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[archester-creations]

Rated: T

Pairing: Chris Halliwell/Wyatt Halliwell

Word Count: ~4k

A/N: incest, hanahaki disease, happy ending @hanahaki4hanami prompt: cyclamen. Jaxar comes from be careful what you wish for because you might get your way by victoriousscarf on ao3, who also has Wyatt with an oracle

Wyatt loves him. It’s a simple statement for a not-so-simple relationship, but Wyatt has always been a fairly simple guy even with all his complexities. Wyatt loves him. Easy, true, and simple.

It’s not simple when Chris has to leave. When Chris flees to the past, dust from an old attic lingering in his hair and lungs, to save Wyatt. He is so far away and Chris knows Wyatt loves him, but he is so far away and Chris misses him. Misses him more with the reminders of what was, with being able to see Wyatt now and see tints of what he will become. Not all of Wyatt is evil, in the present or the future, however you want to call it. The world is far more grey than that. Wyatt is Wyatt, even with his blood singing fire and darkness in his eyes. But this Wyatt has neither of those things. His eyes are clear and his blood sings with magic; ready to be set aflame, waiting for a spark. Chris misses the Wyatt from before Excalibur’s blade tasted the blood of innocents and he misses the Wyatt who still protects him over everything, even with demons and the world bowing at his feet. But Wyatt broke the world, and something broke him first, and Chris has to fix it.

It’s easy not to say anything to Leo. To look at the man who was technically his father and see the mistrust in his eyes and say nothing. With Piper, all he can see is the mom he loves, who gives advice whether it hurts or not, and he feels the words gather on his tongue before he swallows them back like medicine, bitter and thick. It only makes sense the petals would grow, then. That his emotions would only allow themselves to be bottled so much before they break, roots bursting through the bottle to scatter glass shards and petals through heaving lungs. He doesn’t know which words do it. Which person that swirls through his brain as he sleeps at night planted the seeds, but he doesn’t need to. The flowers bloom either way.

He researches alone. The disease is in one of Magic School’s many books, sitting innocently in the pages of a musty book with a faded picture of flowers and their petals buried within the text. There is a compendium of flower language close by and he grabs it without thinking, turning the pages absently as he reads about hanahaki. He frowns at the definition, frowns at the choices because he knows none of them are an option for him. WYatt is in the future and he can’t return yet, because he hasn’t fixed what’s been broken and if he returns he doesn’t think he’ll make it back—and even if he was in the future, he’s never exactly been great at sharing his emotions like that and he doesn’t think he’d be able to open himself to his brother even if he wanted to. Piper– his mom– and the sisters can’t know who he is, so if they’re from them he can’t just tell them that seeing them every day reminds him how much he misses them. Reminds him that they don’t know who he is, that they can’t know how much he loves them, that their distrust thrums like pain even though he understands. He can’t get rid of the flowers, because then he will forget Wyatt, and it will be suspicious to the sisters and Leo if he suddenly forgets why he’s here as well as taking away any chance he has to fix things. Or he will forget everyone but Leo, and that will be suspicious as well. He can’t talk to anybody about it, because these emotions are wild and strange and hanahaki is a magic disease and even if they weren’t, even if it wasn’t, even if he were comfortable opening his soul to someone else, he has no friends and no one can know who he is. So Chris puts the book to the side and looks at the book on flower language instead, to see what flowers are choking through his body.

The first thing he does when he reads the description is laugh, because the only person who comes to mind is Wyatt, and somehow he knew that was the answer. It’s not a pretty laugh, nor a particularly happy one, but it’s a laugh.

“What are you laughing at?” Paige asks, coming to lean against the table, and Chris slides the medical book under the flower one, flipping pages till one catches his eye.

“This,” he says, showing her a picture of a flower that looks like a butt, and she rolls her eyes like he’s prone to that kind of humour, though he hasn’t been since he was seven.

“Right,” Paige says flatly, pushing off the table and walking away with books in her hands. Chris watches her go. Once she’s out of sight, he counts two minutes out in his head, then returns both books to their place on the shelf.

Cyclamen, the book read. Lasting feelings, strong love, and resignation. Has great effect in love potions, but is considered a gambling ingredient. While it will cause the drinker to fall in love swiftly, if caught the giver’s love life will be cursed with grief.

Chris wonders if coughing the petals up means he’s already cursed, though he’s never made a love potion. He’s never had to.

Chris has been in the past for nearly a year when petals choke his lungs till they crawl up his throat. They make it harder to be a whitelighter, and in turn make it harder to find who corrupted Wyatt, but Chris doesn’t stop. Can’t stop, because if he does one day his mom and the rest of his family will die and Wyatt will take over the Underworld. He doubles his efforts, in preparation for the inevitable, reminding himself the entire time of what he knows in the hopes it will delay it.

Wyatt loves me.

He’s so far away, two decades in the future, but Wyatt loves him and he knows it and that has to be enough until he returns.

Wyatt loves me.

It’s been a long time since he’s directly interacted with the sisters, knowing that they will stare at his dark circles and sallow complexion and heaving lungs and ask questions he can’t answer. Maybe mom will call Leo, and he will finally come after she’s just about screamed her voice hoarse and threatened him twice, and tell him there is something wrong with Chris with a warble in her throat and tears in her eyes and demand he tell them what it is. Demand Leo fix it.

Or maybe it’s just memories.

Chris shakes his head.

All he wants to do is call Wyatt.

Chris coughs, a few petals falling to the map, and brushes them away before he continues to scry.

The cyclamen is choking, suffocating, when Bianca finds him, and he can’t even resist her because he feels the petals fluttering in his throat every time he breathes.

“Wyatt is sick.” Is all she says, and Chris wants to laugh, because he can count on one hand the number of times he remembers Wyatt sick growing up. He remembers hating him for it, too, every time he got sick, because it was unfair he didn’t share whatever immunity Wyatt had. Instead he just coughs into his fist and Bianca stares at him.

“You’re sick, too,” she says, and Chris waves her off.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says after he swallows a few times, choking down the flowers enough to talk. His voice is rough. “Why are you here?”

“Wyatt is sick and he’s going to forget you.”

Chris feels his heart freeze in his chest, feels every root squeeze at once. “What,” he says, quiet, no inflection making its way into his voice. After all this time, Wyatt’s choice is to just take a potion, wiping Chris from every part of him.

Meanwhile Chris has let the flowers fester till they burn like Wyatt’s fingerprints pressing brands into his skin, like Wyatt’s breath along his throat, like Wyatt inside him, surrounding him, until he is all he can see and all he can think of.

“Let him. If he wants to forget me, let him,” Chris says, all bitterness, and is surprised when no petals fall from his mouth as he does. Is surprised the flowers don’t press up against his esophagus in retaliation.

“He thinks you betrayed him,” Bianca says, a defense, which is funny because Bianca is the one who told him he should just kill Wyatt and be done with it. But then, Bianca also knows how Chris feels about Wyatt.

“I’m here to save him,” Chris says, small, because even now he can’t imagine betraying him. Because it hurts to know Wyatt thinks he would.

“I know. But the others-” And Chris closes his eyes. Of course. The demons, the Oracle. All eager to whisper their I told you so’s to Wyatt, no doubt standing yards away while they do in the hopes it will save them. Maybe Jaxar said his from right next to Wyatt, emboldened by the heedy if incorrect thought that he was right, and Wyatt finally lashed out though Chris doubts it. Even if he did, the thought brings little relief now. It doesn’t change how his brother thinks he betrayed him. Which itself doesn’t change the fact Chris can’t return. He looks down and wonders what petals are crawling up Wyatt’s throat, wonders what they might mean.

“I can’t,” he tells Bianca.

“I know,” Bianca says again. “But I also know you can’t stop me,” she adds, grabbing his wrist to shimmer to the attic, and Chris suddenly feels foolish. Of course Bianca didn’t travel all this way just to give him a health report.

“You said Wyatt was going to take the potion,” Chris protests.

“I did,” Bianca said, not looking at him. “He’s going to take it if this doesn’t work.” She doesn’t say she doesn’t think it will. Chris hears it anyway.

It hurts to see Wyatt as far along as he is, not just sick but clearly dying, cyclamen curling up his ribcage, filling his lungs and throat till his breath smells like the flowers. Chris still takes the first opportunity he gets to leave, whispered apologies on his lips.

The image stays with him, haunting him at night, keeping him from sleep and making him push himself to work faster.

“I’ve had hanahaki before,” Phoebe tells him one day, completely unprompted. Or maybe it is prompted. She’s an empath with visions and a Charmed One on top, and no matter how much he hides from her, he doesn’t really know what slips under the cracks. “And I know it’s hard, but if you need me to I can make the potion. No questions asked.”

Chris shakes his head and Phoebe frowns. It’s getting harder to hide the pain, and he knows she can see it. Knows now she can see it better than the others can, has maybe even known for a while what is happening even if she doesn’t have the full picture. “Chris…”

“I can’t,” Chris admits, quietly. “I can’t forget him. If I do-”

He doesn’t finish. Phoebe looks at him, eyes sad, and sighs an ‘oh Chris’ that tells him she understands anyway. When she reaches out, he orbs away.

She doesn’t know Wyatt has it too. Doesn’t know the knowledge weighs on Chris, pressing down like it matters despite Chris knowing Wyatt is in the future and he is in the past and no matter how much time he spends here when he returns he’ll be deposited right where he left, because it does matter even when it shouldn’t. Because his older brother has hanahaki too, and Chris is his cure as much as he is Chris’.

Except, Chris suddenly remembers with an ache, Wyatt’s probably already taken the potion and doesn’t remember who he is anyway. He wonders if anyone has told him there’s someone messing around in the past, trying to stop him. Would they? Or would they be too worried, afraid just seeing Chris would cause him to fall to his humanity all over again.

He stares at his hands. There are flecks of blood buried in the lines of his palm and he wonders if they will ever be clean again. If it even matters. Wyatt may be able to take a potion and forget him, but Chris doesn’t have that luxury.

If he did, would he take it? The question doesn’t matter, because if he did he wouldn’t need to. If he did, he would still be by Wyatt’s side and he wouldn’t need to remind himself Wyatt loves him, because Wyatt would be right there. Chris balls his hands into fists.

The word resignation pounds through Chris’ head like a drumbeat. There is a month left for him, at best. At worst, it’s only a week. Piper and Paige have started trying to get him to take more breaks and anytime Phoebe looks at him, her eyes are sad. He thinks they know he’s dying. Leo hovers like he might be able to fix it. It grates against Chris’ skin. He doesn’t have the time. The cyclamen fills him, an invasive species covering his insides like kudzu, and he’s running out of time.

He won’t survive this and he has to save Wyatt first. He has to.

Chris jolts awake, coughing, his face in the Book of Shadows. Pain flares, his throat scraping like he’d used sandpaper as a cough drop and invisible fingers digging, curling into the pit of his stomach. His eyes water. It feels like more than flowers crowding into his throat this time, stems and leaves being forced up too. He grips the stand as his knees buckle and he tries to breathe. It’s so much harder than it usually is. Flowers splatter against the floor, pink and red petals landing with a wet, bloody thump. It’s still not enough, his body heaving as the coughs continue until leaves join them, until there are whole stems and roots at his feet. He couldn’t stop the tears if he tried.

