time (*screams*), and frankly my main excuse for writing this is to include Showa Candy Shop 3 in it, and explore what Amane’s life was like back then.

Also: I thought it would be really, really embarrassing if whoever you dreamily doodled about could see them too. Once I panicked bcs I thought a crush might have seen what I’d written oh god

-did emoji exist back in the day i don’t think so boomer gen are extremely unlikely to understand kaomoji at first glance -Amane is a tactile bean look at canon Hanako -the shop still exists in Nene’s time, and it’s a descendant of the cat she entrusts her letters to. -losing them makes it easier for them to go where they need to go -post office works too when she can’t find the cat, though it’s much slower -guess amane gets to collect modern era stamps now -yep it’s a move away from capsules hmm -hand and notebook ‘texting’! -mild fix-it in some areas of Amane’s life? (the later parts of the draft have been about home life oof) -...I need to think about the time-travel consequences and what it changes

Obstacles include: Amane’s characterisation, and thus Tsukasa’s (now when I review over what I wrote, I feel like Amane avoids him too much? And sounds almost dead when he talks? hdajaj)

-changes in motivations (Amane)/timeline - what finally makes him respond? a) please stop doodling flowers over my very important star notebook pls and tq, b) tsukasa finds out/nearly with the cat Who knows what, how much do either of them know about what’s possible

-will there ever be any Nene POV. Include sparsely/flashback for poignancy?

[logical-little-lies]

Smart Baby-Agere!Sides AU (pt.12)

Patton could tell that Logan was slipping. For the first time ever,Logan was on the edge of regressing.

It had been only a few days since Logan had taken care of Roman and Virgil, and Patton when he regressed later in the day.

Logan found himself wanting more affection than usual, though Patton always gave it to him without asking. Logan also wanted to get out of his dress shirt and tie,he felt trapped and too..adult? He usually didn't mind, he liked feeling put together, but he just felt like it was some sort of uncomfortable costume.

It didn't help that Roman regressed. Even little,Roman acted bigger than Logan was feeling. The day prior was stressful for all of the sides, but Logan the most. Logan was the one who had to take the lead,telling Thomas what to say during different events.

Roman regressed, as usual, wearing a yellow sweater with white stars. He held a white sippy cup, wearing blue leggings the oversized sweater draped over. Slowly,his little outfits have become more feminine,and during this process,Thomas has begun to feel more confident trying out different fashion styles.

"You've been so good today,should I be worried,darling?" Virgil questioned jokingly, pulling him into his lap.

Roman shook his head, giggling. "Maybeee," he said in a sing-song voice.

Virgil acted shocked, "So the good baby boy I've been caring for is only visiting?"

Roman giggled again, leaning against Virgil. "You're a silly kid,Ro," Virgil kissed his forehead,causing him to smile.

On the tv, Moana played. It was one of Logan's favorite disney movies, even when he was big. He liked the cultural representation, which he knew a lot about. But the childlike fogginess taking him over just liked the music.

"Logan? You alright?" Patton was laying across the couch, his head in Logan's lap. The only little one was Roman, but all of them just needed a breather. So Patton and Virgil were just watching the movie,entertaining Roman, while Logan stayed quiet, attempting to push down the childish things his mind was telling him to do.

"Mhm," he mumbled, nodding, biting at his lip. Patton seemed to have a quick moment of realization,attempting to test the waters.

"How about we go get you changed?" He sat up, Logan having the impulse to pout at the lack of affection,biting on his lip instead. "You must hate wearing a tie all the time," Patton took it upon himself to loosen his tie, pulling it over his head.

"m' fine," Logan mumbled, pushing his hands away.

"calm down, baby, no need to get snappy," Patton scolded slightly, causing Logan to pout without being able to stop himself.

"Don't call me baby," he stated, trying to keep his voice level.

"Logan, calm down," Patton instructed. Virgil and Roman were watching the movie, and Patton was talking quietly enough so that they didn't hear. "I'm not doing anything to make you mad, you just seem a bit stressed, Lo."

Logan felt guilty, and he held back a sniffle, "Sorry," he mumbled, looking down.

Patton sighed, "it's alright, Logan. How about we get you into some comfy pajamas, and come back to finish the movie with the others?"

Logan almost nodded, pausing, "n-no! Don't want to miss the movie!" he shook his head, crossing his arms, as if to prove he wasn't gonna move.

Patton chuckled, "Wait a second, Lo," he instructed, and Logan agreed. He continued to watch the movie while Patton moved to talk to Virgil. "Pause the movie? I think Logan's regressing, I want to get him into comfier clothes."

Virgil nodded understandingly, "While you do that, I'll refill Ro's sippy? Does Logan want anything, a snack or drink?"

Virgil made a hand motion, and the movie on the tv stopped playing the movie.

"Lo, you want some juice?" Patton asked.

"Orange juice, please," he nodded, obviously trying really hard not to slip up.

"Stay here, Ro," Virgil kissed his forehead, picking up Roman's tablet from the coffee table and handing it to him. Roman started tapping it, opening a game with soft music. Patton lead Logan back to his own room, opening his closet.

"What do you want to wear?" Patton asked, and Logan shrugged, lifting his feet and kicking them slightly. "You can borrow anything in my closet," he pushed it open, motioning to the stuff inside.

Patton sighed when he didn't respond, thinking for a moment before summoning something he thought he'd like. It was a fluffy pajama shirt. It was blue, with white stars and planet doodles all over it.

Logan couldn't stop himself from making grabby hands towards the shirt, squealing. "Hold on, baby."

Logan lowered his hands, pouting at his instructions, but nodding. Patton made note to the fact that he didn't ask not to be called baby this time.

Patton pictured a pair of fluffy white pants, with blue planets instead, like an inverse of the shirt. It would make Logan look like a soft nerd.

Patton didn't know how old Logan was, so he tried to make it kiddish, but not to"babyish" just incase. "You like this?" he held it up, and Logan nodded with a giggle, making the grabby hand motion once again.

He lowered his hands quickly, shaking his head in a dorm of disappointment with himself. Patton sighed, crouching down. "What's wrong, Lo?"

"I feel..um.."

"Little?"

He shyly nodded, continuing. "It's harder to talk right, and I want to act like a kid..it's stupid," He was obviously still repressing his little speech.

"No, it isn't. If you feel little, then that's okay. You've never been little before, so it might feel weird, but don't be ashamed or disappointed with yourself." Logan nodded at this, shifting the topic.

"How'd you know I was slipping?" he tilted his head.

"I could just tell, we can talk about this later, though. I want you to try and be little, and not be shy about it. Roman's little too, and Virgil knows how to take care of littles, literally everyone in the house is acceptive. You're okay," Patton took his hand, squeezing it slightly.

"But..but-" Logan pouted, and Patton cut him off.

"Not but's, just go put on this cute outfit," he handed him the clothes, and moved to kiss his forehead. "How little do you feel, bud?"

Patton smiled when he heard Logan's voice shift, "three..don't know," he admitted shyly.

"Awe, baby," Patton cooed when Logan went to hide his face, "you're littler than I thought," he teased.

"nuh-uh!" he shook his head, "m' so big right now. So big n' scary," his voice sounding promising. Patton only laughed, ruffling his hair and handing him the clothes.

"Can you get dressed by yourself?"

Logan nodded, then hesitating. Patton seemed to understand, closing the door. "Lift your arms," he instructed.

Logan giggled as Patton helped him redress, and soon he was in the cutesy pajama set. Patton put white fluffy socks on his feet, and he just looked so..soft?

Logan squealed when he looked in the mirror, bouncing in place. Patton wrapped his arms around his waist, kissing the side of his head. "You're so cute, Little Lo."

Logan scrunched up his nose, giggling. "m' cute!" he repeated with his childish voice.

"is there anything else you need? Like a paci, or blanket, or stuffie?"

Logan bit at his lip, "You know what? The adorable, smart baby boy deserves all three!" Patton said enthusiastically.

He summoned a star blankie, white stars against a fluffy shade of baby blue. Needless to say that Logan loved it, also accepting the stuffed octopus Patton summoned for him.

"Don't need paci, I'm to big," he mumbled, but Patton didn't believe it.

"Are you sure, darling?" Patton asked, and Logan looked down shyly. "Hmm," Patton thought, a dark blue pacifier appearing in his hands. "You sure you don't want it?"

It said 'Smart Baby' in white letter beads on the handle, and there was a glittery silver star charm on the button. Logan whined quietly, still shaking his head shyly, as if someone would judge him if he put that in his mouth. "Lo, open your mouth for me," Patton instructed, but Logan shook his head.

Patton sighed, thinking for a moment,wrapping his arms around Logan's waist again. He tickled his side with one hand, and while Logan was squirming and giggling, he pecked his lips. He put the pacifier in his mouth during the split second it was open.

Logan didn't fight it after that, only giggling, "Pat, you're silly,"

"Mhm, I sure am!" Patton took his hand, and lead him out to the kitchen. Virgil handed him a sippy cup with a dark blue lid, filled with the orange juice he had asked for earlier.

"You're pajamas are so cute, Lo!" Virgil ruffled his hair, booping the star on his pacifier and causing him to giggle. Logan used his hand to adjust his glasses, leaning into Patton's side.

“thank yous!” he spoke childishly, and Virgil and Patton both audibly ‘awed’

Big Logan was going to be so embarrassed, but at least Little Logan was having fun.

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Five! (sfw)

So... this was supposed to go up on Friday but no one reminded me and I’m clearly not able to set a weekly reminder like an actual adult.

Hope you’re still enjoying this weekly series... Don’t forget to show me it some love if you are.

And I seem to have thrown my 'short chapters/800 words only' thing out of the window. This one is the longest so far, at 2455 words long. *rolls eyes at self*.

One, Two, Three, Four

An entire week passed without word from Mikaeïl. You had almost given up on the whole commission for this departmental murder mystery dinner, when one lunchtime your phone buzzed and you answered with barely a glance away from what you were doing. With a searingly important deadline looming for work, your stress levels were possibly at their highest since university finals, and you had been staring at the computer screen for what felt like days without a break.

“Yeah?” you barked, still tweaking the design while holding the phone with your other hand.

“It’s Mikaeïl,” came a surprisingly shy, male voice at the other end. “Is now a bad time?”

Your heart skipped a beat or two and you grinned despite the lingering frustration that the design wasn’t looking anywhere near ‘there’ yet. “No, not at all,” you smiled, “I’m at work, but I’d much rather talk to you.”

That seemed to fluster him a little, but he cleared his throat and said, “Well… I spoke with the department and showed them your preliminary design. They loved it and are very happy to commission you to do the posters for the event.”

“Fantastic!” you grinned, genuinely thrilled to have a more exiting project to work on than this steaming pile of minotaur shit currently sitting on your computer.

“I thought we might discuss it in more detail when you bring Celia over on Friday...” he said, his softly-articulated words doing odd things to your insides and heartbeat. You could imagine him standing amongst his hoard of plants, one arm folded protectively across his slim chest as he stood, ramrod straight, surveying the gardens beyond.

A second after that image had flashed through your mind, you realised that it wasn’t your turn to being Celia to her flute lesson that week. When you said as much, he sighed and said, “Never mind.”

“I mean... Celia doesn’t have to be my only reason to come over and see you, does she?” you asked playfully, doodling with the stylus on a new layer of the design. As you listened to him speak, his eyes began to stare out at you from the screen as you drew them, all distant and guarded, but glittering and somehow soft all the same.

“No,” he said slowly, the slight smile audible in his rich voice. “No, of course not. I’m rather busy with work this week, and I’m presenting a paper at a conference on Thursday, but if you’re alright to meet up in town instead during the week we could do that?”

“Stickybeaks?” you suggested, thinking of the cafe where you’d first met him.

He clearly along the same lines because he gave that sonorous chuckle that made your stomach churn pleasurably. “Perfect. What day suits you? I’m free most days after five, except this Thursday.”

“Friday?” you suggested. “I think Stickybeaks stays open til seven. We could have an early supper? That way you can tell me all about the conference too, if you like.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” he said reflexively.

“Oh, I think you’d have to work quite hard to bore me. I’m really quite a curious person...”

There was something melancholic about the tone of his clipped response. “If you say so,” was all he said. “Well, Friday works well for me. Shall I meet you there at half past five? That will give me enough time to walk over from the department.”

“Perfect. Looking forward to it.”

A beat too late, he said with a slight crack in his voice, “So am I.”

