#I was looking through my art binders and found there was nothing between may to july

[krys-loves-otome]

2022 Art Summary!

Lot's of color this year, plus more finished projects than in previous years. 2022 was a good art year for me!

Below will be previous years' summaries, for your viewing pleasure.

See you guys in 2023!

[aconstantstateofbladerunner]

The Glitch

I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.

Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild​ @owlf45​ and @cyber-phobia​ (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).

Content working for reference to infant death.

Please enjoy!

The city shut down for a typhoon warning.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up.  And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee.  Inko didn’t know how to feel.  Work would have been a good distraction.  But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much.  And it was already shaping up to be.  She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.  

Inko sat alone in the kitchen.  She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate.  Sickness set in fast.  The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away.  Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with.  She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom.  There was another trashcan in there anyway.

A sound stopped her.  From her office.  The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet.  Right as she walked past the door.

Please not this again…

She opened the door with her eyes closed.  Her mind conjured a familiar image.  A bedroom full of books and hero posters.  Bright colors and personal touches.  A child’s room.  Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office.  Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again.  She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though.  She didn’t bother to pick it up.

Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room.  She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet.  Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up.  Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.

Of course she knew today’s date by heart.  She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day.  Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories.  Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.

Fifteen years now, today.  With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came.  Thunder crashed outside.  It’s not fair!  Why is it still this hard after this long?  Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.

The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes.  Like she wasn’t really alone.  Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough.  She felt it watching her.  Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again.  Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable.  Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.

Rain started outside.  Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap.  The storm was getting closer.

Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind.  Maybe he’s going through this too.  She bit her lip bloody.  Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others.  Probably not though.  I don’t want to talk to him anyway.

Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously.  Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.  

“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said.  “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity!  We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”

But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream.  Still did, years later.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was your loss too!  Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.  

“I don’t just want any baby!  I want Izuku!”

The lights went out.  The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going.  The rain stopped.

Power outage.  Inko sat up with a sniffle.  Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts.  Of course.  Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-

Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump.  Then another.  Lightning flashed outside at the same time.  It was right on top of her.

What?  I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-

Another crash.  It vibrated through her bones.  Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.

“I’m such an idiot…”  She went for her phone again.  For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said.  “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed.  “I hate being alone for weather like this…”

A new notification pinged.

[Mom]

Inko blinked rapidly.  The message remained.  All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that.  She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened.  No app or source was displayed.  Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.  

“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept.  In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room.  But she froze.

Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs.  Perfectly circular and glowing.  Watching her. She didn’t dare move.  

Another ping.  She looked without moving.

[I’m sorry]

“…  What?”

For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out.  They all came back at ounce.

Lights flickered.  Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside.  Multiple strikes laid on top of one another.  No relief.  Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo.  It shook the whole building.  Inko ran into the closet away from the window.  She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help.  Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.

A child’s scream.  She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature.  It came from every direction.  Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear.  She felt the charge in the air.  But she had to go out.  Her baby was crying for help.

She burst from the closet into the living room.  All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off.  The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it.  The storm was deafening.  It pounded through her head like a heartbeat.  The beats got faster.  The static flashes started to look like a face.  Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen.  The snow cleared for a single instant.  Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window.  She felt the heartbeat there too.

Then it stopped.  All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark.  The TV went completely cold in an instant.  Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something.  Anything.  The pulse. Warmth.  A burnt fuse or faulty wire.  But nothing.  The rain started again.

She pulled her hands back to her lap.  Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around.  Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago.  Inko combed the entire space for evidence.  An object knocked off the shelf.  A picture frame fallen from the wall.  The notifications.  Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall.  Still not a sign.  She even stepped outside her door to check the sky.  Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.

There was only one thing out of place.  Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open.  Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound.  The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.

“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.

She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time.  The first time he smiled at her.  Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play.  Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms.  Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon.  That was Izuku’s favorite.

Only she didn’t remember.  The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs.  Those were fantasies.  Daydreams of what could have been.  She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today.  It was his birthday after all.  They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow.  They always did.  

And she would be left with reality.  The silence.  The cold, still little hand between her fingers.  Soft cheeks without blush.  Eyes that never opened.  Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.  

But it was never over.  Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now.  All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once.  Just like this.

At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet.  Plenty of time for another breakdown.  Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud.  She sighed heavily into her sheets.  This sort of thing can’t be normal.  I should really try therapy again.

Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest.  Static electricity pricked her fingers.  With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore.  Izuku.  He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her.  She remembered it like it was now.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath.  The mattress warped as he sighed.

“We’ll be okay.  It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.

“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly.  “…  I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow.  For now, let me have this.

Izuku didn��t respond for a while.  “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.  Happy birthday.”

[viastro]

f-failing musician! junhui... crying to you... because he doesn’t feel like he is providing enough you you... and you wipe... away his tears... and he lays his head.. on your chest while... holding onto your waist... because he’s scared you’re gonna leave him for a rich guy...

[3:28 am]

ミ★ word count: 1,618

ミ★ notes: I hope I did the prompt you wanted JUSTICE !! 

 How you and Junhui met is rather iconic, if you do say so yourself, but it’s also cliche. You were walking home from a long day at university, you had a five hour lab for chemistry and it made you want to eat your own ass. You were only in your second year, but you were already taking incredibly hard classes. Needless to say, you were exhausted and have been exhausted since the year started. However, it all seemed to fade away once you heard the sound of a piano playing, and for some reason you became drawn to the tune. The area you lived in was popular to buskers, so you’re not surprised that someone is busking at this time. 

However, you were surprised at the fact that you found yourself interested even though you literally had one of the longest days of your life thus far. You saw the small crowd around the piano that sat underneath the cherry blossom tree, the cafe in front of it is the one that set out the piano a couple months prior. Not many people have played it though, so that was your first time hearing the small piano being played. You took a few more steps until you finally caught sight of the person playing the gentle tune, and you found yourself in awe.

Not only was the song he’s playing beautiful, he was too. His brown hair laid softly against his forehead, the small breeze messing it up slightly. His nose is strong, matching his side profile. He glances up at the sight of a cherry blossom petal falling, making him smile, and it’s like your breath was stolen from you. His beauty is truly unmatched.

Once he ended the gentle tune, you’re the only one who clapped, startling him a bit. He looked over at you and he swore it was love at first sight for him, to which you argued:

“Love at first sight doesn’t exist stinky.”

“Oh yeah? Then why are we in our third year of dating.”

“Because we’re in love?”

“Yes, and that’s because we both got heart boners when we first laid eyes on each other.”

“Heart boners??!!”

“I rest my case.”

It’s been four years since the first day you met, and a lot has changed. You’re no longer a university student with a horrible sleep schedule trying to obtain her bachelors, no. You’re now a struggling child psychiatrist who is indeed, still lacking sleep. You’d say that’s an upgrade.

While Jun is pursuing a music career. He got a bachelors in music performance, and is now an aspiring pianist. He’s slowly getting more and more into the limelight, being asked to play the piano at more events. It’s rather exciting, but at the moment you’re the one who is the breadwinner. You always tell Jun not to worry, and to just keep going after his dream, and you’ll tell him when you’re starting to struggle.

What you don’t know though, is that he worries all the time. He shouldn’t be that worried because his career is doing decently well, and his manager is helping him perform at more events, but he can’t help but feel… afraid? Sometimes he thinks he’s not good enough for you, and that you deserve someone with a more stable job. Someone who can help provide more money and food at the table than him, because it’s what you deserve. You’re worth more than what he gives you.

That’s why he’s at an art gallery opening right now, playing the piano to provide entertainment as the guests pile in to go see the paintings and sculptures. He’s letting himself become absorbed in the song, focusing on the soft feeling beneath the pads of his fingerprints with each key he presses. Yet, there’s a lingering feeling in the back of his head.

insecurity.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

You let out a sigh when you finish making dinner, feeling satisfied at the fried chicken you made. You already sneakily ate one, but don’t tell Jun. After your mini snack break, you wash all the dishes, placing them neatly in the dishwasher to dry. You head over to the couch once you’re done, sitting down and pulling out your binder to start looking over your clients profiles. You hear the door to your apartment unlock shortly after, and you turn to see Junhui step inside. 

“Hi Junnie!” You call out from the couch, and he gives you a small smile. His black hair is parted more to the left, showing off his forehead and strong eyebrows. He’s wearing from fitting slacks, a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and zoo wee mama he looks good.

“How was it?” You ask, picking up the binder from your lap and placing it back onto the coffee table. 

Jun stares at you, noticing how tired you look. He takes a glance at the binder you just set back onto the table, realizing that it contains information from your work. He can smell the food you cooked for dinner as soon as you got home, and he feels his heart constrict in his chest as the thoughts plague his mind.

“Junnie?” You call, noticing the way Jun stands there, looking tired. He looks away from you once he notices his eyes filling with tears, but you’re faster.

“Baby, why are you crying?” You ask, getting up off the couch and walking over to him. You glance up at your boyfriend, noticing how exhausted he looks. You cup his face with your hands, wiping his tears away with your thumbs. He leans into your hand, letting out a small sob at your comfort. You grasp his hand, leading him to the couch. You lay down and he lays on top of you, resting his head on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist. 

You stroke his head, feeling him cry more, his tears soaking through your shirt. It takes ten minutes for his sobs to calm down to slow tears falling past his eyes. He mumbles something, and you’re unable to hear it. “What was that Junnie?”

“I’m sorry.” He says a bit louder this time, making you raise an eyebrow.

“You have nothing to apologize for, baby.” You tell him, and he shakes his head in response. He sits up, making you sit up with him. He looks at you and you watch as another tear escapes his eye. Jun looks down at your lap, feeling another round of tears coming up.

“I’m not good enough for you.” He mutters, you open your mouth to object but he begins again.

“My career is so unstable, yn. I’m hardly getting enough gigs to help pay the bills, and I just. I feel so useless,” Jun cries, resting his head on your shoulder. You feel tears fill your own eyes at the sight of your boyfriend breaking down in front of you. “Yet I always come home to the scent of dinner, and the sight of you smiling at me so fondly even though I can hardly help support us.” 

“Junnie-”

“You should find someone who can support you, someone who has a stable career.” Jun says, feeling more pain fill his heart once the words escape his mouth. You let out a small sigh, rubbing his back as he cries more. 

“I could find someone who can help pay the bills, like a doctor or a lawyer, but they could never be you.” You tell him softly, and he removes his head from your shoulder to look at you with a shocked expression.

“What? Is that so surprising? Why do you think I’ve stayed for four years, knowing very well what I was going to get into.” He bites the inside of his cheek and you give him a small smile.

“I don’t want someone who can help provide more, while that would be nice, I don’t want anyone else. Your career may be unstable at the moment, but you’re getting so many offers now than you were a year ago. Don’t doubt yourself so much baby. I always tell you that I’ll handle things because I want you to focus on your career, because I believe in you and your talent.” You wipe the last of the stray tears from his cheeks, and he just stares at you with eyes full of appreciation.

“Yn…”

“I love you so much Junnie, you’re my person. I don’t want anyone else if they’re not you. Don’t worry about me baby, just make sure to tell me when you’re feeling like this next time, hm?” You whisper and he nods, looking down at your lap again.

“I can’t believe I was so lucky to be blessed with such a loving girlfriend.” Jun giggles, and you smile. He looks back up at you, reaching up and resting his hand on your cheek.

“I love you.” Jun says, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. His lips taste a bit salty from his tears, but they’re as soft as usual.

“I love you too.” You mumble in between kisses, tangling your hand into his hair once he swiftly lays you onto your back from the seated position, and that’s when he decides to pull away.

“I would love to continue kissing you, but I smelled fried chicken when I walked in through the door.” He points out as he looks down at you, making you burst into laughter.

“I see where your priorities are.” You poke his cheek and he lets out an angelic laugh, making your heart warm. He leans down and presses one more soft kiss to your lips.

“My priority will always be you, food is a close second.” 

“As it should!”