No, Chris thinks, because he knows what this means. No.

“Chris?” Chris looks up, half of him almost expecting Wyatt, because any other time he’s been in this much pain it’s his brother by his side, and sees Phoebe instead. She stares at him from the doorway, stockstill, taking in the blood on his chin and the tears on his eyes and the bloodstained plants on the floor before she stumbles forward, shouting for Piper and Paige. Both sisters run up the stairs as Chris continues coughing, the pain stabbing into his sides.

Both of them gasp when they get to the door.

“What’s happening?” Paige asks.

“It’s the hanahaki,” Phoebe says. “It’s killing him.”

“No. We can’t-” Piper bites off, turning to Paige as she gestures to Chris. “Heal him!”

“I- I can’t,” Paige says, voice wavering.

“You have to!” Piper says and Paige shakes her head.

“That’s not how it works,” she says, voice raw.

“Wyatt,” Chris gasps, because they’re focusing on him when they shouldn’t. He has to make them understand. It’s like they never do. Wyatt’s their child, their nephew, and Chris knows just how important he is to them, has the childhood memories to prove it. But it’s like this is important only to him. There isn’t much time left before Wyatt is turned, he knows it, and he has to make them understand. Phoebe pulls him into a tight hug, moving them to sit on the attic’s floor, and Chris coughs, choking as the cyclamen squirms through him.

“You’re important, too, Chris,” Phoebe says desperately. There’s a choking sound, half a sob, and it doesn’t come from him. Chris looks up through blurry eyes to see Piper with a hand against her mouth.

“I can’t-” Chris tries to explain, shaking his head, coughing up a few more bloodstained petals. I can’t let this be in vain. I can’t lose my family. I have to save Wyatt, he’s my older brother and if he keeps going the way he is I’m afraid I’ll lose him too. If I haven’t already. His chest hurts and he’s not sure if it’s the cyclamen or just his heart. Has he? Has he lost Wyatt, the potion curing his brother but still taking him from him? Chris holds onto Phoebe’s shirt, desperate. He can’t have. Wyatt loves me echoes in his head like mist. The cyclamen presses against his ribcage, growing with each echo. He feels suddenly unmoored. The pounding in his head is getting softer and Chris knows it’s a bad sign. Knows he can’t do anything about it anymore. “I’m sorry.”

“Chris,” Piper chokes.

“Mom,” Chris says, crying, half formed around a cyclamen.

Piper snaps out of her brief moment, shouting at the ceiling for Leo and pacing as Paige watches and Phoebe holds him.

“Wyatt,” Chris gasps, aching, and feels fingers grasp his tight in response.

“Chris,” Wyatt says. Chris’ eyes open and the light hits them painfully, but it’s worth it to see bright blue eyes staring down at him.

“Am I dead?” Chris asks, though the rawness of his throat and the ache in his everything tells him he’s not. Wyatt smiles.

“You almost managed it, baby brother,” quieter, Wyatt adds, “We both did.”

“What?” Chris pushes up and Wyatt moves to help him, the hand on his back lingering even after he’s been moved to a sitting position. “The potion?”

Wyatt shakes his head. “I couldn’t lose the last family I had, even after thinking you’d betrayed me.”

“I-” Chris makes a desperate, broken sound. “I never-”

“I know,” Wyatt shushes him, pulling him close, and Chris clings. Chris clings, his lungs heaving but finally clear, the air crisp and stinging as he breathes in. When Wyatt presses a kiss to his forehead, the rest of the pain dissipates and Chris feels his entire body relax like a puppet with its strings cut. He fades afterwards, floating.

He wakes back up on Piper’s bed.

Chris flails, just a little, confusion soaking into his limbs. He should be dead, but he’s not. He should be on the attic floor, surrounded by blood and whole flowers, but instead he’s in Piper’s bed and his chest feels lighter than it has in a year. He sinks into the pillow, hands curling into the blanket.

“You’re awake,” someone says from beside the bed and Chris breathes. It feels easy now. So much so he thinks he may get lightheaded from it.

“Wyatt,” Chris says. Wyatt reaches out, taking Chris’ hand in his own, and Chris grasps back. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t take the potion. The memory settles into him, sudden and calm, of waking up the first time after nearly dying. Chris smiles up at the ceiling. Maybe he shouldn’t be so happy Wyatt didn’t take the potion that would’ve literally saved his life, but maybe it also doesn’t matter. In the end, neither of them needed it.

Though it certainly would’ve made a few things easier. Like breathing. And orbing, sometimes, for that matter. Orbing while coughing up your guts was not fun.

“I felt you dying,” Wyatt says. “I couldn’t just… let you. So I forced my way to you.” Forced. Figures, since Chris took the spell to travel with him. If anyone could force their way through time, spell or no spell, it was Wyatt.

“Thanks for that,” Chris chuckles.

“Any time,” Wyatt says. “Though don’t make me do it again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Chris says and finally opens his eyes, just to smile at Wyatt. Wyatt is smiling back, his eyes bright and his hair long but neat.

“Little Wyatt?” Chris asks, because he can’t help himself. Because Wyatt was his whole reason for being here. Because Wyatt is in front of him and he’s still Wyatt, he’s still in his dark clothes, his hand has the same calluses, but he feels slightly different. The lines on his face seem more natural to smiling than the serious, cold expression Chris is used to; he smells more like clouds and sunshine than dirt and soot; he seems hopeful. Outward hopefulness, a hopefulness that shines, not the hopefulness of being able to hold everything in your hands so tightly it won’t slip away. It makes Chris want to hope, too.

“Gideon was going to use you as a distraction, but you kept crying for me and mom thought maybe little me would help so she went to grab him. Gideon wasn’t expecting it.”

“She killed him?” Chris asks. Wyatt shakes his head.

“Leo did,” Wyatt says, and it shouldn’t, but it makes Chris’ stomach drop a little because it means Leo didn’t even try to heal him. Maybe Leo didn’t even show up for him, only orbing in when he realized Wyatt was in danger.

“I made him go,” Wyatt whispers, squeezing his hand, like he knows where Chris’ mind went. He probably does. “He wanted to stay with you, but I told him to help mom.”

“Really?” Chris asks, not quite believing him.

“Yeah,” Wyatt says.

Chris stares at his free hand, at the creases where the blood used to be, and quietly wonders who cleaned it off. The attic floor must’ve been a nightmare, though demons have definitely left worse. He can’t believe Leo actually tried to stay with him while he was dying. Did he hold his hand? How did he respond when Wyatt showed up, big and menacing and powerful? Chris kind of wishes he could’ve seen it.

“How long until we only remember the new timeline?” Wyatt asks quietly and Chris looks up in surprise, though he knew the timeline was changed. Wyatt is still Wyatt, but Wyatt is also different now. All his memories of before seem to be intact, though. Somehow Chris knows no matter what he asks Wyatt of their original timeline, Wyatt will be able to answer it. But how long will that last?

“I- I don’t know,” Chris says, suddenly feeling shaky. A new timeline. One where Wyatt never ruled the underworld; one where Chris didn’t live there with him; one where they never had their first kiss in a room of dust and rock. He swallows. “I used a spell so I wouldn’t forget the original timeline even with the new memories, so I could keep track. I didn’t want to forget something important and fail because of it. But you…”

It’s worth losing Wyatt if it means gaining mom and her sisters; if it means his cousins and uncles are still alive. But… Chris never let himself think about the possibility of losing Wyatt, losing his relationship with Wyatt, and now it’s all he can think about. If Wyatt forgets everything, will he still love Chris the same? Will Chris be able to survive it, if he doesn’t?

Wyatt squeezes his hand tighter and leans over to press his lips to his forehead. “Don’t worry, I’ll love you no matter what timeline. We are not going through hanahaki again.”

“Gods I hope so,” Chris says.

“We’re not,” Wyatt repeats firmly, pressing his lips to Chris’. It’s their first kiss in over a year and Chris melts into it with a sigh.

“Oh!” Phoebe gasps and they break apart, Chris’ cheeks heating.

“Phoebe,” Chris says, looking over at her.

Phoebe laughs, waving her hand, as Wyatt stammers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You weren’t,” Chris says with a snort.

“I’ll just go tell the others you’re awake again.” Phoebe leaves the room and Chris falls back against the pillows with a sigh. Wyatt laughs next to him, a little awkwardly.

“Not used to being walked in on?” Chris jokes, though he knows the answer.

“No,” Wyatt answers anyway. He smiles as he adds, “I guess I’ll just have to start getting used to it now.”

“I guess so,” Chris agrees.

And Wyatt leans down as Chris sits up, their lips meeting again.

[archester-creations]

Rated: T

Pairing: Chris Halliwell/Wyatt Halliwell

Word Count: ~400

A/N: hurt no comfort, incest, hanahaki disease, @hanahaki4hanami prompt: cyclamen

Chris stares at Wyatt. Past Wyatt. Two year old Wyatt. He is pure, good still, and Chris knows it. He can feel it in the thrumming of the magic inside him, in the bond that doesn’t quite connect them yet but will once he is born. The bond that holds on stubbornly despite being twenty years in the past, grasping onto his wrists like iron shackles when once it was the weave of a dorky friendship bracelet. Chris breathes. Wyatt breathes, too, face peaceful as he sleeps. Tears burn behind Chris’ eyes and roots twist in his lungs. He orbs with apologies falling like flower petals.

Cyclamen. Bianca helped him learn the name of the flower, months after they became friends, when she caught him coughing up a few of the petals. They researched it together, more for her curiosity than his. All he knew was that it would kill him one day, and that was all he needed. One way or another, Wyatt would be his death, whether his older brother wanted it or not. That didn’t satisfy Bianca. She wanted to know about the disease– hanahaki, the magic books they could get their hands on called it– and she wanted to know about the flowers—cyclamen, flowers that mean lasting feelings, deep affection, innocent and passionate love. Resignation. Devotion. Goodbyes.

Bianca made him talk about it– his feelings for Wyatt, how he missed the big brother he grew up with, how he sometimes still saw him in flashes like echoes and how that almost hurt worse– because that’s the only solution the books offered that was available to them. He couldn’t tell Wyatt and if they used the removal potion he would forget Wyatt, and that wouldn’t be good for Wyatt. It wouldn’t be good for Chris, either. Chris couldn’t lose the last family he had, no matter how fucked. So he talked to Bianca through a clenched jaw until time loosened it, because it made Bianca feel better, and it made the roots in his lungs brittle; a plant with no water. Until he got better. Until they thought he could go to the past, where his Wyatt wasn’t, and the flowers would die fully as he saved his brother.

Except that’s not what happened. Except young Wyatt and Piper and Phoebe and Paige remind him of the brother he grew up with, and the roots in his lungs swell with the influx of water until Chris feels petals tickling at his ribcage and crawling up his throat. He is in the past and Wyatt will kill him, whether his older brother wants to or not, but Chris will save him first.