You rushed out of work that Friday and ended up getting to the cafe way too early, so you got out your A3 sketch pad and started to draw a number of variations on the same theme that you’d doodled back at Mikaeïl’s house. When he stepped through the doorway at precisely 5.29pm, Mikaeïl glanced around, the lenses of his round glasses glinting in the low light, and when he saw you, the hard line of his tense shoulders eased just a little.

Mikaeïl nodded politely at Lidaë, who was fluttering around behind the counter as usual despite the fact that there weren’t all that many customers in at that time, and then he strode over to your place in the back corner. The pathway through the sleek, modern tables gave you the opportunity to admire the slender form of his body and the effortless grace with which he moved, almost like a dancer. Today he wore a butterscotch coloured trench coat, belted tightly at his slim waist over black skinny jeans, and his autumn-red hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail again, with the shorter sections at the front falling down to mask the full intensity of his bright golden eyes.

“Hey,” you said, half standing.

“I hope you haven’t been here long,” he said by way of a greeting and staring at your drawings again with that odd expression again.

“No, not really,” you said, awkwardly sitting back down again. “I finished work a bit earlier than usual and came straight here. I roughed out a few more designs for the poster anyway.”

“You’ve been here long enough to have finished your drink,” he said pointedly. “Can I get you another?”

You eyed your empty cup and then glanced at your watch. “I just turned in a major project that’s been bugging me for weeks,” you grinned. “I think I earned a grown up drink…”

He cocked his head slightly and the corner of his pretty mouth twitched ever so slightly to show his amusement. “Congratulations. And I think I might join you in that.”

By the time he returned, you’d shunted the sketch book to one side and once he’d set your drink down, he took his coat off to hang it on the back of his chair. It was a real effort not to stare at the beauty of his figure. Perhaps it was the artist in you, but you really noticed the strong, straight lines of his waist and thighs, his body clearly tightly corded with extremely lean muscle, and the elegant movements of his fingers as he worked the buttons of his coat.

When he was finished, he sat and shyly drew his ponytail over one shoulder, twisting the end of it between his fingertips and blinked softly at you. “What?” he asked in a breathy murmur.

“I… Uh…” you blushed, and settled on a bashful, “Nothing. Have you come straight from teaching?”

He nodded.

“Oh boy,” you laughed. “Your students must love you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” he said bluntly.

“I wasn’t,” you said, feeling a heat creeping up your neck. Did he seriously not have any idea how attractive he was? “Don’t take this the wrong way then,” you said, sipping your drink and letting the warmth of the alcohol ignite a little courage in you, “But if you were my professor, I’m not sure I’d get much learning done…”

“Then I’d be failing in my duties as a teacher…”

Damn but he was hard work.

“Never mind,” you said. “How did the conference go?”

“Very well, to my surprise,” he said, holding the stem of his wine glass as if it were a rare specimen rose. He inhaled the scent of the wine before drinking, and closed his eyes briefly as he savoured it. His throat worked and you watched his sharp Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and that newly-kindled heat in your cheeks flared a little hotter while blood rushed south away from your brain to somewhere a little less articulate.

“What was your paper on?” you managed to rasp.

He cleared his throat and swirled his wine absentmindedly around his glass. “It’s… hardly a dinner time conversation,” he said.

“What, because you study bodies and death?”

His golden gaze flicked up to meet yours. “Most people find it repulsive.”

“You’re searching for answers,” you said. “I’m sure you’re respectful about the way you treat the remains. What’s repulsive about that?”

Mikaeïl blinked, and then his hard, wary expression flickered to something a little gentler, bordering on relief. “Well, alright. I was presenting my preliminary findings on the use of MRI and CT scans to determine the presence of necromantic activity in long-dead remains…”

“That stuff shows up? Even centuries later?” you asked, instantly intrigued.

He made a side to side shake of his head. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. X-ray has been used in the past, but because any damage caused post-mortem usually presents exactly the same whether the person in question was truly alive or undead, it’s not always particularly accurate… I want to explore the use of other technology to explore the effects that necromantic magic in particular has on the body after the heart has ceased beating.”

“That’s awesome,” you breathed, and he smiled again. “Was it well received?” you asked tentatively.

“Yes, for the most part. Non-invasive examination is always preferable, so there was a deal of interest from others in the field. I even had a lich in the audience who was willing to undergo some testing, which was encouraging.”

“Did you study medicine at the university here?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Quite some while ago though,” he said. “I worked as a medical examiner for a long time.”

You frowned, and he read your next question in your eyes.

“I’m not as youthful as I look,” he said. “My kind is long lived. And before you ask, I’m just over two hundred and sixty.”

“Whoa…” Honestly, it wasn’t actually that much of a surprise, given how… ‘remote’ he seemed at times. A moment later you added with a wry smile, “You must have enjoyed watching the leaps and bounds that science has made then in the last hundred or so years! I’d love to witness something like that…”

“That’s…” he faltered into silence.

“What?”

Mikaeïl steepled his long, fingers and rested his lips against his index and middle fingertips, elbows resting on the table. “That’s… honestly not a reaction I’ve had before.”

“I don’t understand?”

With a dry chuckle, he said, “Most people - though the number is admittedly few - discover I’m old enough to be their ancestor, and they start to act strangely. Friendships have been hard to initiate, and even tougher to maintain, though I’m sure that’s partly due to my own…” he swallowed, apparently unsure of the word before settling on, “‘Quirks’.”

You shrugged. “It sucks, I’m sure, but anyone who doesn’t at least try to understand or get to know you is missing out, and probably isn’t worth the effort anyway, at least in my limited experience. Can I ask you another question though?”

As his lips hitched up on one side, he nodded. “Of course.” And with that, he seemed to relax a little more in your presence.

“Is it super rude of me to ask what you are? I had thought you were at least part tiefling, but that was literally just from the horns and the eyes.”

“A common misconception,” he said over the rim of his wineglass before he took another sip. “And one I usually let slide. But no, I am not any part tiefling. I am… my family is… that is to say…” He set his wine down, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a little cloth that he drew from his top pocket while he said quietly, “We are dragon shifters. Wyvern, technically.”

You blinked in silence for a stunned moment. Dragon shifters were exceptionally rare these days, having been hunted ruthlessly for sport, mostly by orcs but also by humans, about five hundred years ago. They’d been massacred in droves almost to the point of extinction. “No way,” you finally breathed.

He acknowledged the truth with a brief pursing of his lips, and returned his glasses to his face. Tersely, he added, “Please don’t ask me to prove it here. I won’t fit into this corner of the cafe, and besides, shifting is a huge inconvenience to say the very least.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said hastily. “I’m just… amazed? Surprised? Honoured?”

Mikaeïl deftly and promptly steered the conversation onto your drawings and drafts after that, and you allowed him to slide the limelight onto you. Clearly an intensely private individual, Mikaeïl had just honoured you with the truth about himself, and, curious as you were about what he might look like in his wyvern form, you respected his gift by focusing on the real reason you were there. This was not a date after all, no matter how much you wished it were.

Despite that fact, however, it was five minutes before closing time when Lidaë flitted over to you, her iridescent hummingbird’s plumage shimmering, and politely asked if you’d mind wrapping up so she could close up her cafe.

Mikaeïl startled from your conversation as if he’d suffered an electric shock. “I’m so sorry, Lidaë,” he said, standing abruptly and pushing his chair back with a decidedly ungraceful scrape on the wooden floorboards. “I had no idea it was so late.”

She patted his arm fondly and shook her head. “Never you mind, my lovely. I’m glad to see you having such a good evening.”

For the first time since you’d met him, his pale cheeks flushed and he glanced briefly at you before fumbling to pick up his coat. Once he’d slid it on, he fished out his wallet and insisted that he pay for everything.

Outside, with your bag packed and a design finalised, you looked up at him and he turned his deep, golden eyes on you. In the light from the street lamps overhead, his yellow eyes reflected the soft glow in a decidedly inhuman way, and you felt something stirring inside you again.

Feeling perhaps a little uncharacteristically bold, you reached for his shoulders, took them gently in your hands, and leaned in to kiss his smooth, cool cheek. As you withdrew, you saw that he’d gone rigid, his eyes wide with surprise. Allowing yourself a small giggle at his expense, you grinned at him.

“I’ll bring the finished design with me when I bring Celia over next Friday, if that’s ok.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed softly.

“Looking forward to it,” you said. “And thank you again for supper.”

“My pleasure,” he croaked, bowing his head. “Sincerely.”

Tossing a final grin and a wave his way, you walked off down the street, leaving him standing there, and when you glanced back, you saw that he was walking away in the opposite direction, his fingertips just brushing his cheek where your lips had kissed his skin.

To be continued next Friday! (don’t let me forget!)

—

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[seokiloquy]

Tea and Tuna - Kita Shinsuke

Soulmate AU: First words said to you by your soulmate are written on your wrist

Requested (I changed it up a bit but it still follows)

Word Count: 1.5K

It was a late evening on a school night and the sun was beginning to set, taking the last bit warm weather with it. The sky began to turn various shades of pink and orange. You sat at the back of the classroom with a neat stack of books at your side, waiting to be shelved. Behind you, your friend Hina swayed to the beat of her music pumping through her headset as she swept the floor. Following her rapid steps was Yua, who wiped down the tables to get rid of dirt and doodles left by bored students. Autumn was okay, once the weather started to get cold it meant more layers which you weren’t a big fan of.

At least the colours are pretty. You thought as you watched the sun begin to lower.

As you mindlessly placed the books on their shelf, you were late when reacting to what was going on behind you. Yua’s amused voice broke through.

“Hina, no,” she laughed. “Watch out.” She didn’t sound at all worried.

Something bounced off your head with a hollow thunk and your perfectly stacked books were easily taken down by Hina’s weight. Grabbing the book that landed on your lap you used the stiff cover to pat the forehead of the giggling music enthusiast before stashing it away.

“I swear, Hina, you need a new pair of feet, sweetheart,” you laughed as you picked up the broom that fell.

“My feet are perfectly fine, thank you,” she huffed, grabbing Yua’s hand.

Yua easily picked Hina up, who was almost launched in the other direction from the force, as she replied.

"I could always cut them off? Where's my hack saw?"

Spinning quickly on your knees you stared in horror at the casual grin on her face.

"Yua! No!"

"What?! I was kidding!" She whined, throwing her hand in the air. Narrowly hitting Hina's face.

"Gah! Watch it! You nearly took her head off!"

Throwing her arms down, Yua grabbed the wipe and spray off of the table and got back to cleaning the last few desks. "Why am I getting reprimanded?" She grumbled.

Hina skipped over, picking up all the fallen books as she went, and began to help you finish putting them away. Once she was at your side and had all the books in her arms, you left the work to her so you could face Yua. Yua had her legs spread on either side of the chair she sat on, making her volleyball shorts visible below her grey and black plaid skirt. She ruffled her shortly cropped hair, before stuffing her school bag closed.

Your brow pinched together as you checked the calendar that was pinned up on the classroom’s wall. “Yua, hun,” you called, “Don’t you have a game tomorrow?”

“Yup, sure do,” she yawned.

“And didn’t you have practice this morning?”

“Sure did.”

There was a pause as you watched the two girls finish packing up.

“Yua?”

“Yup?”

“Where’s your sports bag?”

Hina laughed loudly, throwing her head backwards and holding her stomach as she watched Yua spin in circles, searching for her extra bag. Despite Hina being a great singer, her laugh sounded like an emu giving birth to a carburetor. Yua growled as she gripped the roots of her hair tightly.

“I’m so stupid.”

“Did you leave it in the gym?” Hina asked after her laughing fit.

“Probably,” she said, rolling her head over her shoulders.

“Well,” You hummed a bit as you threw on your coat, getting ready to leave, “The gym is on the way and the boys are practicing this evening, so we can drop by to pick up your stuff. Hina put on your coat, it's cold out.”

Hina huffed but followed your suggestion anyway. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow. My family’s going out to dinner, and I don’t want to be late.”

Yua waved Hina goodbye once you all got to the exit. You called out to her once her back was turned.

“Hina, your laces are untied!”

One step too close to the other sent her flying, tripping over her shoes. Luckily she managed to dance out of falling on her face and shot the two of you a wave of her own. She kept walking with her laces undone. Yua hooked her arm around yours, pulling you in the direction of the gym before you could fret over Hina’s shoes.

“Hey, (Y/N). How did you know the boys were practicing today anyways?”

“Oh I asked one of the teachers what the gym’s schedule was so I could keep track of your practises and games. That reminds me, what do you want to eat before your game tomorrow? Ginger rice or miso salmon?”