[lovestrucked-again]

Ship Of Theseus

Fic Masterlist Jung Jaehyun | Fluff | College AU Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: A young woman, Y/N, picks up a book left behind by a stranger at her university library. Inside it are his margin notes disclosing a reader entranced by the story and revealing his own personal stories as a disgraced college student. Y/N responds with her own notes leaving the book for the stranger, and so begins an unlikely conversation that plunges them both into the unknown. While searching for the mysteries of the author, the two individuals are forced to face crucial decisions about who they are, who they might become, and how much they’re willing to trust one another with their passions, hurts, and fears

The aisles of the library had slowly become a way of collecting dust. Spider webs wove loosely around books, dirtied shelves, and stands, busted lamps hung from the braided wires that were embedded into the cracked ceiling. Dust floated lazily in the air causing a few students nearby a difficult time breathing, and every step put more of the particles into the air. All that was heard were the faint chirps of birds outside, the scurrying feet of invisible rodents, and the rustling of papers catching the draft.

You ran a finger across the spines of the books as you walked through the empty aisles, studying the faded colours, the fonts, the titles and thinking about how long the books may have been untouched for months, perhaps years. For the past few weeks you’ve been trying to locate a book. You had chased after this one available copy of the book all over the state, inquiring about book loans and finally requesting it to your local university library. You hadn’t gotten any calls yet but the habit you had of wandering the lonely aisles during your free time had bought you back.

Before your able to reach the end of the aisle you’re currently strolling through, your finger stops, pausing at a unique font on a spine of a book. Hm this looks interesting. You think to yourself, pulling the book out of its stiff position and attempting not to knock the other books off the shelf. You flip open the front page and then the back, looking for a blurb or short synopsis, but there isn’t one. The book was old and heavy, most likely left unwanted amongst the shelves.

After debating a little whether the book was still worth reading or not, you decide to try a few chapters considering you had nothing else to do anyway. Taking a seat in the corner of the room you were in, you brush the back of your fingers against the hardcover, noticing the outlines engraved Ship of Theseus – V.M Straka.

You take out the notepad from your bag clipped with the pen in the binder. A habit you had made from reading over the past years was to always take down important details, symbols or lines just to easily recall the story plotlines. You flip through to the first page and start your reading. However, as soon as you’ve made it past the title cover, a faint scrawl within the first chapter declares the book has once been touched. You notice the messy handwriting spread over the page. From there the words appear and disappear quickly as your eyes flutter across the pages, picking out any marks littering the across the pages.

One of the pages forces you to pause as you stare at the open book in awe. Whoever wrote in this book must have been analysing this in depth. The margins were scribbled with pencil and phrases were underlined with their interpretations explained. One of the phrases in particular clicked with you, “What begins at the water shall end there, and what ends there shall once more begin.” UNK: This is what happens: Men become lost; men vanish; men are erased and reborn. 

What a strange way of understanding you think to yourself, continuing to read the rest of the chapter.

After reading a few chapters in, the people around you begin to move and the sounds of chatting becomes distinct. A low volume announcement is made, signalling the last 10 minutes of the opening hour. As much as you wanted to take the book home and continue reading, the thought of perhaps ‘stealing’ it away from someone clouded you with a guilty feeling. I’ll just come back another day and finish it, you think to yourself.

“The library will be closing in 5 minutes, please make your way to the counter for any final borrowing. Thank you.”

As you stand up and gather your belongings back into your bag, you stare at the page open in front of you, the scribble pencilled into the sheet leaving behind a meaning of the original text you could never think of. You decide to leave a note of your own on the cover page, letting the anonymous know that you've seen it.  

Y/N: Hey – I found your stuff while I was looking around in the aisles. I read a few of the chapters (with your notes as well) and not going to lie but its impressive. Felt bad for stealing the book from you since you obviously need it for your work. I’ll have to get my own copy.

You decide against leaving your name, preferring to remain unknown.

_______

A few days later and your back inside the library weaving between the shelves, humming to a song playing through your earphones. Without realising it, you’ve managed to make your way back towards the “S” section. Maybe I should finish reading that book. You pull the book out of its placement and walk back towards an empty area.

Satisfied with your seating area and finally settled into a reading mode, you flip to the cover page to see if your note still remains. However, being a little startled to see an unknown handwriting underneath your own, you gasp a bit too loudly and the students surrounding you all turn. You mumble a quick apology and the heads turn back leaving you to face the shock.

UN: If you liked it, you should finish it. I need a break anyway. (leave it on the last shelf in the south stacks where you’re finished).

How nice, you think to yourself smiling. You turn over through the pages, attempting to find the last page you were on from the other day. The announcement rings just as you’ve managed to finish through the halfway mark and you sigh in relief, stretching your legs and arms out. Before you pack away your belongings you pull out the same pen you used previously and leave another note on the cover page.

Y/N: Thanks! Read through to the halfway mark in one sitting, haven’t read such an amazing book in a while (I’m an art major). Loving all the mystery – the book, all of it. I really needed an escape.

________

The next day you find yourself back at the library, taking the familiar route towards the aisle in anticipation with a nervous kind of energy tingling inside. The feeling swept through you like electrical sparks on the way to the ground, gathering in your toes as you approached the shelf. The night after you had seen a reply was a struggle for you to sleep. You were curious about the anonymous person, wondering about their gender, their major, their reason for such interests in this book. But before you knew it, the book was back in your hands and the conversational texts open in front of your eyes.

UN: Dear undergrad art major, if you thought it was an ‘escape’, you weren’t reading closely enough. Want to try it again?

Huh. What an asshole, you think to yourself taking a seat on the floor instead and pulling out a pen from your bag preparing to scribble out a rather petty message in return.

Y/N: Dear arrogant, I made some notes in the margins too so you can see just how closely I read. But what do I know? I’m just an art major. Don't bother leaving the book for me. Good luck with your work. Oh and by the way, you missed something important about Straka.

I bet you this must be a guy, I should’ve known, look how messy the handwriting is, and look how rude he is, you reason with yourself, annoyed at how excited you were from before. And with that you slam the book shut, not even the slight bit concerned about bothering others, stand up to place the book back in between the shelf, and storm off back home.

- - - - -

I guess this is a little confusing and its more of an introduction to the concept and how everything will work. I wanted to do coloured text for each person but couldn't figure out how so if this is still too confusing let me know. Please feel free to leave feedback :)

[ohshit-itsyagorl]

Four Dipshits and a Michelle

Part 2!  Part 1

Thank you so much for the feedback on AO3. If you want to read the story there, you can find it here.

Summary: Michelle never believed in soulmates. But what happens when she turns seventeen and gets her mark? What happens when she inevitably finds the person with the matching tattoo? And what is she supposed to do with Peter Parker. Her best friend in the whole world. Her crush. Someone she feels drawn to for some inexplicable reason.

Michelle couldn’t meet Peter’s eyes the next day. Not after last night. Not after she had hung up the phone, climbed into bed, and finished what she had started when Peter caught her moaning. When she had touched her heat, and it had felt different than when she just cleaned down there showering, when it had felt better.

And then when her hand had found her soulmark and stroked it, and her orgasm had wracked her body, ricocheting through her in hot blades of pleasure. She had never really done anything like that before, never felt the need to, and as she had collapsed on her bed, she had wondered how--how had she not.

But worst of all, when she had whispered Peter as she came undone, still touching her mark.

She felt dirty. Trapped between two people: a soulmate she didn’t want and an off-limits best friend she did.

Peter kept looking at her during Biology, too. The fact that they were lab partners didn’t make matters any easier. Nor did it help that he was practically a furnace sitting next to her. And it was mid-winter and the classroom was very cold, and she so wanted to lean into that heat.

Their teacher cleared his throat. “Alright, class. We’re going to start the fetal pig dissection today. Now, we’ve been preparing for this for about a week, so I won’t be walking you through every step of the process. Got it?” The class nodded. “Great. Pigs are in the corner, one per table group, and please try to keep the joking around to a minimum.”

Peter looked over and started to say something but Michelle was already gone. When she got back he had his binder out on the table and a pencil in his hand. He started to open his mouth again—

“Don’t,” Michelle said. “It’s not something I want to talk about.” She loosed a breath and looked up. His eyes floored her, warm and brown and so, so deep.

Maybe someday she would look back on this with him and laugh. Laugh about her stupid crush. Without thinking her hand came to rest over her soulmark. Thankfully this could be passed off as a hand to the heart, and not… what it really was.

Peter’s eyes dropped to her chest, then flicked back up to meet her eyes. He licked his lips. Michelle followed the movement, then mentally cursed herself.

“So, what should we name our pig?” Peter asked. Michelle just gave him an unimpressed look. “What? It needs a name.” He looked at her pleadingly.

Michelle sighed. “Fine. What do you want to name,” she examined the pig, “him?”

Peter grinned. “Iron Man.”

She scoffed. “Absolutely not. We are not naming this poor pig after Iron Man. He’s basically an ego on wheels.” Peter looked like he was about to argue. “Look, if you really want to name our dead pig-child after an avenger, let’s name him Spider-Man. Or even better: Spider-Pig.”

Peter cleared his throat and laughed nervously. “Why, uh, why him? Why not, like, Captain America or Hawkeye or someone—anyone—else?”

“He protects Queens, Peter,” Michelle explained. “It makes the most sense. Besides, have you seen his suit? Super cool.”

Peter puffed his chest out a little. Weird.

With that step out of the way, they continued with the dissection, cutting a slit down the center of Spider-Pig’s stomach, careful not to puncture any of the organs. They made small talk between trying to locate the different parts of the pig’s digestive system. Little things: how May had been, what kind of stuff Michelle had been drawing (though she only told him part of that), MJ’s stupid landlord problems (they had been having issues with the heating). It was nice talking to him, pretending last night didn’t happen.

The end of the period came too fast, the bell startling Michelle so she jumped. Peter chuckled a bit, and she punched him lightly in the arm, smiling a little herself, too.

English and art passed by quickly, and before she knew it, she was standing in the lunch line waiting for her food.

When she reached their usual table, Betty looked up and said, “Happy Birthday, MJ!” Then, more conspiratorially, “You got your soulmark, right? What is it?”

Michelle rolled her eyes. This girl was never going catch a hint, was she? But MJ just shrugged. “Yeah, I got it, but I won’t tell you what or where.”

Betty pouted, and MJ saw Ned’s eyes trained on her lips. Honestly, could he be any more obvious? Betty didn’t notice, though, instead saying, “Oh, c’mon, M, just tell us.”

MJ glared and shook her head. Conversation over.

Peter coughed from behind her, and she stiffened, slowly turning around to face him.

“You’ll still make fun of my mark with me come August even if you won’t tell me about yours, though, right?” He asked.

Michelle was about to say no, but he just looked so hopeful—a bit like a lost puppy, if she was being honest. So she shrugged, and nodded.

“Ooh,” Cindy exclaimed, “Maybe your soulmate is Peter, MJ.”

Michelle scoffed. Not fucking likely. She and Peter were best friends, nothing more. “Don’t be gross, Cindy. He’s my best friend. He’s like a brother to me.” That last part wasn’t true, but they didn’t need to know that. Especially not Peter, who was blushing and spluttering more than she was.

“Shame,” Betty sighed. “You two would be cute together.”

Michelle flipped her off. Peter coughed loudly to her right, looking like the world’s most uncomfortable teenager. Ned opened his mouth, and Peter elbowed him in the side, his expression going from embarrassed to murderous.

“L-lets, just drop it, Betty. Clearly neither of us is interested,” Peter added.

Ouch, that hurt a little.

                      —————————————————————

That night was spent with Peter and Ned furiously trying to memorize the digestive system of a pig for the pop quiz their teacher had hinted at heavily that morning in class.

“That’s the gallbladder, right?” MJ asked, furrowing her brow.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” said Peter, leaning over her shoulder. His breath tickled her ear and she bit her lip, trying with all her might not to shiver at the way he made her nerves stand on end. “I think it’s actually that little thing right there. Don’t quote me on that, though.” He grinned at her, then quickly looked away.