[archester-creations]

Rated: T

Pairing: Guy Hamdon/Ben Tennyson

Word Count: ~4k

A/N: Written for @hanahaki4hanami and while it doesn't have vomiting one scene is definitely inspired by it

Flowers. It’s a little hard to tell with the way they glow, colours flashing between a scarlet red and aqua, and the feel of the petals between his fingers, somewhere between silk and a soft wood. But the smell, once you get past the bile and blood, and the shape of the petals makes it clear they’re flowers.

“Kelly, why am I spitting these up?” Guy asks from his seat on the table, kicking his legs absently. Kelly looks up from the Shemanual with something akin to worry in her eyes, her face pale. It doesn’t make him feel great. There are a lot of good things with being Shezow, but he’s found a lot of rough consequences too. He still remembers his brief attempt at a “dark and gritty” phase.

“Are you…” Kelly looks back down at the book, biting her lip. “In love?”

“In love?” Guy scoffs, laughing in disbelief. He hasn’t been in love in– ever, he thinks.

“Are you… sure?” Kelly asks, looking up at him and the stack of petals next to him again with a frown.

“... what does the book say?” Guy asks, feeling suspicious now. Kelly licks her lips, tasting the grape of her chapstick.

“It says when a Zow becomes trapped in unspoken love they start coughing up flowers. Till they confess or till it… kills them,” Kelly looks down. “The shemanual calls it hanahaki.”

“Oh,” Guy says. He stares at the petals next to him, watching them rotate between their two colours, taking in the shape of the petals. They glitter like sequins, they’re soft like silk behind the flaking red. After a few moments he begins to laugh. “Then I’m fine, because I’m not in love.”

“Guy…” Kelly says sadly.

“I’m not,” Guy repeats, looking at her. She sighs.

“Fine. Can you at least ask one of your alien buddies about them?” Guy opens his mouth, but she’s quick to speak over him. “They’re clearly not terrestrial and I’d like to know more about them, at least. It’d make me feel better.”

Guy sighs. “Alright, next time I see one of them, okay?”

“Thank you,” Kelly says, tone sarcastic but eyes sincere.

“Hey, do you know anything about flowers?” Shezow asks Diamondhead as he’s holding a shield up for them, stopping this stupid laser some smuck left firing.

“Flowers?” Diamondhead asks incredulously, looking back at her. “No, why?”

Shezow shakes her head. “No reason, just found some alien ones and my partner’s curious. I think she wants to see if she can make a cutting and grow more, but she needs to know more about them first and we don’t really know where to start looking.”

“So you ask the first big alien you see?” Diamondhead asks and Shezow shrugs.

“I’ll ask my si- sidekick and see what she says. She knows shit like that better than me,” Diamondhead says. It’s not the first time one of these aliens has nearly slipped on the word ‘sister’, and sometimes Shezow wonders what it means. Have they just not been doing the superhero gig for very long? Was their sister not a secret before? Or do they just trust Shezow enough that a part of them wants to tell her the secret, but the importance of a secret identity won out every time? Shezow’s chest tightens and she coughs, just slightly.

“Thanks, big guy.” Shezow winks. “Now I think it’s time to fight a little laser with laser.”

It wasn’t very hard to realize the ten aliens he fought with as Shezow occasionally were all one person. Maybe it would’ve been if Guy didn’t have his own– albeit much smaller– transformation, but it wasn’t too hard to put two and two together when one guy would run off and then another, different guy would show up several minutes later with the first nowhere in sight. There aren’t many aliens in Megadale. Not ones that look so obvious or fight crime, at least.

He sighs, looking at the petals he coughed up after Diamondhead left and tapping his fingers against the table. The shemanual has never been wrong before, but… Guy scrubs his hands over his face before he can consider the possible smudging of his eyeliner. The worst part is, given the flower, there’s only one possible answer if the shemanual is right and he’s pretty sure Kelly knows it.

“The flowers are supposed to represent the person you love in some way,” she’d said before he left. Guy gathers up the flowers a little rougher than he needs to and throws them in the container with all the rest. Since they don’t know what they are exactly, they haven’t been able to throw them out or even burn them. Just because they’re fine in his body, doesn’t mean they’d be okay when introduced to other conditions. Or so Kelly said. Personally, Guy thinks if they grew inside him they should be perfectly safe even if they’re alien. Maybe they even only look like the alien flowers they represent, but are much closer biologically to something from earth.

But what’s he know? Science is his worst subject.

It’s stupid anyhow, whatever this is. Guy’s never been in love before and he’s not in love now. Especially with some boy he only kinda knows who turns into ten, admittedly really cool, different aliens. If he was, he’d know it.

“Hey! Shezow!” Diamondhead calls, running up to him. Shezow turns and nearly laughs at the dents Diamondhead is leaving in the sidewalk. “I have the info on those flowers you wanted!” He stops in front of him with a wide smile, holding out a pile of pages held together with a paperclip with print Shezow is sure is too neat to be his. Too neat to be Diamondhead’s, at least. One of the other alien forms could’ve written it, or his human form, or one of his partners. The idea the boy behind Diamondhead could’ve taken the time to handwrite multiple pages of information on an alien flower for him makes him flush. He swallows down the swirl of flowers.

“Thanks,” Shezow says, keeping his eyes on the packet as he takes it from him.

“Sure thing!” Diamondhead smiles at him. “Anything for my favourite super-powered sidekick.”

“Sidekick?” Shezow repeats, looking up at him. “Excuse you, you’re the sidekick here.”

Diamondhead snorts, but it’s fond and amused. It’s an old joke between friends, not distaste like he got from those assholes when he was just starting and considered joining a bigger team. He’s still glad he’d decided against it in the end. And glad he tried, if just to force the old heroes too stuck in their ways to see past themselves to actually look at other heroes for a change. Shezow folds the papers to store them in an empty pouch on his utility belt.

Later, he throws up the petals he’d swallowed down.

“This is a dangerous place right now, you know.” Guy jolts at the hissing voice and looks up into XLR8’s visor. He showed up out of nowhere, right as Guy was about to transform. Though it’s not very surprising. It’s more XLR8’s thing than any of the others to show up suddenly, completely silent. She curls her hand into a fist, hiding her ring, despite knowing no one else who’s noticed it has ever connected the dots so the idea of XLR8 being able to is a little silly. But she also knows he’s a good hero. She won’t risk it.

“Is it?” Guy asks, coughing as she nearly uses her Shezow voice on instinct. If XLR8 notices the slight way her voice warbles, she can’t tell.

“Well yeah,” he gestures out of the alley, to where the villain of the week is making a giant mess of the road. Without a doubt, her dad will be complaining about it during dinner. Though he’s started to complain less, between the years of living in Megadale and Shezow starting to do the best she can to keep the damage to a minimum during the fight as well as helping fix things after. “There’s a villain right there, you can’t seriously tell me you missed it.”

Guy shrugs. “There are a lot of villains here. If I hid or whatever everytime one popped up, I’d never get to do anything.” Even with the visor, she feels like she knows the exact expression XLR8 is making. Eyes narrowed, staring at her like he thinks she’s a little off-kilter but unable to say anything because she’s not exactly wrong. “Aren’t you supposed to protect me, anyway?”

XLR8 snorts. It’s a noise he’s made before and it makes Guy just as curious as it has every other time he’s made it. As far as Guy can tell, XLR8 has no nose. How can you snort without a nose? He picks her up, dashing off before one of the androids spots them in their little alleyway. It’s always a little dizzying to travel by someone else’s super speed.

“You’re not gonna fight them?” Guy asks once she’s put down. They’re far away from the action now, though she can still hear it.

“I’m waiting for my partner. She’s later than she usually is,” XLR8 says, looking around.

“Can’t you do it without her?” Guy asks, feeling her heart pound. He has to be talking about her. In all the time they’ve worked together, whenever he talks about the people he works with he calls them his sidekicks, so it has to be her.

“Yeah, but this is her city and it’d feel weird,” XLR8 says. The petals shift in her chest as she breathes.

“That’s nice of you,” Guy says and XLR8 laughs, the sound crackling like tv static before he runs off. Guy watches him go. Once he’s out of sight, she transforms.

“Where were you?” Kelly asks quietly once Shezow is by her side.

“XLR8 caught me before I could transform, so I had to make a detour,” Shezow says, refusing to look at her sister. It didn’t help that she’d had to cough up more petals before she could even transform. The flowers were starting to get annoying, scraping against her insides. Kelly tilts her head and Shezow moves to join XLR8 before Kelly can connect any dots. Before she can see Kelly connect the dots. It wouldn’t be the full picture, anyway. Because if Shezow really is in love with XLR8, then she’s also in love with multiple other boys. And as far as she knows Kelly still thinks all the aliens are different people.

“You’re in love with him,” Kelly says.

No I’m not, Guy wants to say, but “which one do you mean?:” slips out instead. He wants to bash his head into the counter. It’s cruel of her to confront him on this when he hasn’t even had his breakfast.

“I don’t know. All of them?” Kelly shrugs. “I have a theory about them, but I haven’t really been able to confirm it yet.”

“What’s your theory?” Guy asks, hoping to distract her away from whatever her original intent was.

“I think all the aliens might actually be one, shapeshifting alien,” Kelly says quietly, like a conspiracy. Despite the fact they’re in the She-Lair. “We never see them all together, even when multiple of them help you in the same day. And none of them ever stick around despite helping you.”

I wouldn’t say that… Guy thinks, remembering several times he’s hung out with one of them after they’ve saved the city. Playing in the park with Wildmutt or getting a fizzy burp with Four Arms… He doesn’t say anything, though. It’d only give Kelly more fuel.

“So you think they’re all the same person?” Guy asks

“Yeah. But like I said, it’s just a theory.”

“A game theory, thanks for watching,” Guy mumbles around his spoon and Kelly gives him a flat look.

“Can’t you be serious about this, at least?” Kelly asks. “You know, since it’ll kill you eventually.”

“See, the key word there is eventually.” Guy hops up onto the counter. “And if I’m even in love, instead of this being some other weird flower disease.”

“Another weird flower disease,” Kelly says flatly.

“Yeah! I work with aliens constantly, a magic ring’s messed with my dna, who knows what I could’ve caught that a normal human wouldn’t?” Guy says. Kelly sighs. “Maybe it’s not a Shezow thing.”

“But what if it is?” Kelly asks.

“Then I’m fine,” Guy says, hoping off the counter, and taking Kelly’s hands in his. “Because I’m not in love.”

Kelly, like any sister, is lovely, helpful, and a major pain in the ass. She doesn’t drop it, which leads to him being out more. He can’t take it to Maz, because Maz is on Kelly’s side. So he only has one friend to turn to. Or, ten friends.

The sun is bright enough to glitter off Diamondhead in rainbows. It’s something Guy would’ve said looks dumb, back when he was twelve and only just starting out as Shezow. And only just learning about himself. Now, he just thinks it looks cool and kind of pretty, the way the colours paint the sidewalk and grass. “So what’s up, Zow? You don’t usually call.”