Pushing open the gym doors, Yua dragged you inside, waving to the coaches as you walked their way. “I’ll stick with the green tea smoothie you make, thank you though.”

“That sounds rather tasty. (Y/N), you’ll have to give me the recipe.” Coach Kurosu was a nice man, teasing at times, and hid the bags under his eyes behind square-framed glasses.

“Mr. Kurosu, it’s been a while. I can write the recipe down and deliver it tomorrow before Yua’s game. It’s rather easy, but great for energy and it's healthy too.”

Yua sighed next to, interrupting the conversation gently, “I hope you don’t mind coach but I left my bag here this morning. Have you seen it?”

The man chuckled and pointed over in the far corner, “must be the one we tucked over there in the corner. Watch your head, though. The boys are practicing serves.”

Yua nodded as she elbowed your side and left you to continue your conversation of healthy foods with the boy’s volleyball coach. A conversation which led to you pulling out your phone to email him a list of meals that are high in protein that he could give to his players and friends.

“Heads!”

You were used to this. After attending Yua’s games and practices you should be. Immediately ducking out of the way of a ball that flew in line with where your head was, you watched as it bounced off of the wall and knocked over the piled water bottles like bowling pins.

You had always thought the word printed on your wrist was about coins. For a while, during middle school, you had gone around asking people to choose heads or tails when flipping a coin. In hindsight, with your wrist burning now, in a gym, without a coin in hand, that might have been a bit ridiculous.

“Atsumu, you need to be more careful, you’ll take someone’s head off.”

Standing up you made a throwaway comment about not having a meal for concussions, which made Kurosu laugh as he picked up the stray ball. He handed off to one of the older players that came your way.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking the ball off his coach’s hands.

“Oh ya. I’ve got eyes at the back of my head,” you said laughing as you started to pick up the bottles. “As I just said, I don’t have a meal for concussions so I need to be able to dodge balls.”

Yua, who had made her way back from the corner of the gym (while expertly dodging every ball that came her way), groaned “You dodge balls by scaring guys away with your overbearing attitude.”

“Yua, please. Watch your language, the coach is here.”

“I didn’t swear, Mom. It’s not my fault you’ve taken a vow of abstinence until you met your soulmate.”

“Yua!”

It was a bit more than embarrassing, you were used to your friends being more than brash in friendly quarters. You can’t say you hadn’t had moments of crude hilarity yourself, but an adult was present, and he didn’t need to know about anything more than your grades and healthy food choices for athletes.

“Well, Yua,” the player spoke up, “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that for much longer.”

Wait. The burning. You forgot about the burning in your rush to duck out of the way of projectiles flying at your head. You rushed to pull the sleeve of your uniform to see the word printed there.

“Kita! That’s not how you ask a girl out!”

The word on your wrist had changed colour.

“Atsumu, I won’t make you any fatty tuna if you keep yapping!”

You looked up at the player’s light coloured hair that made the black tips stand out as they sit in the open spaces of the boy’s forehead and cheekbones.

“You can make fatty tuna?” You asked, shoulders rising with a smile.

Yua groaned.

“Ya, sort of have to with these guys always asking for food.”

With a bit of a squeal, Kita was easily dragged into a friendly conversation about food with his soulmate. A soulmate who seemed almost a bit overly excited when coach Kurosu gave in his share of ideas on side dishes. Yua waited patiently on the side, texting Hina who seemed bored at dinner but excited about the new development revolving around their friend.

So does that mean we can add a dad to our friend group?

Yua swallowed a thick gag but replied with a flat, ‘yes’.

Just a fluff, that's it. - Bacon

Posted: 03/07/2020

[tripleaxeldiaz]

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 3/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

“...and then we saw the lions, but they were sleeping so they weren’t very scary. And the otters were so cute, and they came right up to the glass when they were swimming underwater!”

Eddie smiles as Chris recounts their day at the zoo to his parents over FaceTime. The monthly calls had been their idea, a way for them to stay up to date on Chris’s life in between holidays and summer visits. It was also their way of having a scheduled time to nitpick Eddie’s life from 800 miles away.

He loves his parents, he does. He just loves them more when they aren’t speaking.

“Your face looks a little red, sweetheart, were you wearing sunscreen today?” his mother asks, face getting too close to the camera as she inspects her grandson.

“Yeah, Dad put some on me when we got there.”

“Did he put on any more during the day?” Her eyes shifted to Eddie, perched next to Chris on the couch. “You know you need to reapply every two—”

“Yes, Mom, I did. And it’s getting late so we should really get going, say goodbye buddy—”

“Wait! I didn’t show them my snakes!” Chris rifles through his backpack underneath the coffee table, yanking out a folder and flipping through it until he finds the drawings he and Buck worked on. He holds them up triumphantly, angling them so his grandparents could see. “Buck helped me with them!”

“And Buck is…”

“Dad, you know who Buck is. My friend that owns the tattoo shop?” He tries not to ignore how calling Buck his “friend” feels like a disservice to all that he really is, how it tastes like sand in his mouth.

“He’s an awesome artist,” Chris pipes in. “He has huge books in the shop of all the stuff he can do, and sometimes he lets me watch when he’s working!”

His parents blanche at that, and Eddie is really not prepared to have this argument right now. He and Chris had a great day together, a rare day when he wasn’t in the shop for any reason, leaving it in Hen’s more than capable hands. They had a lot of fun at the zoo, were getting ready for a Marvel double feature in their living room, and Eddie was in an honest-to-god good mood, for once not plagued by lingering stress or ambiguous sadness. He’s not about to let any outside judgements ruin that.

“I think it’s time to go. Chris, can you say goodnight and go get your pajamas on?” Chris waves as he grabs his crutches and heads to his room. Eddie turns back to say a quick goodbye, but his dad clears his throat before he can speak.

“You leave your son alone in a tattoo parlor?”

“He’s not alone, Dad, he’s with Buck and all the other adults that work there. Plus it’s only in a pinch.”

“Eddie, do you really think those are the kind of people you should be leaving Christopher with?” his mother asks, a look of contempt masked by concern on her face.

Eddie takes a slow breath in and out through his nose. No use in giving them more ammo by getting angry. “Just because you don’t like their business doesn’t mean they’re bad people.”

“We just want to make sure Christopher is—”

“He’s fine. He’s happy when he’s learning to draw with Buck. I’m not going to take that away from him just because you don’t like it. Now we have to go, we’ll talk to you later.” He hits the red end button before they can protest any further. He tips his head back to rest on the couch and scrubs a hand over his face, his good mood now tinged with prickly frustration.

He thinks his parents mean well, but they’ve always been forceful when it comes to Chris, especially after Shannon left. It’s like they knew, somehow, how lost Eddie was on his own, how scared he was that every little thing he did was setting Chris up for failure, and took every opportunity to fix something he was doing or tell him he was wrong. That he didn’t actually know what Chris needed since he had been gone for so long. 

Eventually, Eddie started believing them.

But when Mrs. Negrelli gave him the money to start his own shop, he didn’t just see it as a fresh start for himself, but for Chris too. Eddie would be able to take them anywhere, away from the looming disappointment of his parents, and give himself the opportunity to figure out how to best be the dad that Chris needed. And if the past year is any indication, he knows he made the right choice, a credit he isn’t usually able to give himself. He’s not perfect, still second guesses himself constantly, but Chris gets invited to birthday parties and sleepovers and gets As on his report card, so something must be working.

Chris comes back from his room, Spider-Man pajamas on, handing Eddie the remote to queue up the first movie. He’s happily chattering about all the cool things Spider-Man’s costume does in the movie, and as he settles into Eddies’s side, head resting on his chest, Eddie feels the prickliness subside, replaced by the contentment he only ever feels around his son.

They’re good here. Chris is happy here. That’s all that matters to Eddie.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sundays are Eddie’s favorite days in the shop — traffic is usually slow, so he has time to plan out orders for the rest of the week and make sure their inventory is in check. It’s a little monotonous, but it eats up about four hours of time and gives him a break from any real thinking, so he feels almost relaxed by the time he’s done stocking cases. He has the added bonus of Chris and Buck’s conversation in the back room as background noise, interspersed with the occasional yell and slap of the table and Buck teaches him a new card game. The melody of Chris’s laugh and the harmony of their voices soothes him even more than usual, quiets some of the lingering annoyance from his call with his parents.

As he heads into the back room to grab the last boxes of peonies, Chris beckons him over to the table where he and Buck have been stationed since breakfast. It’s become a bit of a tradition: Buck brings muffins or bagels from Bobby and Athena’s bakery on Sundays and hangs out until the afternoons when his earliest appointments are scheduled (I refuse to tattoo anyone while they’re hungover from Saturday, Eddie. It’s not good for them and the extra complaining is certainly not good for me.). 

Maybe that’s another reason Sundays are his favorite days. Add that to the list of secret feelings involving Buck that are following him to the grave.

“Dad! Look, I colored Buck’s skull purple!” Chris says as Eddie comes behind his chair, bracketing him in with his arms on the table. Chris giggles as Eddie kisses the top of his head, leaning over him for a closer look. Buck’s latest tattoo is indeed a bright shade of purple, the roses surrounding it colored in blue.

“I told him I like cooler colors and he ran with it,” Buck says. Eddie’s eyes shift to Buck’s face, and he feels his heart stutter when he sees the soft, fond smile directed at Chris. It stutters again when Buck’s eyes meet his, that familiar warmth settling over him as Buck’s smile gets bigger, and he feels good enough, relaxed enough, that it actually soaks into his skin. Buck’s gaze flits down to Eddie’s arm where it’s still bracketing Chris, a crease appearing right between his eyebrows. The urge to lean over and kiss it away is unbelievably sudden and strong, and Eddie silently congratulates himself for keeping it together.

“Your ink looks a little faded there, Eds. I can fix it up for you, if you want.”

Eddie looks at the script on his arm, twisting it back and forth to see the whole thing. Buck’s right, the ink does look duller. Makes sense for a tattoo he got on his 18th birthday that he definitely didn’t take care of properly. 

Fortalecer la mente y superar el cuerpo. Strengthen the mind and overcome the body. When he was young and invincible, that seemed like all he needed. A clear head, clear purpose, clear desires, and he’d be able to do anything he wanted. If he followed the rules and did everything right, he’d get a happy ending.

But, once again, it hadn’t been enough. And now, looking at that tattoo just reminds him of the ways he’s failed. How he hasn’t been able to make his mind into anything resembling strong, how there are days when he’s so weak even basic functions take too much effort. How a happy ending is feels so far away he can’t remember what one even looks like.

He shrugs, hand rubbing the tattoo unconsciously. “Maybe, I kinda just want to let this one fade out though. Maybe get a different one somewhere else.”

“Well, my offer of a free tattoo still stands, just name the day.” Buck says. 

Chris gasps and twists around in his seat, eyes bright with excitement. “Can I help you pick it out? Can I draw it? I’m good at lots of stuff now, and Buck can help!”

And he’s not sure what it is — the smile on Chris’s face at the idea, Buck’s matching one, the lingering frustration with his parents transforming into rebellion (something he hasn’t felt since he last got a tattoo), or a combination of the three. But before he can think too hard about it, he hears himself saying:

“You know what? Why not. I’ll get another tattoo, and you guys can design it.”

They cheer and high five each other, Chris hugging Eddie tight around the middle.

“But,” Eddie says, “I do want final approval. And no cartoon characters.”

“I promise, Dad, it’ll be the best tattoo ever!” Chris grabs his nearby notebook and starts doodling, chattering happily about what he thinks will look good. Buck catches his eye again and winks, and Eddie’s returning smile is the easiest it’s ever been.