They went on like that for a few hours, slowly making their way through the mountain of homework they had been assigned.

MJ’s phone rang suddenly, making them all jump. “Crap,” she said, blindly reaching into her waistband. She managed to pull out her phone to see that her mom was calling her. “Sorry, guys, I’ve got to take this.”

“No Problem, M. Take your time,” Ned responded, giving her a small smile. Peter nodded in agreement, and Michelle stepped away into the Parker’s sitting room. She raised her phone to her ear: “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” She asked.

“Hi, Honey. The heating went out at the apartment, so I’m at the hospital—Nothing’s wrong, so don’t freak out! The doctors just didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be in such a cold house because of—well, you know.”

“Yeah, Mom. I can talk to the landlord about it tomorrow morning. As long as you don’t need anything from the house—if you do, I can run home now and bring it to you—”

“No, M. I’ll be fine for tonight. And, Honey?” Her mom said.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“I don’t want you going home tonight, okay? It’s below freezing and I don’t want you catching a chill.”

“But, Mom,” MJ started.

“No buts, Michelle. Ask if you, Peter and Ned can have a sleepover or something. I love you, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her mom hung up. No room for argument.

Michelle swore under her breath, then turned to go back into Peter’s room. They looked up as she came in, curious expressions on their faces. “Hey, guys,” she said, “the heating in my apartment went out. Is it possible for me to stay here for the night? We—we could maybe have a sleepover?”

“Yeah, sure. That sounds good with me. Ned?” Peter asked, looking at his best friend.

“I can’t, sorry. I need to look after my little sister tonight.”

“Ok. Pete, are you sure this is okay?”

“Of course. Besides, your mom is right: it’s too cold outside to not have heating.” Michelle briefly wondered how he knew about her mom’s worries as she hadn’t voiced this particular part of their conversation, but she put it out of her mind. She had more important things to worry about, like how she was spending the night alone with Peter less than twenty four hours after she had gotten herself off to the thought of him. She fought back a blush and nodded at Peter to hide her growing discomfort. May would be back soon, anyway. It wasn’t like they would be alone alone.

MJ sat down and pulled her binder toward herself again. The rest of their work was for separate classes, so they couldn’t really work together, but it was still nice to have study buddies to keep her on track.

Soon enough, though, Ned had to leave. After the initial conversion, Ned had explained that his parents were going out for a little alone time, and he needed to make sure his younger sister got to bed at a reasonable time. He did this with much complaint, now that he knew his two best friends were going to have a sleepover together.

Honestly, if MJ was being honest, she was kind of excited about getting a little alone time with Peter. The whole day had been a little awkward, and she just wanted everything to go back to normal.

“Movie?” Peter asked. He started to get up and move to the sitting room.

“Yeah, sure. We could just stick with Star Wars tonight, though.”

Peter grinned at her and her heart did a somersault. Damn those perfect teeth. Michelle followed him out of the room.

They ended up watching Empire Strikes Back as they were both in agreement it was the best Star Wars film. They joked throughout the movie, and Peter, ever the dramatic, acted out his hand being chopped off when the time came.

Soon, though, the movie came to an end. Michelle looked at the time: 11:00. They had school tomorrow and she didn’t want to be a zombie, so, “We should probably get to bed.”

Peter nodded. He got up from the couch and made his way back to his room. “I’ll be in the bathroom.”

This time it was MJ’s turn to nod, and she followed him into his bedroom. Peter quickly closed the door to the bathroom and Michelle heard the shower turn on. She pulled out her book and started to read.

Peter wasn’t in the shower for very long, Michelle had only read about fifteen pages when he exited the bathroom. She looked up. And froze.

Peter was wearing his boxers.

Only his boxers.

And she had been right the other night: Peter had abs. And pecs and biceps and every other defined muscle that, put together, made him sexy as hell. Her eyes trailed down his toned stomach to the defined v that led down past the waistband of his boxers. Fuck her, she was going to jump him right where he stood.

“What are you wearing?” She croaked, breath catching in her throat.

Peter looked down at himself, then back at her. “This is what I wear to sleep. I get too hot in anything more.” He grinned at her slyly. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I can—”

“No!” MJ interrupted. “I mean, no. It’s fine. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.” Then she realized something: “Um, actually, speaking of sleepwear, I don’t have anything to, you know…”

“Oh—oh, yeah. Here,” he said, ruffling through some drawers and pulling out a shirt and a pair of sweats and tossing them to her. “You can use these.”

Michelle quietly accepted the clothes, trying hard to keep her eyes trained on his face, and moved to the steamy bathroom. She didn’t have any shampoo or conditioner with her, but she figured Peter wouldn’t mind if she borrowed some of his. It definitely wouldn’t be very good for her curls but she was willing to take the risk. She really needed a shower. She hadn’t showered the previous night after her… activities, and she felt pretty disgusting just thinking about sleeping in the same room as him when the sweat that had dried on her skin had been from touching herself with his name on her lips.

She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade down her shoulders and then the rest of her body. Her mark started to tingle as the water ran over it. Shit. MJ looked up at the ceiling. If there was a god, he had a fucked sense of humor. Her legs started to shake as heat pooled in her core. “Fuck,” she moaned quietly, sinking to the floor. Her whole body felt like it was on fire. She grabbed at her mark, trying the stop the water from hitting it, but it only made it worse, sending hot blades of pleasure down her body.

Her legs spasmed beneath her, completely out of her control, and she let out a small cry. She managed to claw her way up the wall and grab the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, before sinking back to the floor. Pantene. For some reason that just seemed so Peter. She laughed a little to herself, but it turned into a low, throaty moan when she felt another wave of heat fly through her body.

She uncapped the bottle and squeezed the shampoo into her hand. Looking at the gooey, white substance, her mouth started to water. She licked her lips. What was going on with her? What was wrong with her mark? Why was it doing this to her?

She started to slowly massage the shampoo into her head. It felt really good. Too good. Her mark burned, her nipples were so hard its was starting to hurt and she just wanted Peter to barge in and help her finish.

She did her best to ignore it, rinsing out the shampoo and adding conditioner to her ends, then tying her hair up in a topknot with the hair tie on her wrist.

She had to wash her body next. Fuck. She started with her arms. Then her legs, though she didn’t get all the way up her thighs before she moved to her back.

Then, after her stomach, she moved her soapy hands down to the apex of her thighs and quickly tried to clean the slick from between her legs. It felt so good, and she could tell that it wasn’t just shower water collecting on the rest of her body now. By the time she finished, she was leaning against the wall panting and shaking.

She poured more body wash into her hands and moved them to her breasts. She had to bite back a scream when her hand came into contact with the small spider. It was like she was touching herself down there, except ten times stronger. She slowly rubbed the soap into her breasts, tears streaming down her face and hips bucking wildly. It was too much. She had never felt anything like this before. She thought the vibration in her body was going to kill her.

She thought about Peter and his abs, thought about running her hands along his chest.

“Peter,” she moaned softly, and a wave of pleasure cascaded over her as she climaxed. “Peter Peter Peter Peter Peter,” she chanted, thinking of that mussed up wet hair he had walked out with after his shower. She blacked out for a second, caught up in the pleasure so much that her vision stopped working.

Michelle collapsed against the wall, mumbling incoherently. Her orgasm last night had been nowhere near as strong. Something was definitely wrong with her, she decided. That was not normal.

She quickly rinsed off the rest of the soap and the conditioner in her hair, and turned the water off, grabbing the spare towel hanging next to the shower and furiously drying herself off.

Michelle pulled the sweats up her legs. She was about the same height as Peter, but he was a lot more muscular. God, when did he start working out?

Needless to say, when she pulled the t-shirt over her head it was huge on her. And it smelled like him, too. She felt her nipples start to harden again. How could she possibly still be horny after the orgasm she just had. She hated her body. She hated her stupid soulmark. She hated that she let herself think about her best friend inappropriately.

Michelle walked out of the bathroom. “Hey, Peter?” He looked up. “Do you mind letting me borrow another one of your t-shirts? I need to plop my hair,” she said.

“Yeah—yeah, of course,” he said. He sounded a little flustered as he got up and walked back to his dresser, opening the middle drawer and pulling out an I survived NYC shirt and handing it to her.

Michelle leaned over, shaking out her hair and wrapping it up in the shirt. When she stood back up, she found Peter staring a her, and she realized her shirt had ridden up to expose her stomach and the way his sweats hung low on her hips. She cleared her throat, and his eyes snapped back to her face, cheeks glowing pink. Honestly, teenage boys would literally jump anything.

When they were younger and Peter still had a bunk bed, MJ would sleep on the top, Ned on the bottom, and Peter on the floor with an assortment of blankets and pillows, but now he had a full.

Peter eyed the bed suspiciously. “I can take the floor, M,” he said.

MJ scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous, Parker. There’s plenty of room on the bed for two people. I’m sleeping on the left, you can have the right.”

“But I always sleep on the left,” he protested.

“I don’t care. You can take the right.”

Peter looked rather uncomfortable at that, but he didn’t argue. Smart boy.

Michelle pulled back the covers and climbed into Peter’s bed. Her cheeks flushed at the thought. She kept reminding herself that they were two best friends having a sleepover. Nothing more.

When her head hit the pillow she realized just how tired she was. Last night she was up until midnight with Peter waiting for her mark. Then, after they had hung up, she stayed up thinking of him. Today had been long, too. Not to mention what had just happened in her best friend’s shower (ugh).

Needless to say, she was exhausted, and so, it seemed, was Peter, whose breathing turned heavy almost immediately after he closed his eyes. But not before he let out a final, “Happy Birthday, M.”

MJ buried her nose in her pillow and took a deep breath. Her eyes shot open. Fuck, it smelled like him. Now she wished she had just let him take his side of the damn bed. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. Quicker than she ever could have expected, she drifted off.

Part 3

[theory-talestelltalesss]

Chez

Pairing: Y/N, Taehyung, Jungkook

Characters: Rest of BTS

Genre: fluff, angst, vague smut

Summary: 

An old artist visits his collection of paintings at a world-renowned museum in Paris. He becomes nostalgic of the past after hearing news about the very woman who served as inspiration in his golden years. She was starving for any type of solace, even brittle and fleeting when she met him-- a penniless tour guide who was in love and only had eyes for Paris itself. Pieces of memories, both awaited to be remembered and desired to be forgotten, come flooding in his mind as he viewed every brushstroke he made in his career. Throughout the years, the museum received letters and donations, but one in particular always stirred his mind.  

Chez /ʃeɪ; shā; shey/:

Origin French

Preposition

Chez means to be at a particular location (chez moi --- at my place or home), or refers to a particular state of mind of someone or a collection of people (chez les français — among the French). Yet still, it could be used to describe an artist’s body of work (chez Van Gogh).

“Life was the most beautiful then.” An old man sadly smiled at a painting, branches of his hazel eyes dilated his pupils, absorbing every wavelength of light that refracted through his lenses. The painting was placed in between two others that were brighter and more saturated with glazing golden frames, but none of those things distracted the old man’s gaze, only having sight for the one before him as if it was the only one in the world.

Nostalgic sighs relieved themselves from the old man’s lungs when memories piled up one after another in his mind. His tired wrinkled eyes traced the swipes of what once brushed the canvas before him, spraying a hazy memory that gradually formed a more opaque image in his mind as he viewed every corner, every shape, and every color. The museum was almost empty now. Closing time was near but the dim room, only having spotlights for the paintings, isolated itself from the time that continued on in the outside world.

Triggered by a memory, the old man took out his icy hands from the warmth of his pockets to observe the lines of his palms that forged themselves over the years, remembering someone in the past telling him that one line connecting and separating from the rest were different fates of his life. ‘Could one of those fates been a happier one?’ His mind mulled over as another sigh released itself from his chest. 