He doesn’t. He should, probably, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know where their base is, or when they’re in the area, so he’s never bothered before. “My sister’s being a nuisance,” she says and Diamondhead nods. “I know she doesn’t mean to be, she’s just worried, but I’ve told her she doesn’t have to be. And now she’s dragged my best friend into it, too.”

“I thought I was your best friend,” Diamondhead pouts, and Shezow laughs.

“One of them,” she says with a smile. Diamondhead looks at her like he knows she’s not just talking about the friends he has as Guy Hamdon, but he doesn’t say anything. She wonders if he would’ve as Greymatter.

“So you want me to distract you?” Diamondhead asks.

“It’d be nice,” Shezow sighs. Diamondhead mimes cracking his knuckles.

“That I can do,” Diamondhead says with a wide smile, and Shezow smiles back.

Maybe it’s the days he spends hanging out with the different forms his alien friend takes that does him in. But he feels good around the aliens, feels happy and distracted, and he needs the distraction. Wants the distraction with Kelly, Maz, and even Sheila breathing down his neck. So he ignores the tickling of his chest, the painful squeeze of his ribcage, holding in the petals and flowers until he has no choice but to speed away to cough them up. They always look worried when he comes back, despite Shezow making sure to wipe away any spit or blood. To make sure there is no evidence of this disease which isn’t a sign of love, slowly twisting his running thoughts into knots around his lungs and heart.

It’s what kills him, except it doesn’t, because he is Shezow and if it did Kelly would find a way to kill him herself instead.

Four Arms catches him as he stumbles, coughs wracking painfully up his throat, too sudden and powerful for him to hold down. When the heaving starts, the petals and flowers forcing their way up and out, Four Arms scrambles before holding his hair back. It makes him want to smile. Then the stems squeeze more painfully, making him gasp and choke.

“Shezow?” Four Arms asks, worry dripping from his voice. Shezow wants to reassure him, wants to tell him she’s fine, but the flowers are more insistent. They don’t want to stop. She coughs until her lungs are on fire, until her throat feels like she ate seven bags of super-spicy nachos. And then she coughs past it. Flowers and blood and spit lay on the ground in front of Shezow, blurred by tears. Then it’s done. Shezow sits there for several long minutes, breathing slow through a burning throat, until she registers Four Arms with one hand still holding back her hair and another rubbing her back as he makes soft sounds, like he’s done this before.

It is quite possibly the stupidest moment to have the sudden realization that Kelly might just be right.

She scrubs her arm across her eyes, the cloth of the gloves brushing away the tears.

“Are those the flowers you asked Diamondhead about two months ago?” Four Arms asks, looking over her shoulder. Shezow swallows once, twice, feeling the burn of acid in her throat.

“Yeah.” Her voice croaks. She doesn’t risk clearing her throat.

“Why’d you spit them up?” He asks.

“It’s a Shezow thing,” Shezow answers, doing her best to smile. Four Arms raises an eyebrow.

“Are you dying?” Four Arms asks quietly. Shezow wants to say no. Thinks she should say maybe, since it’s closer to the truth, and ends up saying “Naybe” instead. It makes Four Arms snort, at least. The petals in her chest flutter at the sound. She clears her throat on instinct. Regrets it immediately.

“I should head out.” She stands up, feeling rocky in a way she hasn’t since she traded in her high heels for hightops.

“Wait!” Four Arms quickly moves to standing as well, holding out all four of his hands. He gestures to himself with two of them. “Maybe I should take you back or something.”

“Thanks, but I’m a big girl. I can make it back to my lair on my own, I promise,” Shezow says.

She leaves behind the flowers, too busy running to think about them. Even if she wasn’t, she’s not sure she wouldn’t have left them there anyway despite what Kelly would say, leaving them behind like evidence of guilt.

“I’m in love with all of them,” Guy admits to Kelly once he’s back in the She-lair, catching her and Sheila off guard and interrupting their conversation. Kelly stares at him for several seconds before jumping to her feet.

“Guy! You look-” Kelly breaks off, mouth open, just staring more.

“Like she-it?” Guy says, laughing bitterly.

“I think I just coughed up about three entire bouquets. You know, maybe I should get into the flower arranging business.”

“Guy.” Kelly’s using her serious tone and Guy’s shoulders droop.

“Can we not do this right now? I’m feeling pretty tired actually,” Guy says. It doesn’t take much work for him to sound pathetic. He feels pathetic. He feels like he just got run over by a steam engine. Kelly frowns.

“What happened?” She asks, tone gentled, and Guy isn’t sure if it’s better or worse. Guy shrugs, because he doesn’t want to admit she’s right when already she knows she is. “How bad was it?”

“Remember that bad I ate? The one you told me not to?” Guy asks. Kelly hisses between her teeth.

“That’s bad.”

“Yeah.” Guy sighs. He doesn’t really know what else to do. Usually Kelly is the one with all the bigger-picture ideas. And the only solution he knows is one he really doesn’t want to do.

It’s also the one he knows Kelly will give.

“You going to tell them?” Kelly asks.

“I don’t want to,” Guy whines, pouting at her. He’d bat his eyelashes, too, but he was still transformed and didn’t want to accidentally activate his wind winkers. There is not much pity to be had when your ‘pity me’ act is interrupted by near-bodily harm. Kelly pats his shoulder.

“Too bad.”

“Kelllyyyyy,” Guy whines. “Don’t make me.”

“Oh, I can’t make you do anything,” Kelly says and pokes him in the chest. “But your body can. Promise me you’ll say something before your stupidity actually does manage to kill you, yeah?”

Guy huffs out a breath, gently knocking her hand away. “Fine. Though just remember, technically you’re giving up any chance to take over being Shezow.”

“An incredible sacrifice on my part,” Kelly says drily.

If Guy is anything, it’s awkward. He wishes he still had the super empathy because at least then he seemed to know what to say, but now he can only rely on his own twisting tongue and pounding heart. The flowers choking up his throat don’t help. She rocks back on the heels of her white sneakers, looking up at Heatblast. “Did Four Arms tell you about me coughing up flowers in front of him?” Heatblast blinks at her. She holds onto the end of her gloves, arms crossed behind her back.

“Yeah.” He says slowly, giving her a searching look. His eyes flicker across her torso and limbs like she may fall apart into petals, right there in front of him. Maybe she will. Neither Kelly or she knows just how a Shezow dies to this, if the petals will choke her until the stems come out her throat like a vase or if they’ll simply expand outwards until she’s nothing but flowers and roots. The thought doesn’t push her like she wishes it did. Who knew it was this hard to just tell someone you kinda-sorta like them? (Maz. Maz probably knew.) “Hey said you might be dying?”

Shezow swallows, adam’s apple bobbing painfully. “I am.”

“Oh.” Heatblast’s fire crackles in the silence between them, and Shezow knows she really should say something, but she doesn’t know how.

“I have a secret?” Shezow says, voice turning up into a question instead of staying steady for a statement and she winces. Heatblast’s head tilts. “I know you’re all one alien. Person?”

Heatblast’s fire splutters. “W-whaaat? No we’re not, have you seen those other guys?”

“Yeah.” Shezow licks her lips, tastes the oddly waxy taste of her lipstick. Quieter, “I have another secret.”

Heatblast’s denials cut off. This time, he looks nervous. “Yeah…?”

“I think I like all of you. Uh. Like-like. The gross mushy kind. Except maybe not the mushy kind? I’ve never really… done this before, so I’m not sure, but definitely the romantic kind,” she rambles, looking at the ground. The sidewalk is cracked; a dandelion is popping through, bright and yellow. When she glances up, Heatblast’s mouth is agape.

“What.” There’s no inflection to his voice, but his flame’s gotten lighter. He’s blushing. Shezow feels her own face heat at the realization.

“Uh- Y-yeah,” Shezow says.

“Wh- what does this have to do with you… dying?” Heatblast asks. Shezow laughs, the sound strangled and high.

“Apparently when a Shezow falls in love, flowers grow in her lungs until she admits it!” She laughs again. It feels hysterical, like helium going to her head.

“Well that’s stupid.” Heatblast frowns. Shezow gives a flat smile and nods.

“She-yeah it is. A surprising amount of rules are bullshit. They really like ‘Zows to be honest with their feelings, or whatever,” Shezow says. Heatblast makes a noise Shezow recognizes as a snort, but sounds more like a flame spluttering.

“You don’t like it?” Heatblast asks with a smile.

“Yeah, sure, I love the feeling of flowers curling into my ribs. Feels great,” Shezow says drily. She takes a breath and finally realizes just how much oxygen fills her lungs. She didn’t even realize she was breathing smaller breaths before now. She takes another breath, just to feel it completely fill her lungs, the taste of flowers still tainting it. Each breath makes the air feel clearer.

“If it helps any, I think I have gross mushy romantic feelings for you, too,” Heatblast says. Shezow smiles.

“It might,” she says and Heatblast laughs. The sound makes her chest flutter— butterflies, not flowers. The relief makes her laugh as well.

[archester-creations]

“We’re dating,” Sky says, a serious note to his voice as he takes her hand, and Yang looks at him in surprise. He’s rarely ever serious. It’s one of the things that makes them fit, neither of them take things very seriously. Yang only does when she has to. Even when she asked him out, it was with a smile and a joke (“Will you be the yee to my haw?”). “If you fuckers want to be mad about that, then you can die mad because I don’t plan for that to change anytime soon.”

Yang feels her cheeks redden at his declaration. It drips with permeance. It’s the promise to stay, no matter how badly those around them may react to it. It’s a promise only three others have made; one only two of them have kept.

Somehow she thinks he will, too. She grips his hand back and he smiles at her.

“Yeah,” Yang says, managing to meet Ruby’s eyes despite knowing what she finds there could make her fold like a house of cards, could end what’s between her and Sky and quite possibly break both their hearts in a single fell swoop.She finds a slightly confused, definitely amused smile, and wonders why she ever doubted her sister.

@rwbyrarepairs

[archester-creations]

Rated: T

Pairing: Gen, Akako & Kaito, Akako & Hakuba

Word Count: ~1k

A/N: A bit of canon-typical violence

Akako was willing to let a lot go. Despite what Kuroba may say, she has patience. She has a lot of patience. It’s honestly amazing just how patient she is.

This is where her patience snaps. Her fists tighten.

There wasn’t really a lot to do today. It was saturday and Akako planned for it to be a quiet day. She’d watch a few movies she’s been putting off, eat popcorn, and maybe use her crystal ball to check in on Kuroba’s heist. But during the second movie, she feels an uncomfortable pinch. A feeling she can’t explain, one she’s never felt before, but something similar to a hose being bent and the water being forced to a trickle. She scrambles from the couch, calling her crystal ball to her and waving it through her friends. Aoko is in her kitchen, humming with the news of the night’s KID heist in the background. Hakuba is running outside, fear in his eyes. Kuroba is hanging off a fence, the spike of it sticking out through his back and blood seeping from the tear in his jacket to the dirt. His hang glider is splayed out beside him, broken and useless. He is going to die. It pings through Akako, the pinch now a burn, and she knows with certainty he won’t live past this night unless she intervenes. One of his crows has finally managed to break his wings and hold him so he can’t escape. Except this crow has apparently become a shrike. Her teeth grit. Her fists tighten. Before she fully thinks of it, she is by Kaito’s side.