He grabs the boxes he came back for and goes to the front, still smiling as he hears Buck and Chris very seriously discuss the details of what Eddie should get. He’s not nervous, really, but he does say a silent prayer to whoever is listening that they don’t pick something too big or too bold. He loves them both, but not that much.

~~~~~~~~~~

They take about a week to design it and are so secretive they might as well be planning a jewel heist. It seems like every time Eddie walks into a room, they’re there with their heads pressed together, whispering over sheets of paper and pens. When Eddie tries to sneak a peek, they quickly hide everything away so he can’t see. Buck throws his whole body on the table at one point just to cover up the sketches.

Again, he’s not nervous. But the anticipation does start to get to him.

Finally, after a busy Saturday full of wedding deliveries, they announce that the design is complete, and Eddie is scheduled at Armageddon the following Friday evening. Chris already has a sleepover with Denny that night and won’t be able to come, but he makes Eddie double pinky promise to send pictures to Hen as soon as it’s done. 

It’s Friday now, and Eddie is all set up at Buck’s station in the back of the shop, waiting to see the final product of Buck and Chris’s hard work. He is a little nervous now, but he mostly blames that on Buck, who keeps looking over the sketchpad, pen in hand like he wants to make last minute changes, or like something isn’t quite right.

“Just show me, Buck,” Eddie says after a few minutes of watching Buck bite his lip in worry. Whatever the design is, he’s sure he’ll love it, if for no other reason than because of the two people who made it.

“Okay, okay. You can be honest if you don’t like it, but I think you’re gonna like it.”

He flips the paper over, turning it towards Eddie. It’s a crescent of flowers, an unfinished wreath, featuring moonflowers, Eddie’s favorite, with their starburst centers spiraling open, and ox-eye daisies, which he knows Chris loves. Sprigs of lavender and thyme fill in the gaps, and there’s a small bee floating around the center. It’s beautiful and a little chaotic, but it’s perfect. Reminders of his son and peace and courage that he’ll be able to carry with him always, that he’ll be able to look at when he forgets that he is capable of bravery or deserving of peace. He stares at the sketch, taking in every detail, for who knows how long. Buck clears his throat to get his attention.

“Chris thought the daisies and moonflowers would look good together, and they’re both white so no need for color. I thought the herbs would be nicer than just plain leaves. And he wanted it in a ‘C’ shape, you know, for Christopher.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “And the bee?”

“Chris thought that would be cute, too, but you can nix that if you want.” There’s a faint blush dusting Buck’s cheeks as his eyes track down to the bee in question. “So, what do you think? Any major changes? You can tell me if you hate it, I won’t tell Chris.”

He looks up and Buck’s eyes are excited and worried all at once. Eddie would do anything to take the worry away, but at least this time it’s an easy fix.

“I don’t hate it, it’s perfect,” he says, handing the sketch back to Buck and settling back in the chair. “Let’s do this.”

Buck smiles brightly as he grabs an antiseptic wipe, holding Eddie’s right arm steady as he wipes down the area just below his elbow crease where the tattoo will go. Eddie knew he wanted it there as soon as he’d agreed to get one — he’d be able to see it easily when he needed to, and he liked that it matched the placement of his current one, would almost be replacing it if the words ever fully faded away. Once it’s cleaned, Buck puts a temporary transfer of the design there to trace over, starts up the tattoo machine, and loads the ink. The low buzzing of the machine mixes with the music playing and soft conversation coming from other clients in the shop, washing over Eddie like white noise.

Buck takes his arm again, machine in hand, and locks his eyes on Eddie. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“You can yell if it hurts too bad, just try not to pass out.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, says “It’ll be—” before cutting off with an involuntary hiss as the needle touches his skin. Buck snorts, and Eddie does his best to glare but feels it fall short.

He hadn’t worried about the pain — he vaguely remembered the sensation of being stabbed over and over again and didn’t remember it hurting that bad. He had also been shot before, so he figured he’d be able to handle it.

What he hadn’t taken into account was that for the next two hours or so, he and Buck would be very close together, close enough that Eddie can feel Buck’s breath on his arm as he traces over the outline, feels his strong hand on his wrist as he keeps Eddie from twitching. He had never been this close to Buck, had never allowed himself to be, and now that he is, he’s not sure how to act. He tries to look anywhere else, takes in the art on the wall, watches the other clients with Maddie and Chimney. He tries to make a to-do list for the weekend in his head, go over the things Chris will need for school next week, mentally figure out the designs for next week’s orders.

It’s all in vain, though, because no matter what, his eyes always drift back to Buck. From here, he can take in everything, and for once, he lets himself, because who knows when he’ll have this opportunity again. 

Buck’s brow is furrowed in concentration, blue eyes dark as they focus. He can almost count every eyelash, and his birthmark stands out even more than usual, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights. Eddie itches to reach out and touch it, feel how soft he imagines Buck’s skin to be under his fingertips. His cheekbones and jawline are sharp and beautiful, and Eddie wonders again how anyone could resist them. How someone could look at this man, have even one conversation with him, and decide they didn’t want more. He’s biting his lip as he finishes the first moonflower, and it turns and even darker pink as he releases it. Eddie gets a little lost imagining how those lips would feel on his, how gentle and warm and good. He imagines feeling them on his shoulder as they wake up on a Saturday morning, sees them laughing as they both make breakfast, trading kisses as they go. He wants to taste them, feel them moving down his neck, down his chest, wrapping around his—

He inhales quickly and shakes his head, because this is not the time nor the place to go down that particular road. Thankfully, Buck’s still in his own little world, eyes never leaving Eddie’s arm. He must mistake Eddie’s movement for discomfort, because he moves his free hand down from his wrist until they’re holding hands, Buck’s thumb moving slowly back and forth in comfort.

“You can squeeze if it hurts too bad,” he mutters, still not looking up. Thank god too, because Eddie can feel his face go bright red and his heart start working overtime.

The first pass takes about an hour, and they take a break so Eddie can stretch his legs and Buck can get more ink. There’s still some detailing left to do, but Eddie already can’t stop staring at the tattoo. It looks even better than the sketch, and having a tribute to his son literally branded on his skin fills a fiercely paternal part of him like nothing else ever has. There’s also a smug part that’s still 17 years old and can’t wait to see the looks on his parents’ faces when they have their next video call.

Buck finishes getting set up again and Eddie settles back in the chair. It’s quieter now — they’re the only two on the floor, Maddie and Chimney having finished up and moved to the back room, and the music playing over the speakers is something slower, stripped down, seems to filter into the room and soften all the hard edges of the world. Buck catches his eye from where he’s sitting, asking silent permission to start. Eddie nods, and he feels his heart swell when Buck automatically grabs his hand again. 

He’s got maybe 45 more minutes in this proximity to Buck, and he takes full advantage: notes the way his curls are starting to fall loose after a long day, tries to catalogue each shift of his face, every twitch of concentration, the shadow of his stubble growing in. Getting to study him like this — memorize the details of the beautiful face that houses an even more beautiful soul — makes all the feelings Eddie’s been trying to fight for months now bubble to the surface, fizzing inside of him like pop bubbles. 

But there’s a chill that settles in as well, because despite his heart desperately pulling him towards this man, he reminds himself once again that he can’t have this. He can’t let himself have this, can’t do that to Buck. He’s supposed to be forgetting about his feelings, releasing them so they can both be happy — Buck with someone who deserves him and Eddie...alone. With Chris, but still. Alone. And now he has to wrestle with that while a slide show of Buck’s every facial feature plays through his head on a likely infinite loop.

He can’t forget as easily as he thought. If he’s honest, there’s a small, hopeful part of himself that doesn’t want to forget, that never wanted to forget, and it’s getting louder and harder to ignore with each passing minute.

“Done!” Buck says as he turns off the machine and wipes away the last of the excess ink. Eddie looks at the finished product, a soft smile settling on his lips. He looks up and sees Buck watching him, looking hopeful. “What do you think?”

Eddie’s finger hovers over a daisy reverently. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers, smile spreading as he meets Buck’s eye again. “Thank you, Buck.”

Buck returns the smile, squeezing Eddie’s hand where they’re still clasped together, neither of them moving to let go. They’re still in each other’s bubble, close enough that Eddie can still count Buck’s eyelashes, and he watches Buck watch him for a moment. His eyes roam his face like he too is cataloging Eddie from here, and that hopeful voice is convincing him that from where they’re sitting, it’d be so easy to lean in and confirm exactly what Buck tastes like, how his lips would feel under his own. Just six inches away from allowing himself to be happy, because he can’t imagine being anything else with Buck.

His phone goes off from his pocket, immediately bursting the bubble, both of them flinching as the loud trill fills the shop. They both know it’s Chris, but he still looks at Buck apologetically, like it’s his fault for shattering whatever atmosphere they’d just been living in. Buck just waves toward the phone, squeezing his hand one more time before letting go to clean up his station. He talks to Chris for a bit, showing him the tattoo from every angle, and Chris talks to Buck as well, gushing about what a great job Buck did. Buck blushes at the praise, and that tug of want pulls at Eddie again.

They hang up and Eddie gathers his things while listening to Buck’s strict aftercare instructions, both heading to the front door so Buck can lock up. 

“Are you sure I can’t pay you?” Eddie asks.

“I told you it was on the house and I meant that. Plus it’s nice to work on someone I actually care about.”

Eddie feels his face get warm, hopes the neon lights in the window are bright enough to cover it up. It gets warmer as they continue looking at each other, neither willing to break their little bubble again. He thinks he sees Buck move more toward him, like he wants to get closer, but he stops himself before following through, leaning back on his heels instead, looking sheepish.

“Goodnight, Eddie. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

Eddie waves as he leaves, stepping into the cool night to walk back to the apartment. He keeps glancing down at his arm on the walk and while he’s getting ready for bed, thinking of the care Chris and Buck both put into creating it. That small voice in his head keeps nagging him, saying Buck wouldn’t do something like this, something this personal, for just anyone. He complains about his clients enough for Eddie to know that’s true.

Maybe the voice is on to something. As he falls asleep, Eddie lets himself think that maybe, maybe, on top of everything, on top of two years of friendship and flowers and looks that make Eddie’s insides flutter, maybe these feelings he’s been trying to ignore aren’t as one sided as he thought.

Maybe he has a chance.

[morfinwen]

For the Excessively Detailed Headcanon ask: 4 for Angela, 5 for Christopher, 12 for Reagan, 39 for Neal, 43 for Lanzo, 7 for Ash, 46 for Connie, 35 for Aidan, 20 for Q, 22 for Nate, 19 for Amanda, 23 for Niner, 42 for Elise, 11 for Julie, 26 for Jerome, 24 for Kayla, 18 for Hannah, 17 for Knife, 32 for Elarin, 31 for Meaghan, 38 for Leah, 48 for Avery, 1 for Ian, 8 for Lauren, 15 for Kira, 37 for Darcy, and 16 for Susanna.

Almost forgot the read more!

1. What does Ian’s bedroom look like?

Contained chaos. Poorly contained chaos.

He’s got a bed, a desk, a dresser, and an end table. The desk is the tidiest: the papers on it are stacked haphazardly, there might be a pen or pencil or two lying on it but most are in the drawer, and if something that doesn’t belong gets set on it there’s at least a chance it’ll get moved by the end of the week.

The dresser is mostly for stacking stuff on top of, and storing clothes he no longer wears but hasn’t gotten rid of yet. There’s usually a jacket or a shirt or some more awkward piece of clothing hanging off one of the knobs. 

The bedside table has his phone, its charger, and a variety of junk -- mail he brought to the bedroom to read, a comb he forgot to take back to the bathroom, a half-full (or half-empty) glass of water, a pair of socks he picked up to wear then forgot about, a single slipper set there while he was looking for its mate, etc.

There's sheets on his bed, plus a blanket if it's been cold lately, but if the corners of the fitted sheet are all pulled over the mattress, then it is tidier than usual. Whatever he’s wearing for night clothes at the moment, if he’s even bothering, will be anywhere from near the pillows (he has two very flat pillows that are usually in pillowcases) to hanging off the foot. The sheets, it’s worth noting, often have cartoon characters on them.

The floor is hidden under a layer of clothes, towels, shoes, blankets, boxes, sheets, books, etc. About the only things you won't find on the floor are plates or food-related items, anything that will attract bugs, as well as loose papers since those pose a falling hazard (everything else just makes him stumble). 

4. What would Angela do if she needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

If there’s something near to hand that doesn’t require the kitchen, she’d have that, but most likely she’d wait until it was available. She doesn’t particularly like or dislike cooking, but she does not like fast food, and she’s patient.

5. Christopher’s cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