The old man’s eyes refocused in between his fingers and unto his snow-covered boots, realizing that winter came once again. Winter had a special place in his heart, but like all things, it never lasted. Spring would come knocking, and then summer, fall, and winter again. When the next season comes, the next month, the next week, the next day, they all will be nothing but a memory too, and further away from where he wanted to be. 

He eventually shuffled over and sat at a bench nearby, reminding himself that his legs didn’t work the way they used to, justifying a part of himself that wished he wasn’t in the present. But he was distracted from reliving the past once more when a voice invaded his ears louder and louder. A tour guide marched in with a crowd of tourists at his tail, eventually coming to a stop near his vicinity.

“Whoa! It’s The Madeleine!” The tourists started taking pictures of the painting, hovering their cameras over the crowd to get the perfect frame.

“Now some of you may know this painting over here. This is made by the famous artist you might know as Cof. He worked under this pseudonym for all his career and never revealed his real name.” The tour guide spoke eloquently but swiftly about the piece, not a single pause in his pace even when he confidently switched from English to Spanish and back again. 

“Was he the one who disappeared in the news many years ago?” A voice in the crowd shouted out anonymously.

“Yes, yes, that was him! His pieces are priced around 10 to 20 million dollars partly because of his story that influenced his amazing art. But this painting, The Madeleine, went up in value the most and is priced around 60 million dollars.” The tour guide brushed to the side, giving the painting ample space for the crowd to take pictures.

“Who’s The Madeleine?” A little girl in the crowd asked with her hand up, eyes large as a doe, grappling her mother’s skirt before she carried her in her arms.

“That’s the question, mon ange. Cof kept her identity a secret. One of the reasons why it’s the most talked about and most valuable painting in his career.”

“So why is it so valuable?” Another voice in the crowd asked.

“You will see that it embodies everything French and it’s now almost a symbol of France. If Italy has Mona Lisa and the Netherlands has the Girl With The Pearl Earring, then France now has The Madeleine. If you think about it, the identity of all these girls in these famous paintings are all mysterious to the public.” The tourists looked at each other curiously, pondering over the words the tour guide just stated, some eventually agreeing with him in the end.

“Now here, you can see her half clothed between the bed sheets looking out the window of Paris at night, embracing the romantic reputation of the city. Over to her right at the side table are some madeleines, and of course is a desert authentic to France.” The tour guide pointed to parts of the picture he talked about, and the old man’s eyes followed through a small crevice within the crowd.

“And as you can see here on the bed railing is a white towel with a red border, which was actually a mass-produced kitchen towel at that time. Every place had them, restaurants, hotels, wherever! But more interestingly, this painting itself was painted on one of those towels.” Ooh’s and ahh’s buttered themselves in the air that made the lips of the old man shyly curve at their corners as he looked back at the lines of his palms. 

“Now because of this, some say that the artist captured a raw and on-the-spot moment of the woman in the picture when the only thing he had nearby was a towel. Scholars say this wasn’t arranged or posed for the purpose of painting this scene, but it was a genuine moment between the artist and the French woman in the picture.” His finger pointed up at the ceiling as he finished his last sentence, priding himself on the masterpiece that hung on the wall in front of his clients.

“Everything you said was correct except for something in that last part.” The old man croaked from the back that had the guide as well as the tourists jolt their heads in his direction. Slowly from his seat, he rose carefully with a grunt, bending his body away from any feeling of pain or discomfort from his joints. 

“Actually, that woman is American.” He nodded at the painting, softly smiling at it as he put his hands back in his pockets when he finally found a stable stance. “...Very very dear.” 

“E-excuse me, Sir. Where did you get that information?” The tour guide moved to the left to get a good view of the old man between several heads as he gripped a binder full of information about the museum paintings, restraining himself from flipping it before getting an answer.

“Oh sorry about that.” He chuckled to the ground, his melancholy eyes sparkled in thought. “This museum...might not remember me anymore.” When the old man swiped his fingers across his eyebrow, scratching his palm with the stubble of his jaw and feeling the loose skin that hung from his cheeks, he recalled that his face surely changed from the last time he visited. “Do you remember me, Namjoon hyung?”

The tour guide stuttered after a few moments of squinting and widening his eyes at the old man and only then did he slowly utter a name he had not used in years. “T-T-Taehyung-ah?” The tour guide was finally able to utter, almost forgetting he had clients before him.

“Bonjour.” Speaking French for the first time, Namjoon confirmed Taehyung’s identity, and only then did his brain click to recognize his voice that preserved its velvet and deep characteristic he didn’t realize he so longed to hear. As Namjoon observed more of his appearance, Taehyung took off his hat to put himself more into light, showing his familiar yet different features. The lines on his face introduced the life of a protagonist that carved difficult paths throughout the years, and are extended by the white and silver strands of hair that Namjoon remembered were once brilliant blonde like the sun. A roadmap etched on every inch of his skin, telling the world he lived, loved, lost, suffered, and grieved.

“You’ve grown into an old man.” Namjoon’s voice quivered as he looked at Taehyung, taking in the effect of the years that had been done to his body, but couldn’t even begin to imagine what the years did to his heart.

“So did you.” Taehyung chuckled as he shrugged his shoulders, holding his eye contact with Namjoon as if time stood still under their feet. 

“I didn’t expect you to visit again.” 

“I’m sure nobody did but...something reminded me of it again, friend.” Friend. A word Namjoon heard from several people plenty of times, but when it came out from Taehyung’s lips, it came with a ton of weights dumped on his chest.

“What reminded you of it?”

“Her.” A pause in their conversation held before Namjoon could ask another question he wanted to ask Taehyung all these years.

“Does this mean this painting is...?”

“Yes, that’s her. In fact...all of my works here were inspired by her.” He looked around the room, scanning each one briefly as the spirits of the past flashed before his eyes. “Every part, every stroke, every line, was a manifestation of her.” 

For him, she was the only one who didn’t change with the seasons. She was the only constant thought in his mind.

Clearing his throat, Namjoon kept his eyes on Taehyung’s before he hesitantly spoke to the crowd. “Everybody, you’re the luckiest group of people in the world right now...and you might get your answer, mon ange,” said Namjoon, giving a glance to the little girl sucking on her fingers.

 “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Kim Taehyung. My past coworker and one of my good ol’ friends. But more importantly…” Namjoon awaited for a signal from Taehyung which he provided with a light nod. “...the artist who painted every piece in this room. You all know him by his other name -- Cof.” 

Quiet gasps all around the room chorused in unison as the crowd stared at Taehyung in awe before taking out their cameras to take a shot of the famous painter. Images of uncomfortable poses froze themselves on their screens, and with a single click, his senescence was delivered to the world that would soon contrast images of his youth he so desired to steal back-- the youth the world remembered last.

“My Madeleine.” Taehyung smiled as he rested his chin on the crook of your neck while he wrapped his arms around your abdomen, startling you from your morning daze in the middle of counting down how many days you had left at the edge of the bed. You snuggled your head to the side, grazing your cheek against his soft golden hair as you admired the pink morning skies and the roofs of Paris through your window. “What do you want to do today, Mad?” His voice course and raspy from his sleep, clearing it up slightly, had you feeling the vibration on your shoulder. “Mmm…wanna get some madeleines and coffee down the street and we’ll go from there?” You mumbled against his head as you pecked his unruly hair, never faltering to smell like coffee even when he hasn’t had any. “How’s that sound, Cof?” Mad and Cof, short for Madeleine and Coffee, the accustomed nicknames you gave to each other from both your obsessions towards your favorite food and drink. “Sounds amazing.” He closed his eyes and planted several kisses up your shoulders, letting the blanket fall from his bare shoulders as he did it. The ice cold metal of his necklace tingled your skin as it sandwiched between the warmth of both your bodies. As the final kiss touched the back of your ear, you felt a smile grow before he mumbled his words against you. “Next year when you come back, I bet you’ll still smell like madeleines.” A satisfying shiver traveled down your spine from the rustic voice he still had yet to fix. Two years it had been. Two years of fooling around with a man who you could only see once a year, every winter to be precise. Sometimes you thought it was the most irresponsible and destructive thing you could do to yourself. Other times you thought it was the best thing in the world. You got yourself drunk on the feeling of spending time with someone in the most romantic city in the world, and a boy who was the perfect one to do it with. He had the inexpressible ability to erase any and every problem you ever had in the back of your mind as soon as he took you in his hold. No matter how you saw it, you couldn’t resist his unexplainable allure and your irrational desire for him once your foot plants on Parisian soil. “What makes you think I’ll come back next year?” You half-jokingly teased as you grazed your hands against his arm wrapped around you, closing your eyes at the feeling of his lips and losing sight of the dust falling in and out of the dim rays of the sunrise you were observing a moment ago. “You always come back…” He whispered as he switched to peck at your other shoulder, not caring if he pressed one on your strap. “Besides, your family would be pretty sad if you don’t come.” You slowly opened your eyes and realized that he was right. Every year, your family in Paris expected you to come spend winter break with them. What they didn’t know was that you also found another reason to come back every year – him. Not only would your aunts, uncles, and cousins be sad if you didn’t come, but most of all, your father would miss you terribly. Growing up without him most of your life was one of his biggest regrets he could never make right. Ever since your parents’ divorce, you craved your father’s presence at moments when you thought you needed him the most and only at winter break could you see him to make up for lost time. You could never imagine skipping a year to see him again. “That’s true, but what if…” You reached back and touched the nape of his neck, locks of his hair caught in between your fingers, pulling him closer to you to let a kiss land on his red and flushed nose from the winter cold that seeped through a centimeter crack from the window. “…I meet someone else along the way?” You couldn’t help but test him even if he distracted you from your sullen mood. It was on your mind for a couple of days, per usual every time it was almost time to go home. He chuckled at your challenge, not showing a faze of worry, but instead, planted his lips on yours, pushing your hair back to your ears and gently cupping your jaw with both his hands. “If that happens, Mad…” He gave your shoulder a light push until you slowly felt your back against the bedsheets, keeping his lips on yours. “I don’t think I would still want to stop seeing you…so…” He breathed in between the part of your empty but still famished lips as his hands found their way within the warmth of yours, tangling some of your hair between them. After he pulled back to look at you, you opened your eyelids again to finally catch the sight of his beautiful face since he woke up. His half-lidded eyes slightly hid behind strands of his tousled hair and his scowled lips traced wet from your kisses as they whispered with a pant of sweet breath that fanned your face. “Come back.” 

“One coffee please, uh- Americano.” You heard the person in front of you order as you waited in line for your turn. The earthy smell of warm coffee lingered in the air, intermittently interrupted by the gush of icy wind that rushed in from time to time from the entrance of the shop as people covered in snow walked in.

“Uh yes, three Madeleine’s please, the ones covered in chocolate, and umm…a cup of black tea please?” You told the cashier in front of you wearing an apron struck with powdered sugar. “Is that for here or to go, madam?” “To go.” The cashier yelled to some employees at the back to try to overlap the sea of conversations in the coffee shop to take your order. “Heh, you never change.” Hoseok chuckled behind you as he gleamed a heart-shaped smile when you looked back at him. Hoseok was your closest cousin in your family in Paris. He lived in the city his whole life and never even had the desire to venture out. He was closest to your age and naturally, became the closest cousin you had. “At this point, you should be worried if I don’t order madeleines.” You cheekily replied before giving the cashier your card. “Cous, I wouldn’t be surprised if you get diabetes someday.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he looked up at the menu, still trying to decide what he wanted to get. “If that ever happens, I’ll say it was worth it.” A tight lipped smile formed on your face, refusing to back down from any of his playful attacks. “If that ever happens, I will say I told you so.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head before the cashier prompted the next customer in line. “Ah ye- can I have one croissant and a caramel iced coffee please?” “Huh? Iced coffee? We’re in the middle of the winter, cous!” You tried to continue the light banter, even though you already knew for a fact that Hoseok never liked his coffee warm. “If I get a cold, I’ll still say it was worth it.” He mockingly copied you, manipulating his words into yucky syllables before he gave the cashier his card. You leaned against the counter after both of you moved to the side where customers picked up their coffee, ready to check your names on the cups as soon as they come out. 