The first thing she registers is the noises Kuroba is making. Small whines and quick, labored breaths. The second thing she registers is a gunshot and the sound of Hakuba crumpling. The third is a large man, wearing a black fedora and trench coat. Kuroba’s unlucky shrike. When the man turns back to Kuroba, he jumps.

“Where the fuck did you come from?” He snarls, raising the pistol he’d used to shoot Kuroba and Hakuba to align with her heart. She gives it an unimpressed look.

“Hell,” Akako says, looking up at him with a smile. She’s lying, of course. Tea with Lucifer only happens on the third friday of a month, and this is the beginning of the month. The man’s lip curls.

“Akako?” Hakuba whispers, looking up, and Akako inclines her head. It was enough already to have her magic tell her Hakuba wasn’t dead. She appreciates the confirmation nonetheless.

“Then let me send you back,” he says and pulls the trigger. The bullet flies toward her, its path and their close distance no doubt allowing for great damage and most likely death. If she were normal. If she weren’t a powerful witch. (Quite possibly the most powerful red witch alive, if you ask her.) But she is not normal, and is in fact quite pissed off at this man damaging two of her favourite things, so she stands still in the path of the bullet instead of dodging so this man can see just how much damage his little toy does not do. The man’s jaw drops when all it causes is a brief stumble, the force rocking her back as the bullet clatters harmlessly to the pavement. He fires twice more with the same results, his hand shaking. One of the bullets flies slightly off course and nearly strikes Kuroba. She mutters a spell and the bullet oozes to the ground, the kinetic energy transferring to thermal and melting the iron. The man drops the gun.

“Finished?” Akako asks with a smirk, flicking her wrist to send the gun spinning toward Hakuba before the man can say anything. He splutters, eyes snapping to the gun before returning to her. When she takes a step forward he takes a step back. “Are you afraid of me? Good.”

He glares at her, angered. “I don’t know who or what the fuck you are, but you don’t know who you’re messing with. I am part of a very powerful organization.”

Akako laughs, hand over her mouth like one of those 90s villains in the magical girl animes Aoko and Kuroba like to watch so much. He flinches back a step and she takes a breath to reign herself in. Or at least reign in the laughter. There’s been enough holding back, she thinks. She’s allowed the organization to play, because she knows Kuroba likes the show and Hakuba likes the chase. Because she doesn’t make a habit of placing her hands within dishes which don’t concern her. But they have very much made themselves her problem now, and she thinks maybe she has let them play for too long.

“You think what hides in the shadows is true power,” Akako says, tilting her head. “But you’ve never witnessed it before. Never seen even a taste of what they have you chase. None of you have, but they will all learn.”

“For who I am, I am no Kaitou KID, nor am I a mistaken curse like Pandora. I am not some crow hiding in the shadows, make-pretending power.” Akako straightens, expression flat but fierce. Her eyes flash like blood, like violence, like impending doom. “I am a true magician and I do not like having my things broken. I am a descendant of Sekhmet and I take my payments in blood.”

The man pales behind the shadows of his fedora. “You don’t even have a weapon,” he spits, wavered.

Akako smiles. “Cute. You think I need a weapon.” She waves her hand and the shrike falls to his knees, hacking up black bile. Akako turns to Kuroba, and her mind stutters a moment on his impalement. Disease she can do, but healing is something the Koizumi line lost long ago. All she can do is send him to the hospital and hope they are quick enough.

“Hakuba,” Akako says.

“Yes?” Hakuba says, looking away from the shrike to her. She looks him over, checks for where the blood pools. It’s in his side. The bullet which hung Kuroba truly was simply a lucky shot.

Or, perhaps, a very unlucky shot.

“Watch over Kuroba. And perhaps tell him you found him there after a watchful eye sent a note to your own room?” Akako says. Akako asks. Hakuba nods. “We wouldn’t want him to throw a tantrum.”

“He can be quite a kid when the mood strikes him,” Hakuba agrees with a pained smirk. The way he’s only looked at Kuroba once doesn’t escape her notice. “And you, Lady Akako?”

“I have work to do,” Akako says and sends them off, only KID’s suit left behind, impaled on a spike.

The sun rises in the morning with reports of several buildings razed to the ground, leaving nothing but ash in their wake; multiple cases of spontaneous combustion; and one unlucky dead man in a highrise, face locked in pain and diseased lines of red scarred deep into his skin, all leading out from a javelin-like wound in his torso.

Later that morning a first grader gets a packet filled with several files of research with a note taped to it, telling her it’s from “one fate-breaker to another”.

Kuroba Kaito wakes several days later to two worried parents, a worried sister, a detective in a cast, and one witch. He stares at the witch in surprise and says nothing when she tells him he’ll have to continue his search without the crow’s aid.

[archester-creations]

you got me trippin' (oh) stumblin' (oh) flippin (oh) fumblin (oh), clumsy 'cause i'm falling in love

got dawn on the brain <3 @rwbyrarepairs

(zoomins of some below cut)

[archester-creations]

i just watched kung fu panda 4 and i rewrote one of the final scenes for po/tai lung so spoilers ahoy

“I’m gonna get back my staff, give all of you your kung fu back, and then I’m going to kiss you,” Po says seriously.

“What?” Tai Lung says, taken aback. Po’s eyes widen.

“I’m going to give you back your kung fu,” Po says.

“No, the other thing,” Tai Lung says.

“I’m going to get my staff back?” Po says.

“The other thing,” Tai Lung says.

“I’m going to defeat the Chameleon,” Po says.

“Not that, you stupid panda, the last thing!” Tai Lung hisses quietly.

“Wha-what last thing?” Po says, looking away. “I didn’t say a last thing. Do you remember me saying a last thing? Cause-” he breaks off with a strained laugh. “ I didn’t.”

“Panda…” Tai Lung says lowly, reaching through the bars and grabbing Po’s face to force him to look at him. “Get me my kung fu back and you can have as many kisses as you want.”

Po flushes, then perks up. “Wait, really?”

“Yes,” Tai Lung sighs, regretting it already.

“Alright! Okay!” Po nods, dislodging his hands without even noticing, and dances away, giving a “no take backs!” and finger guns over his shoulder, nearly tripping as he does. Tai Lung settles in to watch the fight, not even dreaming about taking back his words to this strange, excited panda who he once thought he hated.

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: pre-slash James/Peter

Word Count: ~700

A/N: AU where they meet differently and also Tink (and all fairies) is a cat

"Oh. You have a cat." James looks down nervously at the blonde tabby currently rubbing herself against Peter’s legs and purring. Peter smiles, picking her up.

"Yeah! Are you allergic?" He asks, tilting his head at the older man.

"No." James shifts, staring at Tinkerbell like she might launch herself at him. Honestly, she might. Tink's always had a bit of a temper, above any other cat Peter’s met. "They just... don't tend to like me."

"That's okay. She won't hurt you." Peter smiles sunnily, and it's against his better judgement, but James trusts the smile enough to inch closer. Peter's smile widens and he lifts the cat closer to him. "Her name's Tinkerbell."

"Hello, Miss Tin-" James cuts off, the cat reaching out with a hiss as Peter steps closer and clawing him across the cheek and nose. James backpedals in the shock of pain, hand going to the claw marks. The skin is wet under his fingers. To his annoyance, Peter laughs at his cat's actions, dropping her as the force of his humour bows him over, hands moving instead to clasp his knees in an attempt to keep his balance. Tinkerbell takes a swipe at his leg as she passes, thankfully failing to get past the material of his pants, her nose in the air as she walks further into the house with her tail swishing.

"You lied to me." James says.

"Maybe," Peter smiles up at him, grin toothy with laughter. James feels his own mouth twitch betrayingly upward.

"May I perhaps have a bandaid?" James asks, pulling out a handkerchief to dab at the blood.

"For something so small?" Peter’s smile plays at his attempt of a pout, eyelashes batting innocently.

"If you can spare one from your vast collection," James says. Peter rolls his eyes.

"They're in the bathroom, come on." Peter leads him further into the apartment and James takes a seat on the toilet when Peter directs him to. The boy pulls out what truly only can be considered a collection. It's a spiral bound folder, like one might use for displaying cds or stickers or even for scrapbooking. There are pages and pages of bandaids of all different sizes and designs within little pouches. Peter removes two bandages, one with gold coins on a red background and the other with a little tricorn hat with a skull and crossbones flag next to it. James snorts.

"Pirate ones?" James asks.

"Only the best for my favourite inspiration and cover artist," Peter says haughtily, messing with the sink and a rag, and James looks away to hide the pleased flush of his face at Peter's words. They're joking, anyway.

"I thought your brothers were your favourite inspiration," James says. He glances back at Peter just in time to see his nose scrunch up in thought.

"True," Peter says. He wrings out the cloth. "Guess you're just my favourite cover artist, then."

"I thought I was your only cover artist," James says, because apparently he can not keep his foot out of his mouth today.

"Maybe," Peter says mysteriously. James looks at him when Peter takes gentle hold of his chin to wipe at the cat scratch and for the life of him, James can't tell whether or not Peter truly has someone else making covers for his books. He hopes not. It'd make him awfully jealous.

"It's a shame," Peter says with a hum.

"What is?" James asks.

Peter turns his face this way and that, tilting it so the bathroom's fluorescents shine more fully on his skin. "I don't think it'll scar."

"A tragedy," James agrees seriously.

"Probably for the best, though. This way you'll only have the scar I gave you." Peter says, words nearly dark, as he puts the first bandaid on, the tricorn hat across the bridge of James' nose. James nearly touches the scar Peter gave him a year ago, stark across the expanse of his ribs. It'd been an accident, gotten while Peter was acting something out with a blade too sharp to be moving it like he'd been. But Peter held all the marks of a swordsman and James was too caught up in watching to say anything. The look on Peter's face when the doctor said it'd scar was proud.

"I guess it is for the best, then," James agrees, quieter. Peter slaps the second bandaid to his cheek. Literally. James hisses through his teeth at the sting.

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: friendship: Ayumi, Genta, Mitsuhiko, Conan, and Haibara

Word Count: ~900

A/N: Kuroba Ayumi au, transboy Ayumi

It was the first day of the new school year and Ayumi was as excited as he was nervous. There hadn’t been (much) trouble keeping his adoption a secret from his friends at first or over the break. But now that his name had changed, that would also change. All of them were nosy at heart. That was what made them such great detectives. (His dad said once, “the greater the detective, the nosier they are”. Though he refused to elaborate about Hakuba-kun.) They would definitely question him about his new family situation once they heard the new family name and while Ayumi and his dad did go over what to say, it didn’t make the thought of lying to his friends easier.

He really hoped he could fool Conan.

“Can you guys promise to remain cool during attendance?” Ayumi asked aa they all filed into the room.

The other three boys all looked at each other, then at Ai who shrugged. What followed was a chorus of ‘sure’s and ‘okay’s. Ayumi breathed a tentative sigh of relief as they sat down. Conan leaned closer to him.

“Why did you want us to promise?” Conan asked.