There are places he cares about cleanliness, and there are places he does not.

Most of his living quarters, particularly the kitchen, are spotless. Dishes get washed and the table and counters wiped down immediately after eating. Clothes get folded or hung as soon as they’re dry, and dirty ones go straight in the hamper. Making the bed happens almost as soon as he gets out of it.

Christopher’s work areas, on the other hand, are disaster zones. Anything that might provide some inspiration, or is part of that thing from two months ago he’s still working on, or was used for that other thing two years ago he wants to revisit, ends up on a desk or a table or lying on the floor somewhere, and isn’t getting put away until he’s done with it. No one is permitted to touch anything -- he knows exactly where everything is (which is true, and he can prove it too), and it’s all part of his own particular organizational system (which is … less true; there’s some organizing going on, but it’s less of a system and more of a feeling), so leave it where it is.

His personal hygiene is hit-or-miss. Brushing teeth, usually a hit; showering, often a miss, unless he’s performing soon.

7. Ash’s favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

It isn’t necessary to schedule every hour of your day, but even after a few years of regular contact with Lanzo, Ash still does not have what Lanzo considers a proper appreciation for the value of lazing around.

That said, for years Ash has found it difficult to ignore the allure of a summer afternoon nap; particularly when it’s raining outside, he’s just had a mug of relaxing lavender tea, there’s a soft blanket and the entire couch is free to stretch out on … zzzz.

8. Lauren’s favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

If she’s had a really rough week, the first chance she gets, she’s having a hot bath, followed by a bowl of cinnamon ice cream while watching either a screwball comedy or a tragic romance, whichever she feels like.

Lauren’s got a fair amount of good old-fashioned Catholic guilt, but it’s heavily concentrated in certain areas and almost never touches other things. Some things she’s overindulged in and never felt guilty about, other relatively harmless things have kept her awake at night for hours. The above scenario usually doesn’t make her feel bad.

11. Julie’s intellectual pursuits

Julie is -- well, was, post-Allwinter -- attending college, for what would probably end up being a degree in History, but she likes reading about all kinds of different things. Mostly psychology and philosophy, but also about other cultures, geography, and nature, specifically trees and plants. She’s one of those jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none types, only more with knowledge than skills.

12. Reagan’s favorite book genre

Science-fiction or fantasy. A slight preference for the former, as she’s found it easier to find sci-fi graphic novels. 

With her dyslexia, Reagan doesn’t read much, so anything that is easily read, and more importantly easily visualized, is her favorite, regardless of genre.

15. Kira’s biggest and smallest short term goals

Biggest: Survive high school. In the third-largest city in the country. Where she knows no one. No problem! (said with major sarcasm)

Smallest: Find a way to remember her locker combination so she doesn’t need to carry around a scrap of paper with it written on it.

16. Susanna’s biggest and smallest long term goals

Smallest: Learn to do a handspring.

Biggest: Get elected president of the United States.

17. Knife’s preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Customizable!

From a young age, Knife’s mostly gotten plain t-shirts and jean jackets that she could decorate herself, with fabric markers or felt patches or (for a very brief period in middle school) bedazzle. It was one of the few things she could keep doing after the accident, which changed it from just a hobby to a representation of her independence and self-image, and therefore practically sacred. Not that everything she wears is customized, just most of it. She’s also familiar with sewing basics, not enough to make her own clothes from scratch, but she can modify them.

As far as “rituals”, it is important to her to display something she’s decorated or modified the first time she wears it. She’s not looking for praise or even acceptance really, just acknowledgement. 

18. Hannah’s favorite beverage

Chocolate milk. She also drinks a lot of Sunny D.

19. What does Amanda think about before falling asleep at night?

Ideas for new articles. Sometimes ones she could reasonably write for work, others are something she might want to work on independently in the future, and still others are too niche or weird for publishing anywhere but are just fun to think about. 

20. Q’s childhood illness? Any interesting stories behind them?

When Q was very little, he was more prone to catching any bugs that were getting passed around him. As he’s gotten older, that’s become less of a problem, but he’s got a 50/50 chance of getting the flu in a given year. 

Once he was old enough to go to boarding school, and therefore came under the jurisdiction of his aunt and uncle, if he so much as sneezed or coughed suspiciously, that was grounds for him taking the day off school and spending it in his room instead, with a steady supply of fluids and soups, regular check-ups by staff, and a nurse if his temperature climbed a degree too high. 

On the one hand, it was great to get out of school, and probably prevented him from getting sicker in at least a few cases, as he didn’t get exposed to more germs while his immune system was already busy. On the other, it didn’t take him too many years to realize this was his aunt and uncle’s way of protecting an asset rather than any kind of familial concern for his health, which kind of ruined it as relaxation. 

Honestly, the worst thing about it (from Q’s perspective) is how very Rich Kid™ that was, and how much of an effect it had on him. The first few times he got sick as an adult on his own in LA were not pretty.

22. Nate, given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Doodles or little comics, poking fun at people who annoy or aggravate him but he isn't willing or able to confront. 

23. How organized is Niner? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in her everyday life?

From a certain perspective, Niner is very organized: she organizes everything into two categories, stuff she cares about and stuff she doesn’t. She keeps the two things very separate in her day-to-day life. Stuff she doesn’t care about gets ignored, left alone, or explicitly dismissed, while the stuff she cares about gets her full attention -- at least for a little while.

24. Is there one subject of study that Kayla excels at? Or does she even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Kayla values intellectual pursuits, but they’re not of particular interest to her, generally speaking. She’s mostly interested in keeping the house clean, helping Hannah grow up healthy and happy, and just figuring out all the various aspects of being alive.

26. Does Jerome have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t work out?

Pre-Allwinter, Jerome’s future plans mostly had to do with Hannah’s future (health, college, career, etc.) and eventually retirement. He and Kayla hoped to adopt at some point, since she couldn’t have kids herself, but at the time it wasn’t something they were directing energy toward. None of those plans were hard-and-fast, so they didn’t really require contingency plans.

Now, he has even fewer plans, as just figuring out how things work in the Allwinter and adjusting to it is a full-time occupation. He has an excellent support network now, so even if he does make plans that don’t work out, he’s pretty sure he’s in a good place.

31. Meaghan’s most prized possession

Her lightsaber. Not just because of its usefulness, but because how much it represents everything that’s happened since her exile and return to the Order. It’s different from her first one, in its materials, construction, and design, and shows how much she’s changed and grown. 

Also, it’s a fricking lightsaber. Not even Meaghan is immune to the awesomeness that is a fricking lightsaber.

32. Elarin’s thoughts on material possessions in general

Unlike Meaghan, Elarin followed the Jedi regulations on owning possessions because she had to, and because she didn’t have many opportunities to violate it, not because she believed in it. She hasn’t acquired many things herself, but while she understands the dangers of greed and the potential to get buried by one’s things, she thinks getting hung up on how many possessions someone has is missing the forest for the trees, or whatever the Star Wars equivalent idiom is.

35. What activities does Aidan enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Meticulous fan wikis that document how many times a character shows up, or how many times a character in a 1,000-issue manga eats this particular flavor of ramen, or document every slang term used in a sci-fi series. It’s fascinating to read or think about documenting, but really Mac, don’t you have anything better to do with your time?

37. Is Darcy more analytical or more emotional in his decision-making?

He is much more analytical than emotional. Not quite as analytical or as immune to emotion as he thinks, but still very analytical.

38. Would Leah consider herself a Type A or Type B personality?

Still Type B, though that defined her better pre-War. 

39. What recharges Neal when he’s feeling drained?

Anything that can either be done alone, or in a group setting where talking isn’t expected, but keeps him occupied enough that his thoughts don’t overwhelm him. For Neal, painting, playing the drums or guitar, surfing, or sculpting fit that bill. The last two more than the former.

42. Elise’s hobbies

Tennis is the main one. She and an old friend from high school get together every so often for a game, and she’s taught Julie to play. She also jogs on occasion.

Elise isn’t as in to knitting or crocheting as other people she knows, but it’s something to do with her hands when she’s watching something: usually baseball, as she is a loyal New York Yankees fan.

If she has a few hours of downtime, she’s a fan of old-school Mario games and in particular speedrunning, without using glitches or cheats. She’s got a very respectable time.

43. How far did Lanzo get in formal education? What are his views on formal education vs self-education?

A brief Google search tells me little about education for medieval German nobility, but for Lanzo i imagine it involved a Latin grammar school (probably through a local church) and university. He was not a particularly diligent student at the time, and if there was some way for him to stay at home with a tutor instead, he would have taken it.

Formal education has its merits, but Lanzo is absolutely in favor of delaying college or skipping it entirely if you like. He's supportive of the idea of self-education, but from his perspective, how your life turns out is at least as dependent on luck as anything deliberate. He does recommend learning rudimentary finance stuff and something that will reliably give you work, however (if you can’t marry someone loaded).

46. Does Connie express his thoughts through words or deeds?

It takes him time to express anything, as he wants to think it through from beginning to end before he’s comfortable sharing them, but words, mostly. Not that he’s unwilling to follow through with actions.

48. How does Avery express love?

In love language terms, Gift Giving and Acts of Service (in game mechanics terms, giving gifts and helping out with personal side missions). For those she really cares about, she’ll make the effort to spend time with them even when they’re not doing anything interesting, but she’s a busy, active woman who gets distracted easily, so that’s less common.

Thanks for asking!

[first-living-myth]

Summer Made Children

Picture credit to @unbeknownsst

Jade hurt his ankle, and is laid up with cast and crutches. Jesse is sitting next to him, doodling heart on their cast to cheer him up.

Summer-made children, to come back to,

JESSE

"Did you fell off the tree?"

Mom indeed been working temp as a nurse (that's why she's not home every nigh; she's working in the emergency unit though the evening till early morning) not even once-- Jess ever saw someone with broken bone and casted leg in front of his eyes. He sat a little away from the bed: unnecessarily looking terrified. This is one of the weekly trip to dad's place as the adults call it, holidays. Yet if it's a holiday why Mom always looked rather sour everytime he's being picked up of the apartment? He noticed so; children always do, her tightened jaw and stifled frown and a little bid of adieu that sounded like, I want him back in Sunday before 7 pm, instead of a nice 'Have a nice weekend!'

"Did bad kids hit you?"

His eyes are all doe; the thing that would still be with him once he later grown up into a man, doe, big eyes. Although little legs just decided to took himself onto the chair right next to the older kid's study, keeping distance from the bed, afraid those little clumsy hands of his would leave the boy in pain accidentally. (he is clumsy, big one.)

"Is it broken?"

(Little gasp!)

"Do you need help!"

JADE

Jade Huang was twelve and he fell from the stairs.

The classroom is large and daunting, far too threatening for Jade's tiny brain to comprehend. He did not like it, not even the slightest. However, he dare not to refuse his mom’s will, forced him to get off to school no matter what. Typical Asian parents, he dare say. He wore plain silky white shirt, short sleeve, tapered western, baggy lightweight black pants, then also his most remarkable sceptical and somewhat supercilious, with its odd rectangular, thick dark brown glasses. It was quite unhinged actually, due to the constant damage he shoved.  He likes to throw things around when too immersed with something; bad habit never cease, just like wonder does.

Jade never once revel in commingling coeval groups, simply enough, he prefers to be alone. Hence, he wouldn’t get surprised anymore if the peers around him despise his presence; uncanny, an oddball, yet shrewd to say the least. He could never mingle well, a perfect misfit. Then, when lunch time comes, he always sits beneath the tall primeval, verdant, gigantic and gnarled, shady trees, all alone but with his fine, readable, small leather-bound books. He would read anything, from classic literature, until full-colored comics. 

Whether he will understand the contexts or not, possibly more coherent with the latter, it wouldn't be a problem. Reading was and only his solace, in amidst of boisterous cacophony.

“Oi, clotpole!”

A chubby, bald, slanted eyes, noteworthy flabby tummy, has appeared. He seems cute, yes, to others, indeed. But Jade, himself, saw the other child, named Jason, as his mortal enemy; Jason oftentimes beat Jade until he felt like his end was near, pulled childish pranks, such as stole Jade’s favorite toy and many others. As usual, he chose to be wise, at least he thought, to ignore the impudent boy. 