“Sooo…cous…how are you?” Hoseok dragged out his words with a cumbersome tone, almost cracking in the middle of the question that uncovered his prudent approach.

“I’ve been with you the past few days, cous.” You pretended not to know what he meant and wished for him to play along, but truthfully, you wanted him to press on, internally begging for him to get you out of denying your own feelings. It had been a few days since your arrival in the city and you knew this conversation was going to happen even before you stepped foot on the plane. Apparently, this is the time Hoseok picked, finally having time alone with you. “No, Cous. How are you?” He warily continued, keeping a still watch on any subtle changes in your expression. This is one of those times you wished Hoseok didn’t have the trait to be eerily observant. “Mmm…” You hummed to find the right words but more so to keep a lump in your throat at ease before proceeding to your next words. “I’ve been better, cous…hope it gets easier sooner than later.” “Welllll, good thing it’s the holidays, you got time to spend it with family and get out of there for a while.” “Yeah it helps a bit, being away from home…” You scratched a particular part of the counter just to evade Hoseok’s eyes, keeping him from seeing how heartbroken you were even though you already knew nothing escaped him. “Jin hyung, Adora, and I, of course, should be able to cheer you up.” He flipped his fingers at your chin, gleaming his contagious smile in hopes that you will catch it too, but to no avail. Instead, you formed a strong pout that told him his strategy to cheer you up was not working. So he faced the counter with you before he looked to the ground as he spoke seriously, clearly catching the fact that you didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“Remember when I didn’t want to let go of Jimin? If I was successful, I never would’ve met the love of my life, Yoongi.” He chuckled to his feet with hands in his favorite flamboyant bomber jacket which you jokingly repeated as an embodiment of his personality. “Just think…this may simply be one bump away to finding the one. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.” Your lip lifted at one side, unsuccessfully forming a smile that told Hoseok that you didn’t believe in the words he just said. He caressed your head as you both waited for your orders in silence, hoping that they would come soon before you want to bury yourself in your toxic turmoil, hurling into a hurricane of self-blaming and what-ifs. No matter what Hoseok said to keep you optimistic, you couldn’t help but think…what if Jungkook was the one?

The only words that came out of your mouth to reply to Hoseok, but mostly to appease yourself, was, “Maybe cous…hopefully the next one will be the one.” You burned one particular coffee cup with your eyes after the barista slid it across the counter, flashing back at a time Jungkook told you purposely under the stars that you were the one for him. He took your hand in his as he traced over a line on your palm and said that because of that one line, your lives were always connected to each other, from your past lives to the next. You thought it was overly stupid but also overly sweet as he had a thing or two for being “star-crossed” with you, priding himself that no matter the circumstance, you both always made everything work. You now realized that your dumb “star-crossed lovers” agenda had come into full completion; star-crossed lovers were never meant to be together.

The barista called out a name and only then did the wholesome yell pull you to full consciousness, reading the name ‘Taehyung’ written hastily with a sharpie on the cup you were staring at for the past minute. “One Americano for Taehyung!” Hoseok turned his head in a snap at the direction of the man walking over to get his coffee. He did an adorable nudge of his head as he looked at the man walking by in a hazel wool coat and newsboy hat. 

“Taehyung-ah?” The man turned back his head and paused midway of tearing up a sweetener, spilling some outside the rim. He instantly landed his eyes on your cousin before his thick brows perked up from behind his glasses and his ears moved back in glee. “Hoseok hyung?!” A smile instantly formed on his face-- the type of smile that reflected years of friendship and memories, whether good or bad, that undeniably formed an unforgettable cherished bond. “What up buddy? Ehehe-hey!” Hoseok took a step towards him before his hand met Taehyung’s, along with a press of both his cheeks against each of his to greet in the French way– La bise.

“How’ve you been, Tae?” An obvious delight in his tone as he looked at the tall man he had not seen in a long time. “Good good, just getting some coffee before starting the day.” He lifted his coffee up along with a charming lift of his eyebrows, spilling some from its rim before turning back to grab its lid to finally cover it. “Ah! Still a coffee addict I see. Still an Americano?” Hoseok never stopped being observant of people’s behaviors, no matter how big or small. One day he would surprise you by recalling something particular about you, no matter how insignificant, thinking that he wasn’t paying attention. Anyone who had ever met Hoseok learned quickly that he was the type of person who talked to you as if you were the only person who mattered at that moment. He was unfairly gifted with a natural intuition to read people, something that you wanted for yourself. He could tell you what you would do next before you could even pick a fortune cookie. Hence, this is one of the reasons why you loved him dearly and why he was always the perfect older brother you never had. “Haha, as always.” Taehyung giggled as he grabbed a napkin and cleaned up the drops from the spill that smeared the sharpie of his name. “Oh- this is my cousin. She’s visiting for the winter holidays.” “How do you do?” You greeted before you instinctively pulled out your hand for a handshake, only to realize that Taehyung leaned in to kiss your cheek and stopped halfway because of your gesture. He then gave your hand a firm handshake as he looked at you with sparkling eyes, infatuated with the fact that they were as hazel as his coat. 

“Good! You’re American?” Taehyung guessed as Hoseok played along with a rollicking ‘how’d-you-know?’ and a back throw of his head, teasing the fact that you busted your cover. “She visits every year for the holidays though, so she should know more about French manners than most. Not to mention her dad is from here.” Hoseok added as he rustled the top of your head which looked like a dog getting a good rub after returning a stick. “And we still gotta work on that accent, La Petite.” La Petite, meaning ‘little one’ because that was what you were to Hoseok -- the little sister he never had. “It’s pretty good compared to the tourists I toured around who spoke some french.” “Oh yeah! Taehyung-ah is a tour guide here. He knows everything about the city.” Hoseok smiled coyly at you as he languidly bent his body, preparing for his next sentence. “He’s in love with the city of love.” He ended with a laugh to brush off the mushy thing he just said but the only thing Taehyung did was look at his coffee cup with a shy simper. 

“Well, I would offer to show you around but it seems like you got a local here to do that for you.” Grasping Hoseok by the shoulder as he looked at the side of his face in adoration. “Hoseok? Show me around?” You laughed when Hoseok suggestively looked at you, knowing well what you’re going to say next. “The only places he toured me around are the clubs and dance floors.” “Well I can’t say I’m surprised. Hoseok was quite the dancer if I remember correctly back in our college days.” He said before taking a quick sip of his coffee. “Hey! Don’t tell me you didn’t have a good time last night! Even after that-” “Of course I did!” You sliced Hoseok’s words to spare your first impression for Taehyung, not wanting him to know that you chugged a pint of Mojito last night and danced around like a stiff fool. “Here, give me a call if you want.” Taehyung said after he searched for his business card in his coat pocket and you clutched it between your fingers, partially covering the cursive font with your thumb. “You can tag along and you can bring Hoseok hyung.” He gave him a nudge at the arm as Hoseok rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Speaking of tours, I have to go to work! Very nice to meet you.” He nodded at your direction with another raise of his coffee. “And Hoseok hyung, let’s catch up sometime you dance bug!” A smile formed on Hoseok’s face after he felt Taehyung’s playful pat on his back before they said their goodbyes. 

After getting your orders, you and Hoseok sat by the window with a view of the glacial streets benevolently decorated with snow. The warm fresh smell of madeleines met your nostrils after opening its container that had your feet wagging from the stool from excitement. Hoseok couldn’t help but make a confused smile at your reaction in between a sip of his iced coffee.

“I don’t know why I even try if this is what makes you happy right away.” He said across from you as he pointed at your pastry, still holding the coffee in between his fingers by the lid. “I should just get a bunch of these and put it under your nose every time I see that pout you gave me a while ago.” He moved his pointed finger to flick it under your nose that made you throw your head back playfully to reject his teasing gesture.

“You know maybe that could work.” You retorted before you took your first bite, eyes popping when the first distinct level of sweetness touched your tongue. “Nothing like it back home.”

“Speaking of home, you should go on that tour some time before you leave.” 

“Hobi, you know I was just being polite. I’d be miserable if I go on that tour.” You retaliated as you felt that familiar stinging sensation in your chest every time you were reminded of him.

“Why not? Just because you-know-who is gone doesn’t mean you should not see the city.” He replied as he took a bite of his croissant, deflating its form as his teeth sunk down, releasing a heap of warmth from its core. “I think it would be good for you, you know, get some closure.”

Closure. One thing you wanted but at the same time didn’t want. Did you really want to close this chapter of your life? Is it even possible to close it all the way? After all, what choice did you have? All these years of being with who you thought was the one, it was this year when Jungkook was supposed to come with you to meet your family in Paris; to finally meet your father. France was the one place you saved under your belt until you finally knew that you truly loved him. A tour was a great way to explore the city of love, symbolically solidifying your love for him and his for you, but all was wasted when that love proved to be what you thought was everything else but feeble.

“I feel like that would just be a masochistic move don’t you think?” You leaned back in your seat, suspicious of Hoseok’s casual suggestion.

“Mmm...I prefer the term ‘cathartic.’” He cutely propped his head to the side, a gesture incongruent with the words he just said. Hoseok’s typical sunshine behavior sometimes did not match the context of the situation. “Plus, Taehyungie I heard was pretty good.” “How do you know?” The change in temperature on your palm satisfied you when you wrapped your hands around your paper cup before blowing on it to take a comfortable sip.

“Taehyungie was a good friend of mine. He knows the streets inside and out because he used to live out there.”

“Out there?”

“Yeah, he used to live in the streets. He was homeless.”

A backflush of your tea poured unto your cup along with an extension of your neck to prevent a spill as soon as you heard your cousin. “Homeless?! How did he manage to live?!” You exclaimed with a muffled voice caused by the napkin you placed in front of your lips to wipe your carelessness away.

“If you have two eyes, there’s no doubt you’d think Taehyung is good-looking.” He stopped midway of buttering his croissant before he shot up his eyes at you and your rosy cheeks became totally exposed to his view. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your flushed state and continued. “No one’s really resisted his charms before and I guess he used that to his advantage. He used to model for street artists in Paris in exchange for food and a place to stay. He doesn’t have any family.”

“That’s actually...pretty sad...but also pretty impressive.” Recalling back to when you met Taehyung, you never would’ve known this was the kind of past he had to deal with. He seemed totally...normal.

“Yeah, well, he had to do what he had to do and he didn’t have anything, Cous. Penniless.” He swiped his knife to emphasize his words as the melted butter clinged to its edges. “If there’s anyone who I would say would be a good tour guide, it would be him. Plus, I know you were just holding off on seeing these places because you wanted to see them with you-know-who, so why should that butthead stop you this time?” 

Delightfully getting lost and weaving through the nooks and crannies of the city, having Jungkook’s fingers intertwined with yours as your laughters dissolved within each other’s was one of the things you both anticipated for a very long time. Every year that you had the urge to go sightseeing with Jin and Adora, you would let Hoseok instead take you to the bars and clubs. Being in love while being in the city of love were both yours and Jungkook’s dream, a milestone coupled with meeting your dad. However, now that he’s gone, there’s no point in holding yourself anymore, which finally led you to say, ‘I’ll go.’  

“Yeah?” Hoseok paused in the middle of a bite to make sure he heard you right.

“No person should rob me of seeing this wonderful place, right?”

“Right. Good.” Hoseok patted a napkin on his lips studded with crumbs, keeping a still eye on you like he always did when conversations felt sensitive. “Would you be okay by yourself? Want me to come with?”

“No, I want to do this by myself.” The surface of your tea rippled in ripples when a whiff escaped between your voice that answered your cousin. You then take a huge sip to down your decision.