“I’ll tell you all during break,” Ayumi said. It probably wasn’t good to put it off, but Ayumi wanted some time. Conan looked a little suspicious, but he nodded so he wouldn't ask again until break. Good. Hopefully Ayumi could figure out what he wanted to say. They'd already planned their story, but that didn't change that his dad was KID and one of his best friends was basically KID's greatest enemy. The Lupin to his Holmes. If Ayumi wasn't cool about it, Conan would know something was up, and Ayumi wasn't exactly the greatest liar yet.

The teacher started to go through the list of names and Ayumi reminded himself that he would be one of the first names now, instead of the very last. It still took a few seconds and a repeat of "Kuroba Ayumi" for Ayumi to register it and respond with a quick "Here!"

“WHAT?” Genta exclaimed and Ayumi winced. The teacher sent Genta a look that made him slouch in his seat. As the teacher went on, Ayumi could feel his friends' eyes on him. The feeling barely went away even as class began.

Break came much too soon. It was hard to think with four sets of eyes practically boring into him from different parts of the classroom. Four sets of eyes from four people who knew him way too well and one set from someone way too observant. Ayumi tried his best not to fidget as they walked over to him.

"So?" Genta placed his hands on Ayumi's desk loudly, barely under a slam, like he was doing an interrogation. "Explain."

"Genta," Mitsuhiko admonished, though Ayumi knew he was just as curious. Ayumi took a breath.

“I was adopted,” Ayumi said, adding a mental ‘legally, now’ before he threw that thought out. It couldn’t show on his face that his dad was kind-of-sort-of a criminal. That would make Conan and the others even more interested. Conan couldn’t know. This was easier before his name was changed. Though Ayumi preferred Kuroba Ayumi to Yoshida Ayumi. Either way, he still had his luck (more now, with Kuroba Kaito on his side) so he could do this. “during the break. Somethings happened and my parents couldn’t take care of me anymore, so they asked another family member to. I’m living with him now.”

Mitsuhiko and Genta stared at him, Genta’s head tilting and Mitsuhiko’s hand coming to rest against his chin, and Ayumi suddenly thought he understood a little bit what his dad meant when he called detectives nosey. Ayumi didn’t know what to say if they questioned him further. On one hand, he didn’t think he quite wanted to tell his friends what happened with his parents just yet, even with how much he trusted them. On the other hand, if he did tell them, he didn’t know how many more jumps it would take Conan to get to ‘Kuroba = KID’. Maybe he was too careful about it, but Ayumi felt like he should be.

“Oooh,” Conan said, like it made all the sense in the world to him, cutting off Ayumi’s thoughts. Mitsuhiko and Genta turned to him and Ayumi could practically see the curiosity bleed out of them. He nearly thanked Conan for it right then and there.

“How is he?” Genta asked.

“Dad’s pretty cool and really nice.” Ayumi smiled. The smile fell just slightly when he noticed the way Conan looked at him then and he got the most distinct feeling he’d said something wrong. Though he didn’t know where. It’s not until break is nearly over and Genta and Mitsuhiko have followed Ai back over to their desks, exhausted of questions for now, that he learned where. He’d called Kaito dad, not something someone would call a family member just watching them.

“You told your parents, didn’t you?” Conan asked, looking over at where the other members of their group sit instead of at Ayumi.

“Yeah.” Ayumi deflated a bit. Conan turned to him, mouth twisted slightly.

“You seem to really like where you are now,” Conan said.

“I do,” Ayumi agreed with a smile. Conan nodded.

“Good.”

Ayumi was a little surprised when there were no more questions. But he appreciated it, too, as Conan left it there.

“How was school?” His dad asked him later, when he returned home, and Ayumi smiled as he launched into telling him all about how his friends reacted to the adoption, about his new teacher, and about the lost cat the Detective Boys returned to its owner on their way home.

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: Mavpunzel (Mavis Dracula/Rapunzel)

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Librarian Rapunzel and maybe human Mavis?

“Uh, do you have any books on Vlad the Impaler?” Rapunzel looks up just in time to see the prettiest girl she’s probably ever seen brush her hair behind her ear. It’s short enough that parts of it fall back in front of her face immediately; black wisps framing blue eyes.

Rapunzel blinks. “Vlad the Impaler?”

“Yeah,” the girl says. “I’m doing a report on him.”

Rapunzel feels her eyebrows rise in surprise. That’s not a typical report request. It’s not a typical request in general, really.

“You think that’s weird.” The girl seems to deflate, shoulders drooping like a balloon losing air.

“A little,” Rapunzel laughs, then backtracks as she realizes how that probably sounded. “I just mean he’s not usually people’s first choice. Or their second. It’s pretty cool, actually.”

The girl looks at her, head tilted and eyebrows drawn a bit. After a second, she smiles. “Thanks. My professor actually tried to get me to choose someone else, but Vlad’s pretty important to my family, you know?”

“I get it,” Rapunzel says, thinking of Varian. “My little brother is like that with Leonardo Davinci. I think he’d try to date him if he had a time machine.”

“Well, not quite to that level,” the girl laughs, her eyes shining. Rapunzel smiles.

“I can take you to his books, if you want?” Rapunzel says.

“Leonardo Davinci’s?” The girl asks, eyebrows quirking, mouth still wavering in amusement.

“Vlad the Impaler,” Rapunzel says.

“That’d be nice, thanks,” the girl says and Rapunzel slips from behind the counter to lead her to the biographies.

“So why’s he important?” Rapunzel asks as she scans the stickers on the books for ‘Vlad’. When the girl hums a questioning tone, she clarifies. “You said Vlad was important to your family.”

“Ah, yeah,” the girl chuckles. Rapunzel glances out the corner of her eye to see the girl rub her arm, her cheeks pinkened. “We’re sort of related to him. It’s actually, like, a whole gimmick of our family,–”

“Ah-ha!” Rapunzel grabs the book, brandishing it, then flushes. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

The girl shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. Is that the book?”

“What were you saying?” Rapunzel asks as she hands it over.

“Oh, uh, nothing.” The girl shakes her head again, taking the book and tucking it to her chest. Rapunzel has to stop herself from pouting. Curse her overly excited nature. She checks her out back at the counter, the name Mavis Drăculești catching her eye, and then Mavis is out the automatic doors and back into the setting sun.

“Do you have any vampire books that aren’t Twilight or like Twilight?” Mavis asks, leaning her elbows on the divider that rims the edge of the front desk. Rapunzel swivels her chair slightly to be able to see her better, humming an amused note.

“Classical vampires.” Rapunzel nods to herself. “But not Dracula, I’m guessing?”

Mavis shakes her head. “Nah, had it read to me as a bedtime story all the time growing up.”

Rapunzel bites back a laugh and turns to the computer. It’s cute somehow to imagine a small girl, all tucked in, falling asleep while a parent reads her a gothic horror novel. Rapunzel wonders if Mavis ever slept with a stuffed animal, before she mentally shakes the thought from her head. It’s probably not appropriate to wonder that about a patron. It doesn’t stop her from wondering if she ever slept with a nightlight, though. Somehow, Rapunzel gets the feeling she didn’t. Looking at Mavis, Rapunzel thinks she’s always been a friend of the night.

There is a list of books, Twilight included, that she scrolls through, before she stops on one. “Have you considered Draculaura’s book?”

Mavis barks a laugh. The sound is throaty, like it came from the chest, and Rapunzel smiles. “You mean the girl from Monster High?”

“Yeah.” Rapunzel looks up at her, smile full of humour. “It’s currently on shelf if you want to read it.”

“Maybe.” Mavis snorts.

By the time they’re done Mavis is walking out with four vampire books– Draculaura’s diary on top– and possibly a piece of Rapunzel’s heart.

When Rapunzel walks out of the backroom, a paper in her hands and the conversation she’d just had with the page on duty lingering on her tongue, she spots Mavis softly lingering next to the desk like she’s looking for something or someone. Rapunzel stops without meaning to. Mavis’ attention is elsewhere and Rapunzel takes the opportunity to soak the other girl in. She’s wearing a black Metallica t-shirt today, with a black and white striped long sleeve shirt under it. Her thumbs poke out from the thumb holes, and the fingers of her left hand are curled into the sleeve. Her combat boots have blood red laces, something Rapunzel noticed when she first took her to Vlad’s biography. The blue of her eyes shines like turquoise in the midst of all the black.

“I like your shirt,” Rapunzel says, stepping next to her.

“Thanks.” Mavis turns to her without a flinch, smiling. It’s an odd feeling, almost. Rapunzel walks so quietly, she’s grown used to people being surprised at her presence. It’s not a bad odd feeling. “My friend Johnny let me borrow it.”

“He has good taste,” Rapunzel says and Mavis laughs.

“Sometimes,” she says. “You’ve never had a movie night with him.”

“That’s true,” Rapunzel says. “So what can I do you for?”

“Children’s fantasy. Vampires not needed,” Mavis says.

“But appreciated?” Rapunzel asks and Mavis smiles.

“Always.”

“Great!” Rapunzel says, reaching for the books she’s been keeping in the bottom drawer of the front desk. “Because I spotted these and thought maybe you might like them.”

The books are from the The Little Vampire series by Angela Sommer-Bodenburg and Mavis’ eyes light up when she sees them. She takes them from Rapunzel, staring at the art on their covers, and Rapunzel feels her chest warm. Somehow she’d managed to do really good.

“I love this series. My dad read it to me all the time as a kid,” Mavis says.

“I thought that was Dracula?” Rapunzel asks.

“That too,” Mavis says, glancing up at her. “But these, too. He read them every October, it was a tradition until I just… got too old, I guess.” Mavis shrugs.

“I’m glad to get them back to you,” Rapunzel says. Mavis looks at her again with a smile that stops her heart then resets it a few seconds later, like restarting a laptop.

“Thank you.”

“What’s your dad like?” Rapunzel asks as she scans through the catalogue for Mavis.

Mavis shrugs. “Pretty cool, I guess, though he’s a bit of a worrier. He owns a hotel, actually.”

“Just one?” Rapunzel asks.

“Yeah, any more and I think he might blow a gasket,” Mavis laughs and Rapunzel laughs with her.

“So what’s it called?” Rapunzel asks, curious.

Mavis looks around them conspiratorially before she leans in. “Hotel Transylvania,” she says like it’s a secret. Rapunzel’s pretty sure it’s not.

“Hotel Transylvania?” Rapunzel repeats, looking at her, and Mavis shrugs again. There’s a sly smile curving her lips.

“Like I said, my family’s really into the being-related-to-Vlad the Impaler thing. Especially my grandfather. He actually named my dad Dracula,” Mavis says, straightening up again.

“My grandfather was really into it, even named my dad Dracula.”

“Wait, doesn’t that mean-”

“My dad is Dracula Drăculești?” Mavis laughs. “Yeah.”

Rapunzel laughs a little, smiling wide, “That’s pretty cool.”

“Don’t let my dad hear you say that,” Mavis says. Her eyes twinkle like stars and Rapunzel finds herself staring at them, trying to see if she can find the constellations she’s memorized in the night air within their depths before she shakes herself from it and returns to the computer screen.