“I said, oi, clotplole! Didn’t you hear or are you deaf?”

“What do you want this time?” He asked, nonchalantly. 

“Buy this for me! You’re rich, aren’t you?”

Jason said with a glimmer in his eyes, playful just like a misbehaving child would, while proud, holding up a crumpled, frayed brittle, piece of paper. There was a picture of something, he was unable to limn it, because it wasn’t considered as one of his interests. One thing for certain, it was some kind of toy.

“Why?”

“Because I want to!”

“Why?”

“You’re rich?”

“Why?”

“Just buy it, motherfucker!”

“But I don’t want to, and my statement is final.” his tone surprisingly even, almost studious.

“You bloody wonker!”

The next thing Jade knows, he was at home, laid up with cast and crutches. He was unconcious for a while, and refused to talk. Even when the old fine looking aunty was talking to him, he kept his mouth shut. Albeit seen disheveled, his gaze fixated on looking at a child of eight or nine, all pale skin and thin bones and dark, tangled hair. 

Ahn Jaesuk, the name of the child. But he prefers to call him Jesse, as prolly everyone did. This is their third meeting, Jade was slightly content, thrilled yet he did want to show it. 

“Hi, Jesse.”

JESSE

"Did it hurt?"

The kid talks so much. So-fucking much, he pulls the chair closer to the bed that his curious side grows. Frown curls in response; he's so expressive in the contrary to the older boy regarding to his either reaction or feelings, big, even. He gives big reactions to almost anything.

(His expressions changes often when he's trying to read Jade's collection of books; the expression where he barely understands letters, the expressions where he found a new verb he never heard before, the expression where he  found BIG ACTIONS in the comic books! Later growing up he'll find fondness specially towards DC Comics.)

"I mean, when the bad kids hit you."

Did he come too straightforward? No means to offend, but,

"Or did you really fell off the tree!"

He's careful not to jump into the bed. Sick people needs bigger space, Mom once said. She's the nurse afterall; a pro in sick person, making them less sick, helping the doctors to help the sick. The easy way in comprehending the term in the brain of a nine year old.

"So, do you, need a help when you need to go to pee? Was it hurt when they put the cast on your feet? Mom said where the bone is broken it will be swollen and painful.

JADE

Jade is the only child and he didn't know how to deal with a little brother, the one who acted and played like so. He didn’t know how to deal with Jesse, even though he had done lots of research. By all means, reading many books that he could possibly find, few have been proven useful, but the rest look ridiculous though. A snippet from Jade’s reading material, ‘Raising A Kid’, ‘Teaching Boy About Things’, ‘Shit Brothers Said’, ‘I am A Brother’, and the list goes on. Well, what would you expect from someone mediocre, twelve years old, plain yet geeky boy? 

“Hey, do you know what word to describe someone that asks too many questions, talk too much, like you?” 

Jade asked, mimicking a wiseacre or smart aleck look alike’s expression, his brow wrinkled as he leaned in close to headboard, which was covered in white pillows, in his smaller and rather austere bedroom. 

“I read it in a book, apparently those people are called loquacious.” Jade slurs. He was slightly worried if this is the right choice or not; he was concerned, he hardly believed anything at all. One of the human nature, future is always seemed scary, because they cannot control it; predictions, however, is in another hand. Now, Jade prayed with all his might, he's able to, at least, produce a good outcome through this.  

Even so, Jade stilled in disbelief, a hefty sigh escaped successfully. It’s not like it should be a surprise, or anything, because even at the very first meeting, Jesse couldn’t shut up; a brazen young boy, inquisitive most of the time. But the child seemed fastidious about Jade’s current condition and all. Many would think Jesse was being annoying, making the whole plight vexatiously so, most certainly to a sick, helpless boy. However, Jade saw things differently, it was adorable, cute to be truth, and amusing to look at. 

He felt the sudden urge to squish, pinch those plump cheeks, when he was watching vacuously open, soft vermeil, comparatively dainty lips of Jesse’s keep moving and talking. And so, he did, unconsciously and makes wonder spread in his chest.

“It’s hurt, the pain still lingers but I guess I’m okay.” He laughed, dryly. “Someone pushed me. From the stairs. It was scary. It was high. He was bigger than you. Strange.” He said, intermittently so.

JESSE

"What?"

He sounded as chirpy, until a really, foreign word hits his ear, over a pronounciation that the little boy barely could repeat. Mouth opens; involuntarily, a gape visible, and he doesn't even know that he's making that face for that brief moment,

<: O

(That's exactly the face he is making.)

Doe-eyed, mouth-gaped, briefly silent; do all 12 years old be this cool? Or only because Jade spent more times with books instead of communicating with actual person? But Jess surely never heard that word before.

  "--Lo, locucious." Hey, he tried his best to repeat that out. Hopefully the older one still has that emphaty to correct the kid, or he will grow sticking to it until someone else is kind enough to point out. But Jess knows the word, retaliation!

Don't ask where did he learn that but Batman comics taught him so! Inclusing many scientific terms (he believed they are scientific, because, Detective Comics,) that came out of the same comic book series.

Jess also spent too much time reading colorful comics.

He gave out big reactions, remember? Again, big frown curling over his big displease of an expression in which  shifted in no time upon the progression of the story; someone pushed me, fell from the stairs, it still hurt--- he cringed a big fear, he was bigger than you; and his frown curling up into a fright. As if the older boy was telling him a horror, bed story time. (Would Jade read him bed story times?).

And he looked up the other boy with  that same fright. Is he worried? Well, look at his face right now? "....Joshua got his knee hurt too when we played football in school," Joshua, Joshua Carson, his classmate, but he didn't mention about the fact that the mentioned boy as his classmate. "He skipped school for two! Weeks! I envy!! But then I missed him so I visit him everyday after school."

Chirpy, chirpy little boy,

"Uh-oh do you want me to take your drink!!"

(The story is still in progress).

[allofthismatters]

Here’s some domestic, early-morning Avalance I wrote while not wanting to get out of bed myself. :)

Ao3

All Sara remembers from the night before was falling asleep too early and waking up to pitch dark, rain whipping against the window, her heart pounding and hands trembling. She never did well waking up in bad weather; it felt too much like waking up on a slab of shipwrecked metal in a rushing ocean.

She remembers gathering Ava close and holding tight, her half-asleep words of comfort helping Sara’s lungs to work again. It’s so different than years past, when nothing could break through the panicked horror of her nightmares until her body had exhausted itself back into unconsciousness.

The next time she wakes up, the sky is a deep grey, muted by clouds and drizzle, hinting at daylight that’s still a while away. Her arms are empty now and she’s alone, but it’s so early and she’s still so tired that she can’t find the energy to worry.

She’s not sure when waking up unexpectedly alone stopped being accompanied by a wave of nausea and ringing in her ears. Only that now, when she does, she listens for Ava in the kitchen or the shower and doesn’t start to catalog all the reasons she may have finally given up on her and left in the night.

She moves herself to the middle of the bed and melts back into the warm linens Ava left behind, focusing on the soft rustling downstairs. The sound of Ava making coffee is so familiar now that Sara can almost see it.

She hears the bag opening, hot water pouring over grounds, one mug set down gently so that it doesn’t make too much noise, the other mug making a loud clatter followed by Ava softly swearing at it. The scrape of the glass milk jug sliding off a shelf, the clink of a spoon stirring against ceramic and the muffled slap of the refrigerator door closing.

It’s one of Sara’s favorite things Ava does. She’s not sure why—maybe just because in all the insanity of her life, she’s not used to someone who knows her and loves her well enough to take care of her like this. The smaller the thing, the more she treasures it.

She’d never quite figured out how to make really good coffee herself. It always came out too strong or too weak, and most of her adult life had been filled with much bigger problems to solve.

But Ava’s coffee is perfect—she adds the perfect amount of cream, stirs in a hint of cinnamon and always takes a sip of Sara’s before she hands it to her.

More than once, Sara had caught herself absently thinking that she wanted Ava to be the one making every cup of coffee she would ever drink. The first time, she’d panicked. Nearly gotten sick at how unguarded she’d become. It had been such a warm, fleeting series of thoughts, showing up before she could stop herself…the two of them settling into their 40s someday, Sara making breakfast while Ava scoops grounds out of a bag, moving around each other easily from years of habit…a couple of years from now in a cabin somewhere on vacation, buying herself a few more minutes before she gets up so she can lay in bed and watch Ava fiddle with unfamiliar kitchen appliances in just her underwear…on any inevitable day in their future where they wake up angry at each other, Ava still setting down a mug in front of Sara abruptly and walking away until they’re ready to talk things out.

Since when did she start thinking that far into the future? Since when did she even consider she had that much of a future to look forward to?

Since Ava, apparently. It scares her, but the more she’s let herself think of it, the more she wants it. All of it. The good, the chaos, the warm safety of a life together, and any ugly, horrible days that come with it.

Her wandering mind comes back to the present as she hears Ava’s bare feet climbing the stairs and stepping onto carpet. She sets down two cups and nudges Sara back to her side of the bed with her knee.

Sara lets herself rest in the moment. Nowhere to be, nothing to do besides watch as she reaches for her book and starts reading. It’s barely light out, the world is quiet, and Ava is so, so beautiful. Her hair is still damp and unbrushed from their hasty shower the night before, but still manages to fall in a way that makes Sara want to tangle her hands in it and kiss her senseless. She watches Ava’s lips twitch into a hint of a smile as her eyes scan the pages.

Mona had harassed Ava into reading Harry Potter and she’s grudgingly enjoying it. The copy she’s holding was Sara’s when she was young, the cover worn and margins covered in doodled words and shapes that Sara can see from where she lays. She always absently drew in her books as a kid, never able to focus otherwise. Laurel hated it, which only made Sara do it more.

She blinks against unexpected hot tears that burn the backs of her eyes. When she and Laurel were younger and occasionally let themselves giggle and daydream about their futures, it always assumed a husband for each of them. As she got older and found herself slipping away with a girl here or there at a high school party to share a bit of drunken intimacy, she told herself it was just for fun, just something everyone experiments with when they’re that age.

She prioritized the longing she felt toward boys over what she felt toward girls, because what else was she supposed to do? She’d heard the charitable but distant way her family talked about the children of the occasional acquaintance—

Oh, the Sampsons down the street said their girl is going through one of those bisexual phases… god bless them for taking it so well.

The Johnsons’ daughter cut her hair short and brought home her little girlfriend for Thanksgiving…but hey, people should be able to do what they want, right? None of my business, I guess.

She tried not to let it bother her but suffered bouts of desperate sadness at the thought of falling in love by chance with someone her family might not know how to embrace.

All of that seems so far away now, laying there with Ava, living—to some extent—the most well adjusted life her family could have ever imagined for their wild daughter.

She tries to burn the sight of Ava holding her old book into her mind and send it back through time and space to her younger self.

Don’t worry, kid, she’s more than you could imagine, and they would have ended up liking her better than they like you.

The thought makes her smile and she moves closer, pulling Ava’s robe away and kissing the side of her thigh. She grimaces at a sizable bruise that must have come from their mission the prior day—it had been fairly uneventful but left the team tired, overheated and irritable.

“Hi.”

“Morning,” Ava responds, reaching to move Sara’s hair off her face and smiling down at her.

“If Ray still wants us all to go hiking today after yesterday, I’m going to put him in the jump ship and leave him in the Stone Age.”

Ava breathes out a laugh and slides down until their faces are close together.

“I support that.” She kisses the tip of Sara’s nose and then rubs her own against it.

Sara feels her whole face break into a smile and presses her lips to Ava’s a few times, and then a few times more just because she can, before she tucks herself against Ava’s chest. The drizzle outside picks up to a steady rain again, and they nestle in closer to each other, an unspoken agreement that they aren't going anywhere today.

Sara takes her time breathing in and then back out. It took her so long to learn how to breathe again, but here she is, somewhere close to healthy, and right in the middle of happy. Happier than she ever thought she would manage. In a minute she’ll sit up and drink her coffee and maybe even get up to make breakfast, but first, she turns her mind back to an earlier version of herself one more time and thinks, with Ava’s warm breath against her hair and a lump of emotion in her throat…

You have nothing to worry about.

[dopposhusband]

You asked for it and here it is @yokairu​, my new AU!

The alternate universe where I take in Jiro and Saburo as my brothers!