[immawritethat]

Missed Connections

(Somewhat connected to this piece I half-wrote last year and have been thinking about since) Anyhow, this the workshop draft of a short story I wrote for class, and I just think it’s v neat and wanted to share!

----

Dolores Lopez spent much of her free time inside museums, but today she was here with a purpose. The building was much younger than many of its contents—an oblong Art Deco styled building, trimmed with golds and chevron and all those other lovely elegant things. The atrium stretched to the full height of the building, dwarfing all patrons as if to say “You are inferior in the grand scheme of history; there may be no one to tell your tale lest ye gain the wealth and notoriety seen here!”

Or perhaps Dolores was simply projecting.

The first time she’d visited this particular museum was in the second grade, back when she wore her dark brown hair in two simple plaits—well, until two of the boys in class decided a few months later it was a stroke of comic genius to cut one off with a pair of scissors during class—back when her complexion still held a rich, golden undertone to it instead of a sickly yellow tinge, and back before she had to squint through thick, round glasses that later had her teased for looking far too much like an owl. It was so long ago she couldn’t remember exactly what they had been there to study—maybe something about the Native Americans or Columbus or vaqueros, but that wasn’t what made an impact.

She remembered, once they had been given time to look about the museum freely, taking one glance at an old World War II nurse’s uniform from the travelling exhibit and bursting into tears. A grief she had never been introduced to flooded forth, having seen no death in her lifetime, and pulled her underneath its tide. Something had been sitting inside her, buried deep underneath everything she knew of herself. The chaperone overseeing her had ended up taking her outside to calm down, asking what had happened. She had never quite been able to explain it, and lied that her stomach hurt when pressed for an answer.

As she aged, Dolores noticed more and more of her life out of the ordinary.

There were the vivid dreams, showing flashes of lives both mundane and horrific. They varied in topic, but often continued on at some point or another, as though a new episode had finally aired. Sometimes there were flickering shadows of a cobblestone hearth, and other times the sparking battlefields on the edge of the Euphrates. The most common ones brought Dolores into a living room decorated with floral wallpaper, a gramophone playing a song she later discovered was Vera Lynn’s “We’ll Meet Again.” In some dreams, she sat with another girl, a few years older, playing with rag dolls whose threads unraveled and only just remained stitched together so they wouldn’t have to hear the wailing of an upset child. In others, they were older, seated beside the radio, listening to whatever the statesman had to say on the state of drought and war and the economy.

Sometimes she sat alone, patching up old skirts and trousers, with little more than the hum of the wind to bring her company.

Only now was she beginning to understand what those dreams meant.

“Dolly Lopez?” The silvery voice came from behind Dolores, along with a gentle tap on the shoulder, pulling her focus back to the present. She turned, and an aged tension lifted from her body. Remington Siegel stood half a foot taller than her, dressed in a rather interesting combination of neon prints which stood out even more against his dark skin, looking nothing like the person that she had missed, but feeling every bit the same.

Dolores swiped the tears from her face, clearing her throat to compose herself. “You kept me waiting,” she said.

“I never meant to.” Remy put his arms across her shoulders, pulling her into an awkward side-hug. “Should we sit somewhere? Or is there an exhibit you’re fond of?” He paused for a moment, face screwed up with thought. “You weren’t the one with a stamp collection, were you?”

Dolores scrunched her nose. “I don’t remember much, but I definitely don’t remember that.”

Remy only shrugged. “Another lifetime, then. It’s tough to keep them all separated, you know.”

Dolores’s gaze fell down to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder, stuffed with loose, crumpled papers on the verge of falling out. The weight of the binder in her arms seemed to double.

“Maybe the café?” He suggested, in hopes of breaking the silence. “It was a long flight from Newcastle, and I haven’t eaten much since—too busy trying to get a hold of myself.”

“Of course! Sorry, I got lost in my own head.” Dolores stepped to the side, gesturing forward. “Honestly, I’m just still a bit shocked you’re really here—five months of Twitter DMs and now? Bam! You’re just…here.”

“Well, that’s one of the many plusses of being the only grandchild of wealthy grandparents—they’re willing to spoil me at the drop of a hat. Well, that and I have spent far more time doing this.” He gestured his bag forward. “Maybe I’m not half as organized, but I’ve got it mostly-kinda-sorta figured out. Seeing me in action should help you out a lot.”

Dolores nodded, offering a soft mm-hm, but her eyes were clouded and far off. He hadn’t brought it up. She knew they had talked about it plenty through their messages, but it felt strange to not mention it. Wrong, even. But this was the third time he’d done this—he’d even approached her about it all. Maybe there was some taboo about it she was unaware of.

Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him.

She listened to Remy ramble on about his research methods preferred databases through the halls, around the line of the café, and even for the first few minutes seated at the table. She asked questions from time to time, but ones which were only half engaged—Oh really? How long did that take? How did you come up with that? She spent far more time shouting in her own head to get over her worries and ask something with more meaning.

“You’re dying to ask something.” It was a statement, rather than a question, delivered between a mouthful of muffin and a sip of tea. “The hesitant look in your eyes—go on, don’t be shy. I didn’t come all the way out here to buy five dollar muffins and be half-listened to.”

Dolores averted her gaze, focusing on the instead on a photo of an aged Victorian doctor, apparently one of Remy’s most notable memories, who looked up at her with a stern warning to mind her words carefully. She wiggled the straw in her tea aimlessly. “No, no, I’m alright!” She forced out a laugh, the way she had practiced on plenty of bad dates throughout plenty of lifetimes. “I’m just a little—”

“Look, Dolly—If you tell me you’re star-struck again, I’ll just have to ask you what’s wrong and that’s never a fun conversation.”

Dolores took in a short breath and sighed, deflating in her chair. “I was just…hoping maybe we could talk a little more about…” She pressed her lips together, failing to hold back her true thoughts. “Us? What we were, what we went through. I mean, God, it’s hard enough to find someone who remembers at all, let alone someone you shared that history with! Let’s talk about the fact that you were Betty and I was Judith and that we’re only seeing each other again now nearly eighty-goddamned-years later in two totally different bodies and from two totally different places!”

Ceramic clinked against the table. Dolores pulled her fist back towards her chest, face flushed from her outburst. She hadn’t meant to get that worked up, hadn’t meant to hit the table.

Remy leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs, and drew out a sigh. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, frowned, and then fixed his gaze back on Dolores. “You know that fun little saying War is hell? It’s not too far off.”

Dolores scooted her chair closer to the table, so that her belly pressed against the cool laminate. She hunched forward, so that he wouldn’t have to speak any louder than was required between the two of them.

“I try not to remember being Betty. I know you remember a lot of the good things, but you were the little sister. It was my job to make things seem fun and happy for you, even when Dad lost his job during the Depression and when the neighbors started getting shipped off left and right when the war started.” Remy paused. He suddenly found the particular soda stains on the floor particularly interesting, and focused his gaze there. “I know I signed up to be an Army Nurse because I was exhausted playing nanny for you. You were thirteen, I figured you’d be fine if I was gone for a bit. I could see the world, and meet some boys.”

He let out a whistle, low and long, like the groan of a dropped bomb. “Boy, oh boy did I meet plenty. You see things you couldn’t imagine happen to a human body treating a warzone. They kept me with diseases, mostly, not trauma.”

Dolores nodded. She knew how the story ended—Betty had contracted TB, died before the war even ended, and left her sister—had left her—without so much as a final goodbye.

Remy shrugged his shoulders, and returned to his previous position. “I’d love to say I remembered the good things, Dolly, but I’ve got all the ugly. Well, mostly.” He pulled an envelope from his bag, yellowed with time and creased with deep wrinkles. “I barely remember writing it, but I guess it was never posted. It was found in a box with some other nurse’s stuff, some old friend of mine—er, Betty’s—who’d passed, apparently.”

Dolores’s hands shook. It was so worn it had become soft, and the half-finished address was hardly legible at this point. “And it was definitely from…?”

Remy nodded. “It’s yours. Sorry it took so long to get here. But, hey, look at it this way: we got to say hello again instead of goodbye.”

Dolores’s lips quirked up into a smile. She left the envelope closed, and placed it inside her binder for later. She’d waited for it this long, anyway. “Hello is much nicer than goodbye, isn’t it?”

[sweetdejun]

coterie: the bluetooth earpiece (1/2)

gang!x1 x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re an ordinary girl, with an ordinary life. but what happens when you catch the gang that is famous for keeping their deeds under the table, in action?

coterie’s masterlist can be found here

pairing: son dongpyo and y/n

a/n: a bit of cursing, so proceed with caution.

you twisted the bluetooth earpiece between your fingers, showing it to the rest of the crowd. and the slightly shorter boy stepped forward, with a nod and a curt grin. “that’s mine,” and seungwoo looks between the both of you before nodding to the boy, “dongpyo, fill her in, then come by my room, I have to give you some stuff. the rest of you can carry on.” seungwoo shot you one last glance before heading back to the hallway you originally came from. the rest of the guys went their separate ways, leaving you alone with dongpyo in the large living room. dongpyo’s attention was brought back to the small device, still in your hand. he walked up closer to you and held out his hand. you were confused, and this caused him to prompt, “my bluetooth?” realizing the situation you were in, your eyebrows shot up and you mumbled an apology and shoved the earpiece into his outstretched hand. “chill out there, buddy.” dongpyo smirks for the first time since you’ve met him (granted, you’ve not known the boy longer than an hour even, but still, he’s got a great smile). “come, you’ve chosen the most fun person on the team, be happy!” he motioned for you to follow him and so you walk up a set of stairs just at the end of one of the many hallways in the x1 mansion. once you reach the top, there’s a door. dongpyo opens the door and moves to the side, “after you,” you thank him quietly and walk in, and are immediately confused. you see all kinds of things in the room: apart from the traditional bed, bathroom and closet, there’s a table with all sorts of knick-knacks on it. a pair of glasses, a comb, a wig, and a few other things, but also a ton of thumbtacks, and a bulletin board sits just on the wall above the table, with tons of things pinned down to it. there’s a small bookshelf with binders, and on the topmost shelf are all sorts of passports. I wonder what he does, you think and you hear him laugh. “can’t you tell yet?” you shake your head, and dongpyo throws his back, snorting. “I’m a con artist, baby. the actor of the gang. think charles ponzi meets the spy kids. what I do around here is simple; whenever seungwoo hyung needs me to find out additional information about someone by going to their residence, I dress up and play the part. he needs me to play a smart college kid, I’ll be the smart college kid. he needs me to be an aspiring chef, I’ll be the aspiring chef. somehow I will find a way to get past security barriers and insert small things in the house, like a small voice bug or a camera. get it?” the only thing that leaves your mouth is, “this is fucking cool.” dongpyo’s eyebrows shot up, “you think so? of course, you do, this is the coolest job in the gang. anyway, as much as I would like to keep talking to you about the greatness that is my job, seungwoo hyung needs me, so I’ll be right back,” and he threw you a peace sign before exiting the room, leaving you standing in the mess. you began to examine dongpyo’s room, this time paying more attention to the details. the first thing your eyes go back to are the things he’s fixated onto his bulletin board. pictures of wealthy looking people, and it seemed that their information (business cards mainly) were also pinned down onto them. he’s crossed off some faces, and put small check marks on the cards, too. there’s some system he follows, and you find it fascinating. 