“I have to admit something to you. I’m not much of a reader,” Mavis says and Rapunzel stares at her in surprise.

“But you’re here nearly every week?” She doesn’t add that Mavis also gets books every time she comes in. She figures it’s implied.

“Yeah.” Mavis shifts, looking down at the grey carpet. Rapunzel tilts her head.

“So… why do you come in?” Rapunzel asks. It’s not to use the internet, or do college courses, because Mavis always walks immediately to the front desk, interacts with her, gets a pile of books checked out, and leaves.

“To see you,” Mavis says, cheeks darkening. Rapunzel thinks she feels her own cheeks heat.

“Oh.”

“Sorry if you don’t want that.” Mavis pushes her hair out of her face like Rapunzel has seen her do a number of times.

“No, I do,” Rapunzel is quick to assure Mavis, hands coming up to touch her, before she forces her arms to her sides. Mavis looks up at her through her lashes, eyes glittering with surprise.

“Really?” Mavis asks.

“Yeah,” Rapunzel says. “I love helping you.”

“Oh,” Mavis says, sounding small. It confuses Rapunzel for a moment, before she realizes what she said and what it probably sounds like.

“I mean! I- You-” Rapunzel clears her throat. “I- I like helping you. Specifically, not just cause it’s my job.”

Mavis perks up, eyebrows raising, and Rapunzel feels her heart lift with it. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Rapunzel nods. She has no idea why she repeated Mavis, but it feels right. It’s a confirmation, an understanding. “I close tonight, but if you want to stay…”

“Yes.” Mavis smiles. “I’ll take you out for food, if you want.”

“That’d be great,” Rapunzel says.

Rapunzel spots Mavis outside the library and waves a goodbye to the other librarian, the LAs, and the page she worked with that night before she runs over to meet her, pulling off her sneakers as she goes. The page smiles knowingly at her and Rapunzel nearly flushes.

"Ready to go?" Mavis pushes off the stone wall and Rapunzel nods before glancing around. There are no cars in the parking lot other than the ones she recognizes as her coworker's.

"Did you drive here?" Rapunzel asks, curious now.

"No." Mavis shakes her head. Rapunzel laughs, making Mavis frown.

"I didn't drive here, either. I walk through the woods," Rapunzel says, pointing at the trees behind them, and Mavis laughs as well.

"Come on," Mavis says. "I know a pretty good 24-hr burger place in walking distance." She holds out her hand and Rapunzel takes it gladly, smiling as much as Mavis does if the pull of her cheeks means anything.

Mavis walks her to a place she already knows and holds the door open for her like a gentleman, a move that would've made Rapunzel smile if she ever stopped smiling practically from the moment Mavis asked her out. Instead Rapunzel just thanks her as she steps inside. Mavis shoves her hands into her pockets as soon as they're both in the building, looking up at the menu.

"Do you usually get the same thing or do you try new things whenever you come?" Rapunzel asks. Mavis shrugs.

"It really depends. The first time I came to one of these places I actually tried to order everything on the menu. Johnny stopped me before I could," Mavis says, snorting. Rapunzel laughs, too, imagining an eager Mavis at the counter, nearly overwhelming the server before Johnny steps in.

"Will I ever meet him?"

"Johnny?" Mavis questions. "Yeah, of course."

"Awesome. He sounds pretty fun," Rapunzel says.

"He is," Mavis says.

The two of them sit at a booth in the corner, close together despite the diner being completely empty beside the workers. They split their fries between them and share a strawberry shake. Rapunzel makes Mavis laugh so hard at one point the milkshake nearly comes out her nose. As it was, the only casuality were a few bits of chewed fry they had to wipe off the table. It's a great first date in Rapunzel's opinion, and if the shine of Mavis' eyes means anything she agrees. Rapunzel chews a bite of her burger and wonders how to ask Mavis on another as well as how to ask for her number.

[archester-creations]

Ivy teaches Carmen to drive date?

“Alright, so you want to take it slow-” Ivy starts, cutting off as Carmen touches the accelerator too hard too quickly and they jolt forward a few inches before Carmen panics and slams on the brake. It’s good Ivy remembered to put on her seatbelt. That combo almost put her through the windshield.

“I’m so sorry,” Carmen says. She’s all scrunched now so her shoulders come up to her ears, but at least her legs are still loose and stretched out for the pedals.

“It’s fine.” Ivy waves it away. “You should’ve seen it when Zack started.

“Really?” Carmen asks.

“Yeah. Nearly sent us into the harbor.”  Though it was also because they were starting off with plans to race, old games of Hard Drivin’ dancing in their heads. Zack drifted when he should’ve braked, and they had to spend that summer working for Old Man Murray to make up for the shop window. Carmen smiles, unscrunching just a bit. Ivy looks back at the asphalt in front of them as Carmen slowly lets off the brake. They’re in a parking lot, Zack and Ivy’s own first attempts at driving making her think teaching Carmen in an empty lot would be for the best. So far, she’s pretty sure she was right.

“Okay, so touch the pedals lightly. This car’s a smart gal, she’ll know what you want without you forcing her,” Ivy says and Carmen snorts a little as she does what Ivy told her, making Ivy look over at her with a raised brow. “What?”

“You sound like Zack,” Carmen says.

“Eugh. If anything, Zack sounds like me,” Ivy says, making a face, and Carmen shakes her head. She’s calmer than she was a few seconds ago. It makes Ivy smile despite herself.

“Turn here,” Ivy says, pointing right, away from the shops. Carmen hesitates a moment before she turns, yanking the wheel slightly too hard and running the wheel slightly over a curb. She grimaces as all four tires touch asphalt again. “It’s fine,” Ivy assures. Carmen gives an unsteady laugh and Ivy puts a hand on her shoulder. “Do you want to take a break?”

“Yeah,” Carmen sighs. She breaks, then throws the car in park so she can hang her head.

“You’ll get there,” Ivy says with a smile. Carmen turns to her, her own smile wry.

“Thanks for being willing to teach me,” Carmen says.

“Of course! It was a pretty awesome date idea,” Ivy says, reaching over to punch Carmen’s shoulder, and Carmen’s cheeks turn a soft pink.

“Player suggested it.” Carmen says with a shrug.

“Smart kid,” Ivy says. “Now what about we swap seats and I take us to get ice cream?”Carmen pushes herself from the wheel. “That sounds great.”

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: Maribug (Marinette/Ladybug)

Word Count: ~500

A/N: @mlbfemslashfebruary I don’t know if they’ll count since it’s technically selfcest femslash (even if they’re separate people in this), but I’d already had this all written up when I found out about the mlb month and figured ‘hey, why the heck not?’

Being a superhero was hard. Being the lead superhero, with all of Paris on your shoulders and a box of miraculi to protect, just made it seem impossible. But there was one place she could go where she wasn't just a superhero. A place she could go to relax and forget about her responsibilities. The Dupain-Cheng bakery. Just the smell of the baked goods took all the tension from her shoulders. Ladybug swings onto the roof, then down through the trapdoor. Once she's in Marinette's room, she lowers the hood of the jacket she's taken to wearing when she wants to see Marinette but doesn't want to be recognized by any outsider who might be watching. (Not transforming would be the easiest solution, of course, but much as she trusts the other girl she can't share her secret identity, so a jacket, jeans, and sneakers over her costume is the next best thing. The fact that Marinette is the one who made the jacket for her when Ladybug mentioned the problem just makes it better.)

"Marinette?" Ladybug whispers, toeing off her sneakers. The light is on, but Marinette is hunched over her desk and Ladybug doesn't if she's awake or asleep. She tiptoes over to touch the other girl's shoulder and Marinette jolts. Asleep, then. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"No, no," Marinette waves away her apology, yawning wide. She stretches backwards and the chair tips with it but doesn't fall. "It would've been bad for my spine if I stayed like that. So what's up?"

Ladybug shakes her head. "Nothing, I'm just done for the night and wanted to see you."

"Oh." Marinette looks down at her open sketchbook, blushing, and Ladybug smiles to herself. The other girl blushed so prettily, freckles stark against the soft pink. "Then do you want to hang out here?"

"I'd love that," Ladybug says, sitting down in the beanbag Marinette placed in the corner just for her.

"So what are you designing?" Ladybug says. Marinette lights up, blue eyes sparkling.

"It's a vest for you!-" Marinette speaks excitedly, words fast, and Ladybug listens as she explains the vest she wanted to make so Ladybug would stay in uniform and recognizable, but also warm during the colder months. Ladybug doesn't have the heart to remind her that whatever magic is behind her suit actually regulates her temperature. The conversation drifts from there and eventually Ladybug directs Marinette to the bed where both of them sleep for a few hours.

Ladybug wakes at sunrise. For a moment she watches Marinette sleep, face calm and eyelashes fanning across her cheeks, then she sneaks away into the pinks and golds of the early morning. It's best if she's not discovered, either by Marinette's parents or anyone connected to the news. Even Marinette's best friend. She leaves a note for Marinette, though Marinette is used to this by now. She knows the thought will be appreciated. Plus, it's nice.

The morning feels soft as Ladybug swings to her own place, and she smiles to herself, knowing in a few hours Marinette will be looking her direction with her own smile and a note clutched in her hands.

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing/Character: Rapunzel

Word Count: 100

A/N: I wanted to write something since this is international fanworks day ten year anniversary. Implied future mavunzel since it's femfeb!

-

The first time Rapunzel ever noticed the stars that weren’t really stars was on her tenth birthday. She remembers gazing out her window, checking for familiar constellations and double checking with the astronomy books her mother had gotten her. She remembers the girl she saw among them, flying. The next day she asked about the traditions and history of the land they lived in, and her mother gave her a curious look, but gave her a lesson on them anyway. None of the lessons explained the girl. Rapunzel doesn't ask her mom about her. Eight years later, she meets her.

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: Mavpunzel (Mavis Dracula/Rapunzel)

Word Count: ~700

A/N: Happy femslash februaury! Have one of my favourites

Mavis stretches her arms, trying to tie the apron’s ribbon around her waist into a neat bow at the small despite the discomfort in her joints. She’s untied and retied the bow multiple times at this point. Her arms are tired.

“I can get that!” She hears a voice chirp and nearly cries when she turns to Rapunzel walking towards her.

“Please,” Mavis says, dropping her arms to her sides. The bow for Rapunzel’s apron is always so neat. It’s straight, with each part of it perfectly symmetrical, and Mavis is half-convinced she’s a witch because of it. No ordinary human can tie a bow that looks ripped straight from a Christmas ad on their own back.

Rapunzel smiles at her and moves to fix the bow, asking Mavis if it’s too tight as she ties it. She says other things as she ties it, rambles here and there about random stuff, her voice calming as it ever is. Mavis smiles to herself. This girl almost makes her not want to leave, but she’ll have to eventually. The maid cafe is only supposed to be a summer job.

“Thanks, Rapunzel.” Mavis takes a step away from her when she’s done, brushing down her apron and the dress with it.

“Sure thing,” Rapunzel says, smile still sunny. It’s always so sunny. Like nothing can hold her down.