The AU starts between the time Ichiro was involved with Kuko as ‘Naughty Busters’ and when he joined ‘Mad Comic Dialog’. During then I had just moved out to Japan and rather unsuccessfully trying to start my career, so I was pretty broke and living on my own in Ikebukuro. When I wasn’t working, which was often during this time, I would roam the city to keep myself occupied or look for inspiration for another project I could add to my portfolio. During one of my times out I found Saburo and Jiro being approached by some older kids trying to take the money they had on them to pick up groceries. Seeing it I intervened and y’know being technically an adult was more than enough to scare them off. Next time I saw them on my route they had bought me some melon pan with the little money they had as a thank you.

Then on I would see them all the time on my walks around the city, they would complain about their older brother or issues they had a school. Once I got a peek of their lives at the orphanage I tried my damnedest to keep a little bit of extra cash aside for them so I help get a little more food in them. However, on one day I didn’t see them at the usual time, my older brother instincts were screaming at me to go to the orphanage so I ran as fast as I could. When I made it through the doors I was welcomed to the the directors gang trying to kidnap them. I took out my mic and did my best to fight them off, but it worked more as a distraction as I moved for them to run with me to my place to hide. Once it had blown over I had taken in the two, Ichiro had tried to visit them during but it wouldn’t end well for him, so he kept his eyes on them from afar. Soon after we would start getting random envelopes of money he’d put through our door’s mail slot.

Fast forward to the main timeline, I had already bought the three of us a brand new place to live since I was making a pretty good amount now! On the first floor was our living space, a living room, kitchen and a room for each of us and on the second floor was my workplace with my computer and graphic design equipment. Unfortunately, Jiro and Saburo’s idolization came with this universe as well with the two constantly butting heads for my approval. The worst it gets is on my birthday, since the day was right before Jiro’s and he would rub it in to Saburo that we got to celebrate together. Other than that, we were living pretty good, but the day the mics came our quiet life was thrown into the air. I knew no one and with my brother’s begging to join my team I was forced to agree out of fear of what Chuuoko might do if I hadn’t had a team by the deadline. 

Meeting the other divisions we would be going against at the DRB was unnerving, I really didn’t want to have to worry about my younger bros fighting men nearly double their age, but it hit harder when I saw Ichiro there as well. He was the leader of the new universe Rabid Rapids and we would be forced to take them head on, we would lose the fight. While it had been a very terrible first experience for the three of us, Jiro and Saburo hadn’t lost their will and were even more determined to win the next one. I was proud of them but the battle left me with more uneasy feelings than anything, specifically about Ichiro and if I had unintentionally split up a family.

The two of us had run into each other the night before the battle and I had gotten to know him outside of the letters of cash he left behind for us. He spoke so fondly of his brothers with such a broken cadence that I couldn’t help but feel like I had taken away a brother they could’ve had. I tried to say something but before I could he just thanked me for taking such good care of them and left. The second most important person I had met on those days before the battle was Jinguji Jakurai, a former member of the once feared Dirty Dawg. While the two were at school I had called him with a million things I needed answers to.

Was Ichiro a good person?

Where was he all this time?

Does he deserve to see his brothers?

Did I take his brothers away from him?

It was definitely a lot to put on someone at once, especially over the phone, so after calming me down he made his way over to help me with any issues I had. Jakurai was such a genuine person out of the three members other ex-members, so I didn’t feel I had to worry about him being biased. To keep it simple, I felt terrible when I found out everything Ichiro was doing behind the scenes to keep his brothers safe at that orphanage. I DESTROYED A FAMILY. The rest of the plot of the AU is just slowly reintroducing Ichiro to his brothers and reuniting them with tons of family fluff in the middle.

Extra Info/facts for the AU!!!

⚽ I was thinking about changing the name of the group from ‘Buster Bros!!!’ to ‘Other Bros!!!’ short for Other Brothers since we’re brothers from other families! (Might change Rabid Rapids too but I dont have an idea yet)

♟ The animal theme has switched from the Rabid Rapids to us with me keeping my pink rabbit hoodie, but now Jiro has a light blue dog hood and Saburo has a pale yellow cat hoodie!

⚽ Jiro and Saburo help me with screen printing jobs!

♟ Since my Kanji reading is atrocious Saburo doesn’t make fun of Jiros inability to read Kanji in this universe.

⚽ Hifumi and I keep in contact after the battle so he can teach me how to cook healthier meals for the bros.

♟ Samatoki and Ichiro are on better terms but only because Ichiro has no energy to pick fights with him.

⚽ Since Im a graphic designer the bros are more creatively inclined instead of musically, Jiro still plays guitar but now he makes stencils for whenever he goes tagging. Infact, for Jiro’s room we got a bunch of acoustic wall foam for his walls and spray painted designs on them. I also painted a side of Saburo’s room with blackboard paint so he can use chalk to doodle or work out homework.

♟ I was thinking of adding a part where in the orphanage battle where I get some sort of eye damage and have to get glass eye so I’d get a green one so we can match having odd eyes. Although, I wasn’t sure if that was too much, so its still just an idea.

[tiny-cloud-dragon]

FF7: Random Bits 4 Chapter 3

[Setting: Zack is having a bothersome tooth pulled, and Cloud is elected the lucky man to pick him up from his appointment.]

[Location: Just outside the Main Building - Early afternoon]

Cloud helped Zack, who was back to humming "Tip-Toe Through The Tulips", to the waiting car, where he was faced with a new problem: How to load a giant black wolf into a small sedan. In hindsight, he probably should have requested one of the equipment transports instead of a passenger car.

After a few moments of pondering the issue, Cloud decided to do what was known as a Shift Reset. Occasionally, SOLDIERs would get stuck in their ELITE forms. It usually happened to new ELITEs, who were still getting the hang of Shifting, but it also afflicted even experienced ELITEs if they were extremely exhausted or rendered unconscious.

There were two methods for performing a Shift Reset. The first involved an experienced ELITE using their telepathic link to go in and poke the part of the other ELITE's brain that controlled Shifting. It required a deft mental hand and a fair amount of accuracy if they didn't want to turn the other guy's brain into something that resembled a porridge emulsion. The second method required little accuracy, was much faster, and could be used in any situation. It had actually been discovered by accident when Zack had been attempting to wake an ELITE who had fallen asleep during class. Due to the particularly concussive nature of this method, it had become known as 'hitting the reset button'.

Considering the situation, Cloud went with the faster, easier method. He pulled wobbly Wolf Zack around to the passenger side, opened the door, slapped him sharply on the back of the skull, then shoved the now mildly concussed Human Zack into the passenger's seat and shut the door.

Zack sat in the passenger's seat, staring blankly at his oddly shaped paws while his faculties held an emergency meeting to argue over what shape he was currently in. Things went down hill after Sight and Memory got into a row over who was the least trustworthy, especially after several beers and what happened at last year's New Year's Eve party with 'that girl' that ended with them having to explain why Zack woke up in a back alley cuddling a broom.

From there it turned into a free for all, complete with shouting, random memory files being thrown around in an accusing manner, figurative finger pointing, table flipping, and someone setting a fire in the rubbish bin. It was then that Zack's Brain farted, and Memory forgot why he was trying to throttle Sight, but he did  finally remember what shape Zack was in. The other Faculties cheered, sheepishly avoiding looking each other in the metaphorical eyes.

Ability pulled Attention out of the wreckage of a flipped table, Reason conscientiously put ou the fire, and Volition fetched Speech out from behind the potted plant where he had been hiding. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, they all went off for a relaxing group smoke.

Zack finally realized that those soft, noodley things on the ends of his paws were fingers. That meant that those weren't paws, but hands. Oh, he was back in his normal shape! He watched as Cloud settled in behind the steering wheel, his balloon head floating up to rest at a haphazard angle against the vehicle's roof liner.

Zack was about to ask him how he could see with his head rolling against the roof like that, when Cloud put the car in drive and it drove off without them, leaving them sitting in mid-air. Zack wondered if this was how Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy felt every time they rode in the Invisible Boatmobile.

Zack's musings were interrupted as they suddenly hurtled forward. The wind whistled with the speed of the passage as they rocketed right for the back of the car, which was stopped at the end of the driveway. Zack yelped and shut his eyes, bracing himself for the impact that would surely laminate them both across the entire back end of the car.

The sensation of movement ceased seconds later, and Zack hesitantly opened his eyes. He was sitting safely in the passenger's seat next to Cloud, who seemed completely oblivious to what had just happened as he joined the light traffic making its way along the main road.

Cloud wondered if maybe he shouldn't have just had Zack stay in his on-Base apartment. He glanced over at Zack, who was busy slowly licking the passenger side window. The people in the car beside them were trying not to stare. It was a monumental task, though. They did a stellar job of trying not to look while Zack busied himself with rolling the window up and down, the friction causing a rather humorous warping his facial features.

Cloud used his driver side window controls to roll Zack's window up, then switch off the power to the passenger side window. Zack looked disappointed for a fraction of a second, then went back to making window faces and using the glass to puff out his cheeks. The people in the other car were in various stages of laughter, including the driver.

Cloud quickly changed lanes, possibly saving the lives of everyone in the other car. He reached over and tried to pull Zack away from the window, but accidentally shoved him. Zack's face hit the window with a thump.

"You okay, Zack?" Cloud asked, voice slightly muffled on account of the fact that the side of the balloon with his face on it was resting against the roof liner.

Zack, seemingly unaffected, gave him a goofy grin in reply and, grabbing Cloud's head, began rubbing it vigorously in his hair, giggling something about balloons and static.

Cloud hit the brakes, swerving to the curb with a surprised cry. Zack whooped as the car came to a sharp halt but he and Cloud shot forward out of the car, then snapped backwards as if tied by an invisible rubber band. They yo-yo'd back and forth, in and out of the car for a few moments before stopping.

"Again!" Zack shouted gleefully, while Cloud gave him a perplexed look that bordered on annoyed with just a hint of 'I think I just pooped myself'. Cloud tightened Zack's seat belt, seriously wondering if he should have perhaps requested an adult sized child's safety seat.

He settled for turning on the radio, hoping it would keep Zack entertained and take his focus off the weird obsession with his head.

They made it a whole block before Cloud heard a quiet sniffle beside him.

"Are you okay? What's wrong? Does your mouth hurt-?" Cloud asked, trying to watch the road and Zack at the same time.

"It's just so...so...beautiful! Zack bawled.

"What-?"

Zack pointed to the radio, and continued sobbing about the emotional depth and philosophical complexity of "Genie in a Bottle".

"Are you seriously crying over a pop song?" Cloud asked, incredulous.

"Weeeeenieeee in a booottttllleeee!" Zack howled at the top of his lungs.

"Shhh-! Those aren't even the words!" Cloud hissed as he cringed so hard in embarrassment that his his head almost disappeared into his torso. Seconds later his head shot out from between his shoulder blades and almost hit the roof when Zack suddenly went from despondent sobbing to hysterical laughter.

Cloud made the mistake of asking, "You okay?" as he stopped for a light change at the intersection.

Zack stopped laughing and turned, the movement slow, and utterly smooth, as if his head was on well oiled bearings. His face was utterly slack, eyes blank and staring. It was the same look Cloud had seen many times at the market. At the fish seller's stall. On the faces of the carp.

Seconds ticked by.

"Zack?"

"BOOM SHAKA-LAKA!" Zack shouted with absolutely no warning. The look of manic glee on his face made him look like an animatronic puppet only found in old pizza places geared towards children.

Cloud lost it. He doubled over the steering wheel, laughing so hard that his vocal cords gave up trying to produce any kind of sound. His Silent Laugh was broken by the impatient horn blast of the vehicle behind him.

"BOOM SHAKA-LAKA!" Zack shouted in reply.

Cloud bit back his laughter and drove on, desperately trying to focus on not hitting other drivers while Zack kept randomly shouting 'BOOM SHAKA-LAKA!'

They made it to the next intersection, where Cloud had to wait in the turning lane for the little green arrow to give them permission to make a left hand turn. Zack had fallen silent again, and was now staring at the crosswalk, wonder and disbelief fighting for dominance over his face.

Zack couldn't believe what he was seeing. A unicorn with a rainbow mane and tail had trotted out into the crosswalk, its diamond horn glittering in the sunlight. It walked right up to their car and waved a hoof at them enthusiastically. Zack glanced at Cloud, who was looking at him with an odd expression sketched on his yellow balloon face. It could have been a smile, but the unsteady hand that had done the doodling had given the mouth line a slight wiggle on the end that left it open to artistic interpretation.

"What is it?" Cloud asked, his head tilting against the roof liner in what might have been a quizzical angle in a person with a normal head.

Zack's mouth worked mutely, words refusing to come, while he frantically stabbed a finger at the windshield.