then, your attention shifts to his bookshelf. on top of it are multiple passports, indicative of their various colors. you pick up the one most familiar to you and check inside. the pages are marked a bit, indicating that he has used this passport multiple times. you look through the other passports and notice that his name and details are different in each of them. what else is expected of a con artist, you think. then, there are small weapons like swiss knives and daggers, mainly. but something catches your eye that you failed to notice before. a photo frame was put down, and its exterior matched the color of the bookshelf. you picked it up and saw the picture it held; a little boy being hugged from behind by a woman, both smiling wide in the picture. they seemed to be at a park or something. “you still in here, y/n?” a voice calls from behind you and you frantically put the photo frame back where it was, your heartbeat accelerating in anxiety. “y-yeah, you have a lot of cool things in here,” you play with your hands, a habit of yours dongpyo would soon be familiar with. you turn back and face him, and he’s holding a sheet of paper and a USB drive in the other hand. “well, I’m glad you are because seungwoo hyung just gave me details on the next mission. I hope you’re good at acting.” you think back to a time in high school where you had to take theatre for your fine arts credit. “I mean, I took theatre in high school? that’s about all I have in terms of experience.” dongpyo snorts, “well, were you any good?” you smile broadly, and tell him that you did a short film for a major grade, it’s recorded and on youtube if he wants to check it out later. you give him the name and information about the video and he says, “I’ll watch this and let you know if you can pull off the mission. if not, I think you may need to choose someone else. if you can’t act, there’s not much you can do for me.” you nod in understanding and let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “alright, well I guess I’ll head over to my room, then. let me know, okay? I don’t wanna waste anyone’s time.” you tell him and you give him a small smile before leaving dongpyo. he finds your short film minutes later, scrolling through youtube for the exact name and publisher. he clicks on it and sits back in his desk chair. in the film, you were a student who liked a guy but kept it a secret, and your best friend ended up stealing him away from you. you also had a fatal illness and the film ultimately resulted in your death. dongpyo was hiccupping as the credits rolled on the screen. he froze and wipes his eyes violently. “ah shit, now what?” he mumbles and goes to wash his face. clearing his throat, he heads towards your room. he knocks and hears your response on the other side. you open the door to reveal a disheveled dongpyo and although you could tell he didn’t want you to notice, you can’t help but grin a little when you see his slightly tear-stained face. “I assume you’ve watched the film already.”

dongpyo goes red at this, and scoffs, “I don’t know why you’d think that, but on an unrelated note, what are you majoring in again?” your face falls a bit, “I was a political science major. until I was dragged here.” dongpyo lets out a sound in shock, “but you were so good! I watched the short film-stop laughing at me- and you were really good! I approve of your acting abilities, and you are now officially my partner in crime! or, well, this mission,” he rubs the back of his head. “so, what do I have to do?” dongpyo asks for permission to enter your room and plops himself onto your bed, sitting cross-legged and you stand in front of him. “well, for starters, how are you with handling fragile equipment? I know for a fact that you’ve never dealt with tiny cameras and stuff but that knowledge is kinda essential for this mission.” you shake your head, “I’ve never. I didn’t even know I would ever be in a situation like this, dongpyo. how would I even imagine how to handle tiny mics or cameras?” dongpyo’s hands go up in defense, “alright, jeez, don’t bite my head off. anywho, that’s not a problem, we have a few weeks till the actual mission so I’ll teach you how to use them. let me tell you about the mission: you know that there are 18 ministries in the korean government. well, the minister of employment and labor has been.. involved with some issues regarding employment in certain areas and basically we have an advantage over them if we succeed this mission because we’ll have proof of their wrongdoings. now the question will arise then: how do we do it? here’s where you come in.” your attention is completely captured now. “you and I need to pretend like we’re a young couple who’ve run away from home in order to stay together forever, you know all that cheesy shit. we’ll persuade him well enough and he’ll have to let us stay. we only need one night. I saw your acting and I think you have the potential, okay? so, you wanna do it?” it takes you a few minutes to process it all, come to a decision and then rethink your decision. your silence tells nothing to dongpyo so he feels himself deflate a little, and gets up. just as he reaches to open your door, your hand comes and grabs his forearm. he turns around, an incredulous look on his face and you breathe out, “I’ll do it.”

[solcordc]

{ FINAL FAREWELL } 

“Death leaves a heartache no one can heal. Love leaves a memory no one can steal”  In loving memory of @katergaris​ Reno.  May the love of @siicariivs​ and @militvs​ be remembered fondly.

        Life is gentle, blessed even, for the ex SOLDIER. The woman who dreamed of revenge is gone, the man who became a puppet is gone, the tortured soul has become gentle--he is not who he was. Cloud Strife never thought he’d ever feel happiness again, but as he ran the sponge over a plate, he realized that he was living out that domestic fantasy everyone dreamed of. He couldn’t deny that on occasion he might wonder when he’d wake back up into a hell hole--but right now he only felt full; warm inside. His lips tugged into a small smile, something that came easy to him now. They didn’t leave extravagantly, not that either of them would have wanted that, but they lived comfortably. The apartment had a living room, kitchen, and one bedroom. It worked well for a family of four--well five now. 

           Glancing out over the small counter that separated the tiny kitchen from the modest living room he noted that a bag of spray paints kept by the door was missing. Pausing in doing the dishes, he wiped his hands on a cloth, and went to check. Neku’s shoes were gone as well--along with Sasha’s leash and he smiled in relief. Reno’s australian shepherd had taken well to the deaf kid he’d taken in off the streets and was very good at alerting him to danger, or calming him down if he got overwhelmed. The blonde’s heart felt impossibly large in that moment and he turned the affection on a small bundle of grey fur rubbing between his legs. The young man had always wanted a family, ever since his first had been stolen from him. Becoming Reno’s boyfriend--and then later his husband--it had been a long journey but until he felt more stable they’d known having a kid was out of the question. 

            Still, Cloud loved kids and he’d always felt a slight twinge every time he helped one back to their family. So for a very long time it had just been the blonde, his husband, Sasha, and the kitten Fenrir. Then he’d found the poor red-head laying in the street and his heart had gone out to him. It helped that where Neku was deaf, he was going deaf, and for him that had settled the whole affair. He knew ASL and in his opinion that made him the best qualified to take care of the young boy. He wrote Reno about him often and how beautiful his street art was. I can’t wait for you to meet him; I know you’re going to love him. He’d said once in a text--one his lover had actually been able to reply to. At that thought he wandered away from the door and over to where his phone was. When he had work he usually wore his hearing aids so it wasn’t difficult to hear the ringing of his cell, but on days off he preferred not to wear them so it was possible he’d missed something. 

              There wasn’t, well there was one text, but it was Neku just letting him know he was going out for a bit of fresh air. Nothing wrong with that so he just set it back down and went back to washing the dishes. A soft sigh escaped him, when was Reno coming home? The turk had been out on a mission for almost a month now and even if Cloud was ok, he still missed him. Things like this weren’t uncommon but the blonde couldn’t help feeling just a little bit touch starved--even for those energetic bear hugs he always got from the turk. Neku helped ease the loneliness; helped dull how loud his depression could get, but no one could replace his husband. Thoughts of dark hair and an easy smile flitted across his mind but he shoved that aside. Some loves were best staying forgotten. Besides, it was an old flame--one that he’d long since given up on. He was far happier with Reno in his current life than he ever had been before their relationship had gotten off to its rocky start. 

              A small laugh escaped him as he began rinsing and drying the dishes. Reno had asked him out--telling him that he needed to ‘loosen up’ now that he was ‘done saving the world’. At first he’d resisted, certain that after everything he didn’t deserver it--but in the end the turk was relentless. He just wouldn’t take no and kept asking until at last the ex SOLDIER agreed to gone on ‘just one’ date with the red-head. Much to his surprise when he was treated to one of the best nights of his life. Even if he came across as wild and a party-type guy, Reno had known that Cloud was still too wounded inside to handle letting go that much. The date had been at the turks apartment where he cooked a home-made meal and treated Cloud to some tifa-level drinks. 

             He’d walked Cloud home, hand warm around his waist--and left with a gentle shoulder nudge. He took his time courting Cloud--let the blonde come to him at his pace. Slipping the ring back on his finger, now done with the dishes, he smiled fondly at the simple band. That patience and care had stayed long into their relationship and it was pretty clear that despite his rowdy nature, Reno was an attentive lover in all things. Granted he’d been yelled at by his husband plenty of times like when he got his hearing aids--or wore his binder too long, but things like that were rare. He kissed the band gently, whispering into it like a prayer. “Come home soon Firecracker...” As if answering his call there was a faint thudding just edging into his hearing. Blinking in surprise he wandered toward the door, but when he opened it and saw Rude’s pinched expression, his heart sunk into his stomach. 

            “Um...let me get my hearing aids...” he offered quietly, before he turned, knowing Rude would see himself in and close the door behind them. His husbands partner didn’t like him at first, not that he could blame him. Cloud had been pretty messed up--but all it took was one look at Reno’s face as he held the others hand and he was satisfied. Of course he’d gotten the whole ‘break his heart I’ll break your face’ but he didn’t mind. ‘I’d like to see you try’ had been his reply and ever since they’d become pretty good friends. If Rude was here without Reno--that meant either he was wounded or in trouble...or worse, but he didn’t want to think about that. Slipping his hearing aids into place he reminded himself that Reno was stronger than that. He was probably pretty wounded, but otherwise fine. He had to hold to that. “Do you want anything to drink?” he asked, just trying to keep his hands busy as he paced back into the kitchen. 

              The turk watched him, his pained look growing as he observed the blonde. “We still have some tea--or if you want something stronger I think there’s brandy in the cupboard...” he was babbling, something he hadn’t really done before Reno. He supposed that was just a bad habit of his husbands he picked up. It helped--to feel as if his husband was near even if he couldn’t be physically. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder, gripping tightly and he stopped, blue eyes looking up to catch the others gaze. Rude took his glasses off, tears brimming in his own eyes and Clouds breath hitched. “Reno’s dead...” the man said. It was quiet but those words brought the blonde’s world crashing down on him. “No...” he choked out, his own eyes filling with tears. “Cloud I’m sorry but--I was there. I tried everything...but he couldn’t pull through. I’m sorry but he died in my arms...I know that it’s you who should have had that. But you know--in his last moments he only talked about you. He loved you so much and you made him happy--so...” 

                Cloud jerked away, collapsing on the floor as he shook with shock. “No...no no no!” It’s just couldn’t be true! Sure people died all the time and it ached...but not his husband. Through thick and thin--through worse scrapes then he could have ever imagined, his husband had survived it all. So to be told that this time he hadn’t...it broke the ex SOLDIER. That was the love of his life--another person so dear to him that he’d lost. The tears burned as he sobbed, hands tangling in his hair as he shook with panic. To his credit, Rude just let him wail it out, didn’t touch him. When the panic turned to denial, to blame and he beat his fists against the others chest--shook him by the collar of his shirt--he let him. When he was done, when all that was left was tears and regret, those arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. 

                 “I didn’t even get to say goodbye...” he choked out between sobs. Rude had apologized over and over again for not being able to bring him home and when the turk handed him the matching wedding ring, they both cried. When Neku came back he had to explain it to him because Cloud just couldn’t get the words out. Rude stayed, if only to talk over their memories--to tell Cloud how to get his things--and that he would be back later to help him plan a funeral. It was supposed to be a small affair--but the whole of the slums came to pay respects. Cloud was a dear face in the community now and his husband was the bright light next to him--everyone had been fond of the young couple. There was no one who didn’t have tears in their eyes and as he placed the final flower on the coffin (silently thanking Rude for bringing his husbands body back so they could at least properly bury him) he knew he’d never be the same. 

              So in the moment he whispered those words they always said when Reno went on a mission. “Don’t go where I can’t follow...” he sobbed quietly into the coffin. For a moment he could swear he heard a voice whisper. 

                “There’s nowhere you can’t follow.” 