It’s busy this time of year, but Rapunzel flits around talking to everybody like they’re regulars— even the people Mavis is fairly certain have never come in before. The people who are actually regulars she talks to like she remembers every little thing they’ve ever told her. (Mavis isn’t actually sure if she doesn’t.) She asks questions, smiles at the good news and frowns at the bad, laughs at jokes, and wishes people well, all with genuine care. Heartachingly genuine. Mavis wishes she could be like Rapunzel is, because that’s the one thing that makes her nervous about taking over the hotel one day.

“Only two more weeks,” Rapunzel says as they’re cleaning up and Mavis jolts, eyes whipping toward the calendar. It can’t be already. But it is. On a wednesday fourteen days from now, summer will end, and that friday will be Mavis’ last day. Something crawls into her chest and squeezes tight around her heart. No more Rapunzel. No more sunny smiles and excited chatter. Mavis grips the broomhandle until it feels like the wood might snap in her hands.

“That was fast,” Mavis says with what she hopes is a smile.

“Yeah!” Rapunzel laughs. Her eyes crinkle at the corners with it, the green of her irises shining. “But you know what they say, time goes fast when you’re having fun.”

Mavis blinks. Her grip slackens, revealing the long crack she put in the wood. “You have fun with me?”

“Of course!” Rapunzel looks over at her, smiling with the weight of the sun, and Mavis feels warm in its rays.

“Quit with me.”

“What?” Rapunzel’s eyebrows lower in confusion.

“Qu- quit with me,” Mavis repeats, a bit more hesitantly now that she’s saying it with purpose instead of the words suddenly bursting out of her. “Come work at the hotel. I think you’ll do great there.”

Rapunzel’s lips part slightly in surprise, her eyes wide as she stares at Mavis. Mavis swallows hard. Suddenly she is a lot more nervous. “I- Sure,” Rapunzel says. Mavis’ heart stops.

“What?” Mavis asks, because she can’t have possibly heard correctly.

“I like working with you.” When Rapunzel shrugs, she does it with her whole body. Her shoulders lift up to her ears, her weight rocks from her toes to her heels, and her arms splay out before they come back to dangle by her sides, her hands swaying gently. “It’s fun. More fun than any other shift. So, yeah. I’d like to come with you, if you still mean it.”

“Of course,” Mavis finds herself answering, her head nodding on its own until it catches up to her and she smiles wide, walking quickly between the tables to grab Rapunzel in a hug and twirl them in her excitement. “This is great!”

“It is?” Rapunzel smiles, hands on the arms still around her. Mavis drops them, stepping away to brush her hair back behind her ear.

“Yeah, I really didn’t want to leave you,” Mavis admits.

“I didn’t want you to leave,” Rapunzel says, and Mavis smiles.

[archester-creations]

Jaune (Ordinary)

Rated: G

Pairing: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester)

Word Count: ~600

All Jaune can see is wide, scared eyes and the largest sudden burst of aura he’s ever seen from Cardin. From anyone not in a fight. There’s still pressure on his lips, but he knows it’s not really there. It’s just a phantom. A phantom of lips that are warm and chapped and just a little wet. That press just a little too hard. He buries his face into his hands. It felt like a dream. It still feels like a dream. He knew Cardin felt something for him. Despite what Nora says, he isn’t that blind, he sees the looks. Even if he didn’t fully suspect…

It hurts to be pushed away. And not just emotionally, Cardin barely held back his strength. If he hadn't caught himself, he would've hit the floor. Jaune scratches his hands into his scalp, letting his fingers catch and pull at every tangle in their path. What does he do? If he wants to, he can just forget about it. Completely let it go and act as if it never happened; as if the press of Cardin’s lips on his doesn’t linger like adrenaline. The thought’s tempting. Just be a mostly normal student, make it through school without being the student who was kissed by the boy who blackmailed him during the first quarter. It’s so tempting Jaune feels guilty for it. But he lets himself think about it as he sits there, looking at his hands clasped between his knees, until he huffs and shakes his head.

He can’t. He can’t pretend it was a dream, can’t act as if nothing changed, when that one kiss flipped his entire world inside out. When his lips still tingle with it. When there is a boy, who blackmailed him for their first quarter and has since become his friend, sitting in his own dorm. When the thought of that boy makes Jaune nervous. Makes his palms sweaty and his heart light.

Jaune looks up at the door, and he finds his feet moving toward it, out of the room and into the hallway in the space of a single blink. A single thought. Fuck it. Never once has he wanted to be plain, or normal, and this boy who’s slowly become his friend– who he’s slowly developed a crush on through days and weeks and months of time– has kissed him. He’s not going to let Cardin just— Just get away with it. He’s not stopping with just one kiss.

Jaune refuses to just let them move past it. To forget. He’s not letting it be just a dream.

He enters the dorm without knocking and doesn’t stop until he’s in front of Cardin. The other boy looks up at him from Russel’s shoulder with dry eyes and whipping aura, bright with confusion. Jaune grabs him by the collar and pulls up at the same time he leans down, until their lips press together again, firm and hard, fireworks lighting up behind his eyes. Real. When he pulls back, he breathes, and watches Cardin do the same.

“I want this,” Jaune says, voice firm as his kiss. “I want to be here, I want you.”

Cardin grips his forearms, fingers pressing into Jaune’s skin till it crinkles and Cardin’s nails leave moon-shaped indents. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Jaune leans down, pressing his lips to Cardin’s again, brushing them softly together in answer anyway. When Cardin’s hands loosen, and he pulls back to see the disbelieving smile, Jaune kisses him again just to taste the curve of his mouth. This time, Cardin kisses back, soft.

[archester-creations]

Cardin (Little Miss Perfect)

Rated: G

Pairing: Archester (Jaune Arc/Cardin Winchester)

Word Count: ~700

Despite having blackmailed Jaune, Cardin was rarely ever alone with him. As was his own plan. If he ignored Jaune as much as possible, he could ignore the way his heart fluttered around him like something small and weak. Cliched. Falling for the straight guy. Even after they formed a weird friendship, after Jaune stood up to him, after Cardin apologized, he kept that space. Still, they end up alone in Cardin’s team dorm, at the little bench he’d set up next to the window within his first week at Beacon so he could watch the stars. Neither of them are in armour. Like they can actually trust each other enough to be vulnerable. Though Cardin knows it’s only because it is night. As soon as Jaune leaves this room, he’ll probably get ready for bed even if he won’t sleep. A socked foot nudges his own. Cardin looks up to see Jaune standing over him. Wisps of blonde frame his face unevenly and the lights from outside play in his eyes like glowing stars. There’s a chuckle. A smile much softer than Cardin could ever deserve gets directed down at him. His body warms, spreading out from his chest and into his extremities like a campfire. Jaune tilts his head and his hair brushes his collarbone.

“You’re not paying attention, are you?” Jaune’s voice isn’t accusatory. If anything, it’s amused. The corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk. “Am I not entertaining enough? Do I have to get you to blackmail me again?”

Cardin snorts. A harsh, inelegant sound that makes Jaune’s smile widen so Cardin can see the incisor that grew in crooked. Whatever breath that’s in his lungs feels like it gets stuck there. Jaune’s eyes are closed. He reaches out and his hands grip onto the collar of Jaune’s shirt. There’s a confused noise from Jaune, but it gets cut off as Cardin pushes up at the same time he pulls Jaune down. Their lips connect. His brain blocks everything out except the pressure. Except warmth. They're soft. They’re chapped and smooth in uneven patches. Just as Cardin figured they’d be from all the times he’s seen Jaune biting at them. Once they part, the air stuck in Cardin’s lungs finally releases. Opposite it a shaky breath is taken. Cardin’s eyes snap open and all he can see is his own reflection in Jaune’s wide eyes as Jaune stares down at him.

Every bit of warmth leaves at once. He pushes Jaune away hard. No no no. This isn’t something he can do. He can’t. It’s not- It’s not good, it’s not worth it, he won’t be the gay guy who falls for the straight guy. He won't be. He can’t be. Love isn’t even anything he really knows, not like this. Jaune looks confused and Cardin turns his head to look out the window. “Get out.”

“Car-”

“Get out!” Cardin barks. It’s quiet for a moment, an audible indicator of Jaune’s hesitation, before footsteps and the door closing. The second it does Cardin curls into himself. The glass is cold where he presses his side to it. He breathes deeply until it stops hitching oddly.

In the quiet he drifts. Eventually the door opens behind him again, but he’s not clear on how much time passed. It feels like a lot. At the same time, it doesn’t feel like enough. He doesn’t look over. The possibility is so low because of his actions tonight, but he doesn’t want to take the chance Jaune actually came back. A hand settles on his shoulder. He glances at it just enough to see chipped, sparkly silver nail polish. Like a balloon he deflates.

“Cardin?” Russel asks.

“What did I do?” Is all Cardin can say. There are no tears in his eyes nor emotion in his voice. When Russel sits down next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, Cardin leans into him.

[archester-creations]

Rated: G

Pairing: None; Characters: The King, mentioned Nageki

Word Count: ~500

A/N: It's after midnight where I am so I can finally post this! Spoilers for Hatoful Boyfriend Holida Star and happy holidays to @aierie--dragonslayer hope you like it!

The King stares at the mourning dove, unsure if he feels hate or fear. His memories anymore are scattered, faded and broken and darkened. There are others in his memories, now, others in him. They feel nothing but confusion, but his insides twist and turn at the boy in front of him and The King can feel it pressing upwards. He thinks it’s fear. He feels like crying. The boy feels familiar, somehow, but he doesn’t know why. There is a voice in his ear, and he recognizes it. It sounds like love. It sounds like death.

He remembers this boy, though he’s never met him.

He does not want this boy to be here; he doesn’t want him to join everyone else inside him.

The King cries, because there is so much sorrow in him that crying is practically his natural state, though he doesn’t remember if it’s always been that way. He wants the boy to leave him be.

“The King asked, would you listen to The King’s request instead?”

There is a voice in his head, and it is louder than the others. It’s his own. It’s always been his own, but it says new things, now. He remembers.

Some part of him always knew he was just a replacement, The King thinks. There was always a certain light in his eyes when he talked about the boy that wasn’t there when he talked to him. Though sometimes, late at night, The King could pretend. Sometimes when he comforted The King, the light was there, and The King wasn’t sure if he was being seen or if someone else was being seen through him. Maybe being a replacement drove him to this. Maybe having someone else seen, instead of him, was why he took on everybirdie else who followed his lighthouse.

The King cast him far away when he appeared on his star, trapped him in caramel where he couldn’t leave. He wants to do the same to the boy. He wants to lock him up, far away. He wants him gone from his star and its everlasting holiday. He wants to make sure he can never leave. He wants his planisphere, wants the large star on it, so he can bring more people to his neverending holiday. So can have more friends. So he can keep them all safe, keep them without fear or sadness. But the mourning dove will take that away. Somehow he knows, the mourning dove will take that away.

His memories are becoming louder. They are separating from his Citizens.

“The King does not want to be friends with that mourning dove. You don’t have to come.”

“The King commanded, you shall stay away."