"Yes, I see it," Cloud replied with a hint of amusement. "And look, it's waving at you!"

Zack looked back to see that yes, the unicorn was still waving at him. He waved back, a bit hesitantly. The unicorn looked down its teeth at Zack in an ecstatic equine grin. It tossed its shimmering mane, saluted, and farted out a stream of rainbow glitter as it rocketed up into the sky.

Cloud made the long awaited left hand turn while Zack stared out the window and said in an awed whisper, "Boom Shaka-Laka..."

To Be Continued

[dekatsu]

"If I were free thrash, would You pick me up?"

Based on this wonderful fanart by @fris-sucks​. 

ao3 link here

This whole Idea is stupid. Eijirou has voiced his thoughts about it already but got ignored every time. Exactly because of this, he wanted to have at least two designated drivers, because one sober person always gets overthrown.

So, he just sighs and silently follows his drunk friends into the streets, watches them as they find a cardboard box and start doodling on it. It’s raining, Eijirou is cold and he just knows this will end in a disaster. But he follows along anyway. Better to have one adult there than none.

Once Sero is done writing on the box, he holds the soggy thing out to Bakugou, who takes it with a scowl. “Here is fine, right?” And then he drops the box on the wet ground next to the wall, turns around and steps in.

Sero and Kaminari only hold back their laughter because Bakugou looks like he might kill them, if they start laughing into his face. Eijirou pushes them aside and goes for another try. “You ok in there, bro?”

“I’m fine,” Bakugou says, which he obviously isn’t. He is drunk, wet, cold and heartbroken. The last one being the worst, of course. But Bakugou would never admit it.

“Need a hand?”

“Fuck off.”

Eijirou sighs. “This is stupid. That was a stupid bet. Midoriya might be sleeping already. Or on a mission. Or even just taking a piss.” 

Bakugou lifts his gaze from the ground to stare at Eijirou. “I didn’t ask you for excuses.”

“But bro-”

“No,” Bakugou says, gaze falling to the wet street again, “I lost the bet, so I’ll sit here and wait for someone to pick me up, ‘cause I’m trash. Fucking free trash.”

Eijirou stares at him, looks back to his other drunk friends, who are molesting a poor stray and decides that he can’t deal with them all at once. Time to call reinforcement. He points at the idiots behind his back. “I’m going to gather those two up and bring them home. You better be gone when I come back.”

Instead of replying, Bakugou pushes the hood of his jacket up his head and leans back against the wall.

~

When Izuku had gotten the text from Kirishima, he didn’t expect to find Kacchan in a cardboard box, with the words ‘Trash (free!)’ on it. Izuku switches his umbrella to his left hand and rubs his face with his right. So, this is what Kirishima meant with ‘go pick up your stray’.

“What are you doing, Kacchan?” Izuku asks. He doesn’t understand the situation. It’s beyond his comprehension. At least it explains the text.

Kacchan looks up, confirms that it’s Izuku apparently, and looks back down again. No words said. There is a firm scowl on his face, he looks paler than usual and his eyes keep falling shut. He’s well on his way to a cold.

Izuku steps close so that he can hold the umbrella over both of their heads. “Let’s go.”

“Are you picking me up, then?”

“Was this a bet? Because if it was, then you are stupid. How many times did I tell you not to bet with Sero?”

“Shut up!” Kacchan finally looks at him. Now that Izuku has a good look at his face, he knows exactly three things: Kacchan is drunk, angry and there is a feverish gleam to his eyes. “I’m free trash! Are you picking me up or not?”

“Why do you think I’m here.”

“How the fuck should I know what you think?”

“Yes, Kacchan, I’m here to pick you up. Let’s go.” Izuku reaches out to help Kacchan up but Kacchan slaps his hand away and staggers to his feet, climbing to the wall. He’s usually good at controlling his alcohol consume but something obviously set him off.

But Izuku doesn’t say anything. Instead he walks closely behind Kacchan and tries to keep him under the umbrella. Kacchan manages a few steps with the help of the wall before he stops and closes his eyes. “Fuck,” he says.

“Can you walk?” Izuku asks. His back and left shoulder are drenched from the rain, result of his effort to keep Kacchan from any more rain. It was probably stupid because Kacchan is wet from head to toe. “I still don’t understand why you sat there in this downpour.” It’s giving Izuku a headache. He can do without worrying about Kacchan doing anymore stupid things.

Katsuki turns around, ready to lash out but holds back just before he opens his mouth. He stares at Izuku for a moment and then turns back around to try a few more steps. 

“Let me carry you.”

“No,” comes the reply.

“It will take at least twenty minutes to your apartment and I don’t have a car,” Izuku tries to reason. The reply stays the same.

A few minutes later, Kacchan asks, “why did you come?”

Izuku thinks about that, thinks about how he had avoided Kacchan for the last few weeks and feels the same uncomfortable feeling in his belly that had made him avoid Kacchan. “I care,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because we are dating.” It feels like a lie. But Izuku forces the words out anyway.

Kacchan stops suddenly, slides down the wall and closes his eyes. “I can’t walk anymore. I’m gonna sleep. Just leave me alone.”

~

Katsuki wakes when something presses against his forehead. He’s just dizzy for a short moment before a strong headache sets in and he must close his eyes, pressing his face further into Deku’s neck. He waits for the pain to fade slightly before he tries speaking. 

“Why are you carrying me, Deku?”

“You are running a fever, Kacchan.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Katsuki opens his eyes, fights against the urge to shut them again when he’s confronted with Deku’s neck. He takes a moment to understand the situation and when he does, he feels like the trash he pretended to be.

The rain is still coming down heavily but Deku has somehow managed to balance the umbrella on Katsuki’s head so that it covers most of them and apparently, he draped his own jacket over Katsuki’s shoulders before carrying him on his back.

Deku stops for a moment, to readjust his hold on Katsuki’s thighs before he continues the long walk home. Now that Katsuki is looking around, he can recognize the neighborhood. But he’s too tired to really think about it.

Instead he closes his eyes, holds Deku tighter and says, “let’s break up.” There is a short moment of silence, in which Katsuki remembers sitting in the bar and waiting for a response from Deku, thinking this is it, then, before downing another glass of whisky.

“Yeah,” Deku says, “yeah, let’s do that.”

Yeah, Katsuki thought so, too. His head hurts so it’s rather easy to blame the sting in his eyes on the alcohol. He holds his breath for a moment, tries to reason that he saw this coming weeks ago, but it doesn’t help against the pain in his chest.

He feels sick, heaves a little but manages to calm down just before the urge to vomit really hits.

Deku stops, tries to look back and asks, “are you ok? Need me to stop?”

Katsuki shakes his head but Deku stops anyway because the traffic light blinks red. The rain pours down heavier on the umbrella, the noise steadily calming his heartbeat. Katsuki is exhausted. By the time the traffic light blinks green and they cross the street, Katsuki will be over Deku. He can do that.

Only Deku doesn’t move when the light blinks green. He stays still, eyes on his shoes. When he talks, it’s a whisper. “I hate this.”

“Just forget it, Deku. Pretend it never happened.” He will do the same. Once they cross the street, it’s all going to be fine. “Just move already.”

“No,” Deku says. Katsuki feels the headache come back with vengeance and he’s suddenly desperate to cross the damn street. He just needs to cross that street and the pain will stop, damn it.

“Deku.”

“Shut up, Kacchan! I can’t do this.”

“Why,” Katsuki starts, pushes himself away from Izuku and tries to steady himself on his own feet as the umbrella hits the ground. The sudden rain in his face cools him just a little but the anger is slowly bristling again. “Why do you insist on hurting me today.”

He holds his balance just barely, feeling ridiculously weak on his own feet. But he grits his teeth anyway and once the light blinks green, he tries to cross the street. There is no need to wait for the lights, though, since the streets are empty, just the rain, that stupid umbrella and Deku, who pretended to date him for two months before it all broke down over his head. 

He’s not even halfway over the street, when Deku shouts behind him. “You treat me like a quest! Like a goddamn fight! Like a game you refuse to lose in!”

Katsuki stops in the middle of the street and tries to make sense of Deku’s words. His body is heavy and even though the rain helps cool him down, he still feels feverish and dizzy. “What?” He turns around, staring at Deku. “What are you talking about?”

Deku is still staring at the ground, not looking up when he answers. “You ask me out, out of nowhere and tell me we should date. You say you like me then insist that we should go out and that anything else doesn’t make any sense. You have the same look in your eyes; the same look you wear when you fight a villain and refuse to back down. You insist on your way, no matter how many times I tell you to give us time, that you should consider it properly.”

Deku takes a deep breath, finally lifts his face and looks at Katsuki. “You treat me like something you have to conquer, something you can’t lose at. It all looks like a game to you. I feel like you aren’t serious. I don’t want to be just another victory.”

Even though Katsuki heard the words, he can’t make sense of them. He feels dizzy. “I don’t understand,” Katsuki says. 

“I don’t want to be something you win and forget.”

Katsuki rubs at his face, stares at the traffic light above Deku’s head which blinks red and still fails to make sense of the words. “Make sense, fucking Deku.” Katsuki thinks of the last two months, thinks about Izuku giving in after his seventh time asking him out and the disappointment he had felt when Deku started to ignore him right after. 

“What the fuck do you want from me,” Katsuki screams. His heart beating erratically. “What do I have to do to make you understand? Was me chasing after you not enough? Why would I try to woe you, if I wasn’t serious?”

“Because you hate losing, Kacchan!”

“Just how much do I have to prove myself?” Katsuki feels heat against his cheeks, wipes at it roughly but it doesn’t stop. He closes his eyes and wills the tears to fucking stop. “When you didn’t reply today, I didn’t know what to do anymore! I just knew it was over. And no matter how many shots I chased down; it didn’t help! This damn pain, it just doesn’t know how to stop.”

He turns around, stares at the green light he must reach, desperate for this to be over with. He just has to cross the goddamn street.

“Where are you going, Kacchan?”

Katsuki can hear Deku’s steps following him so he tries to be faster, but his body feels heavy. He needs to reach the light. “I don’t know. I’m tired, leave me alone.”

“Kacchan.”

“Shut up.”

“I’-”

“Shut the fuck up, Deku! Let me cross the street.” Katsuki reaches out, almost touching the traffic light. 

But Deku steps in front of him, takes his hand and says, “I just want you to love me.”

Katsuki stares at the traffic light just behind Izuku and slides to his knees. He feels lightheaded and giggles suddenly. Just when he was about to give up. “Well,” Katsuki says, stretching himself out on the ground and letting the rain hit his face, hurting just a little more. “Aren’t you lucky? I don’t think I’ll be able to stop loving you.”

~

Katsuki wakes up when Deku puts him down. “I’m sorry,” he says and wiggles his hand into Katsuki’s wet pockets. “Just need to get the key. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Katsuki blinks, places his hand over Deku’s to stop it. “You aren’t allowed inside.”

“What?” Deku asks, frowning at him. “We are both cold and wet. You are running a fever already. We both need a bath.”

“You aren’t allowed inside,” Katsuki repeats and pushes Deku’s hand away. “You broke up with me.”

Deku sighs heavily, sits down in front of him, right in front of the door to his apartment. This are ridiculous. But Katsuki isn’t letting Deku in.

“Kacchan,” Deku starts, plays with his fingers and says, “I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“Right.” Deku rubs his nose, sniffs and tries again. “Right. Sorry, that’s not what I’m supposed to say.” He plays with his fingers again, always fidgeting with something. And then he takes Katsuki’s hand into his own. “I didn’t think that you loved me,” Izuku admits.

Which is stupid, to which Katsuki wonders, “are you stupid?”

“Now I know. But you never said you loved me before. You said you liked me, which I was happy about. Because I liked you ever since we were children and I felt like you finally acknowledged our friendship. Then you said let’s go out and at first, I was happy about it, but your insistence made me uneasy. I thought you were just jumping into it and saw it as another thing you had to chase until the end, not really being serious about the relationship itself, just about the result of us going out, of making me fall in love with you, alone.”

“You are stupid.”

“I see that now, yes.”

“I’m too drunk for this, Deku,” Katsuki says but he doesn’t pull his hand away. “Keep it short. I’m about to fall asleep.”

Deku gives a small smile. “Right, so you are serious about us. And I love you, too, in a romantic way. And a sexual way. So, would you date me, Kacchan?”

Katsuki looks at his hand in Deku’s, feels calmer than he has in two months and finally takes a relieved breath. Even with the pain in his head, he feels better than in weeks. “No,” he says. He reaches for the doorknob and pulls himself up, away from Deku.

“What?” Deku asks but Katsuki turns away from him. “Kacchan!”

Katsuki pulls his keys out and opens the door, steps inside and looks at Deku from the warmth of his apartment. “I chased after you for weeks until I got my yes. Then you avoided me for weeks on end after giving it to me. I hurt but you still didn’t let me get to the traffic light.”

Deku looks confused, so Katsuki smiles at him, reaches out to pat his cool cheek and says, “Fight for my yes, Deku.” And then he closes the door. 

Katsuki doesn’t bother taking a bath. He sheds all his wet clothes in his room, takes his phone out of his pocket and collapses on his bed. He sends Kirishima a text, telling him to call Deku and come pick him up with his car. Katsuki does love him after all. He just needs time.

When he’s just about to fall asleep, his phone vibrates in his hands. Katsuki groggily opens his eyes and reads the text from Deku. 

I would. I did. I’m sorry I kept you waiting.

My Ko-fi