[mysticsparklewings]

Starfall Mountains

Alternate title: Reasons Not to Buy the Dirt-Cheapest Acrylic Paints You Can Find I normally do like to keep an inexpensive stash of acrylic paint around because even though acrylic paint is not a medium I dabble in often, it much like fabric/puffy paint can come in surprisingly handy. And every once in awhile I will use it for it's intended purpose just to stretch my artistic muscles. Well, one of my art students recently started asking questions about acrylic painting and through giving them what advice I could (knowing arguably too much about acrylic painting for someone that rarely if ever does so) I felt that familiar artistic itch settle into my brain. And then I remembered that between my own one-off projects and a couple that my mom borrowed my small paint stash for, the stash that I had is down quite a few tubes that are just completely gone/empty. And what colors are left (mostly browns and greens, maybe a yellow) are not terribly pretty or useful colors. Thus my wandering art supply eyes started watching for some cheap acrylic paints to add to and replenish the stash. And admittedly to a certain extent, I wanted to take the rare occasion to take a stab at making a proper painting, partly just to see if I could do it and partly so I wouldn't just be throwing my student to the wolves with my advice. I found such paints in the form of an 8-pack set of 9.5 ml. tubes from Dollar General. The set was $4. Now, I know and can accept that this set was not meant to be artist-quality by any stretch of the imagination whatsoever. What bothers me is that my pre-existing stash was a very cheap set that was probably at best meant to be student-quality paint (and there's a good chance that's being generous) and you can get craft paint from Walmart for less than $1 for much larger tubes, and both options are more pigmented than these paints were. Do not be fooled by the results before you; I am fortunate enough that I have a moderate amount of artistic skill, pretty good knowledge of the medium (at least for someone that doesn't use it often), and I've done enough experimenting and encountered enough problems before to be comfortable trying to power through and work with what I had. If I were a humble beginner with much more limited knowledge of art supplies and how to use them, I highly suspect this would be one of those supplies capable of turning someone away from that type of art supply, if not art as a whole, in its entirety. If you've ever used finger paints for kids--you know how in the container and one congealed drop of the paint it looks like a nice, solid color, but then when you start to spread the paint around it's way more transparent and you have to really commit to get the color pay-off you were expecting? That's an accurate description of these paints. The thing is that they aren't totally lacking in pigment. They're about as pigmented as cheap watercolors or gouache. The problem with that is that they are still acrylics at the end of the day--the paint binder is a plastic, which means they dry relatively quickly and typically will not reactivate after they've dried. So if you want the same experience but a medium that's easier to work with, watercolor or gouache would be a better option. But it gets weirder.   I noticed that these acrylics dry a little on the slower side compared to what I'm used to, which is a mixed bag. It helped with blending a little, but it also made the lack of pigment more frustrating, as it meant I had to wait longer for the paint to dry between layers, which I needed in order to make sure I was A. covering the canvas and B. getting the color payoff I wanted. Additionally, it is probably a very good thing that I was using a small 4"x6" canvas board and not one of the 8"x10" canvases I have on hand, because the size of the paint tubes combined with the lack of pigmentation means I very likely would've run out of one or some of the colors. (Almost definitely I would have run out of white because white is always my most overused color). To a certain extent, I did expect to have to layer and do a lot of "put paint on, cover it up. put paint on, cover it up, put paint on--" you get the idea. Acrylics, even when they are better pigmented, can be a more challenging medium to work with because of the aforementioned quicker drying time. But even so I feel like the work I had to do to get good color pay off, decent coverage of the canvas, and smooth blending all at once was still a little more than I should've had to put in. The most egregious and obvious offenders of this would be the orange behind the mountains and the snow/ice caps on the mountains, the latter of which I'm still not totally happy with, but I kept going back and forth with it and eventually just said "y'know, that looks pretty okay, I'm tired of messing with it, and I'd love to not use up the entire tube of white on this one small painting, so I'm done with that." The orange I think turned out fine, though the transition between it and the rest of the sky is a little harsh for my liking. (I'd say it doesn't match the reference photo but that's not really fair as overall I took quite a few intentional and unintentional creative liberties between my reference photo and the final product.) Anyway. Once I had layered enough various shades of purple and bluish-white on this thing to make an eggplant and blueberry salad jealous and fed myself up with the mountains, it was 4 a.m. and I was tired and so I decided to let what I had dry overnight and then finish it the following day. I did wrap my tiny 6-well palette up in a plastic baggie to preserve the mixed paint that hadn't already dried just in case I looked at the painting with fresh eyes and couldn't help but touch it up some more. But fortunately, that didn't happen. Instead, I used some washi tape to make a mask over the mountains and then broke out a bottle of white ink to splatter some stars across the sky, because I knew the white acrylic paint was a serious risk that was likely to not work out the way I wanted it to. (In this case. I have used white acrylic paint before that would've probably worked just fine using the same splatter method, but I didn't want to take the risk with how not-pigmented this white was.) And then I went in with white gel pens to emphasize a few stars, add some white spots in that I wasn't able to do with the paint, and I did end up adding a little extra highlight to some of the mountains in the vain hope of making them look a little better. This is where the title comes in; I think I got a little carried away with the highlight on the mountains vs. the stars in the sky, and so instead of the traditional "snowfall/snowy" mountains, I thought calling them "starfall" mountains might make more sense based on the visuals. One that was done and I was confident that everything was dry, I went over the whole thing with some gloss-finish ModPodge (which smells horrible by the way; the matte-finish ModPodge has a way less offensive smell to me), in two coats, and then re-applied my gel-pen signature in the top corner because for some reason the ModPodge just kinda wiped it off. I don't like ripping on a supply so hard, and I'm sure if you look at some other supply tests of mine that it's pretty obvious I try very hard to give the benefit of the doubt when I can. These just disappointed me on so many levels. Don't get me wrong; the end product still turned out decent, but that's because I more or less know what I'm doing. As I said before, I'm not confident that a beginner wouldn't be totally frustrated by these paints. And yet I can't deny that they're probably fine for younger kids that don't really care about proper acrylic painting, and that's really who they're probably for anyway. If nothing else, I can say this experiment has pushed me towards getting a better quality, wider color-selection set of acrylics to keep in my stash, because I really don't see these working out as a good stash set for me.  It's going to be a tricky decision though, because I want something that'll give me the option to do a proper acrylic painting like this if I want to, but has a price I can justify even if I don't use the paints terribly often. So we'll see how that turns out for me further down the road. I really don't think I'll ever be primarily an acrylic painter (not because of this particular experience--there's just something missing that doesn't draw me into the medium like other mediums have drawn me in before), but sometimes you get an artistic itch and you just have to scratch it, and I have to admit that I don't think I've fully satisfied this itch just yet, so there may be more acrylic paintings to come out of me yet. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble |   Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

[raeofgayshine]

The Art of Yeeting

Read it on ao3

Part of the Let the Sun Come Streaming In series

Peter wants to turn Bucky's arm into the Yeet Machine

Warnings: a slight mention of unsafe binding caused by dysphoria but nothing serious. It’s mostly fluff

“Mr. Bucky,” Peter started, proper his chin on his hands as he looked across the counter at the former assassin. When Bucky hummed to show he was listening, Peter asked: “Have you ever heard of yeeting?”

“Yeeting?” Bucky repeated, raising an eyebrow at Peter, who had to bite his lip to stop from giggling when he noticed the batter smeared across Bucky’s forehead as well as across his cheek. “Is that even a word?”

“It’s from a vine,” Peter shrugged, twisting back and forth on his stool as he watched Bucky pour the brownie batter into the pan. When he turned his back to put them in the oven, Peter reached across the counter and quickly stole the bowl for him to lick. “I could show you if you wanted.”

“Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?” Bucky asked, turning to face where Peter had last been, only to find him hanging from the ceiling out of reach still holding the bowl, looking extremely pleased as he scraped it clean. “You know that’s not good for you, right?”

Peter grinned a chocolatey smile, “Eating upside down or eating uncooked batter? Because I’m pretty sure the second one is actually a lie, and I do the first one all the time so...”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head at Peter as he started to wipe down the countertop, deciding not to get in an argument with Peter about his habits (because the last time that happened Bucky had wound up with a headache trying to keep up with Peter’s reasoning).

Silence fell over the two of them until finally Peter was satisfied that he had cleaned the bowl to the best of his ability. After handing it down to Bucky, Peter dropped back to the floor, resuming their conversation from before like no time had passed. “Are you sure you’ve never heard of yeeting, Mr. Bucky? I only ask because I was thinking about your metal arm, and if it’s even stronger than your regular arm then it can probably throw things even further, right? Which made me start thinking about doing tests to like, see how far your metal arm could throw things compared to your regular arm, and because I was thinking about throwing things while doing homework I thought about that vine, you know where the girl hurls her friend’s empty can down a hallways and says ‘Yeet’. And then I thought that if we test the throwing range on your arm, then we should change the magnets to say ‘Yeet’ and then it could be the Yeet Machine because that sounds cool right? But then I realized you might not even know what yeeting is, so I decided to ask you and you said no and-”

“Yeah, I know what happened from there kid,” Bucky cut Peter off, shaking his head in a mixture of exasperation and amusement as he watched the younger boy struggle to catch his breath. A thought crossed Bucky’s head as he waited, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously for a moment as he thought about the chain of events that had passed since Peter had arrived after school to the tower, realizing suddenly “You never took off your binder after school, did you?”

Peter let his gaze drop to the ground as he avoided answering Bucky’s question, although the slight pout on his face and the way he crossed his arms across his chest almost immediately gave him away instantly.

“Peter,” Bucky sighed, and the boy in question visibly flinched at the sound of disappointment in the older man’s voice. Nervously he began to chew on his lip as he waited for the lecture that always followed when someone found out he was binding unsafely.

Bucky seemed to have other ideas on how to handle the situation, and after a few moments of quiet consideration, he tapped the counter to get Peter’s attention, waiting until the boy was looking at him before he said “How about we make a deal, okay Peter? You go take off your binder and put on one of the hoodies Stark has laying around, and then the two of us can talk about these experiments you want to run and you show me that ‘yooting’ vine or whatever it was?”

“It was yeet, Mr. Bucky sir,” Peter responded softly, a hint of a smile on his face. “I can show you the vine and all of the memes that it inspired if you want.”

“Sounds like a plan kid. But only for a little while. Then you have to get back to your homework or else your Aunt May will kill you and me both for not getting it done.”

Peter groaned loudly at the mention of his homework, but even the prospect of having to eventually get back to it couldn’t chase away the slight bounce in his step as he headed off to get changed. Whether it was from the fact he hadn’t actually gotten in trouble for his slip-up or his excitement to teach Bucky about yeet (and hopefully design some tests that Mr. Stark would approve him to run) that was causing the bounce Bucky couldn’t tell, but either way it didn’t matter to him. As long as Peter was happy then Bucky could at least feel like he had done something right, and that maybe Steve wasn’t so crazy after all when he told Bucky there was still good left inside of him even after everything he had done.

….

“Hey Bucky, can you pass me the salt, please? It says that I need to ‘add to taste’ whatever the hell that means,” Natasha said, frowning down at the recipe she was following the same way she had been for the past 20 minutes, ever since she had walked into the kitchen and Peter roped her into helping cook dinner (“Because,” he reasoned “If you’re struggling trying to cook then at least I won’t feel so alone if I struggle to do my homework”).

Luckily, Bucky had at least been helpful in guiding her through the steps of the recipe he had given her, except for now when she turned to ask him again about the salt, she found to her shock he wasn’t standing there. “Peter, do you know where Bucky went?”

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but before he had the chance there was the sound of scuffling near the elevator, and a moment later Bucky walked back into the room carrying an exasperated Steve Rogers over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Peter burst into a fit of giggles the second he saw the pair, which only got worse when Bucky said

“I found you the salt,” Bucky grinned, setting Steve on the counter in front of Natasha who could only smirk in amusement. Steve furrowed his eyebrows confused, looking between Natasha and Bucky for some sort of explanation.  

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Language,” Natasha chided, which did nothing to help Peter in his fit of giggles, although he still somehow managed to get out between his laughter

“Mr. Bucky that’s way too much salt.”

Steve frowned even more confused than he had been when Bucky had first picked him up, now twisting around to look at Peter as he asked “What is too much salt?”

Bucky smirked “You, obviously”

“What?”

Natasha sighed, rolling her eyes before she explained: “Peter’s been teaching Bucky memes again.”

“I guess we don’t need this much salt then?” Bucky asked, ignoring Steve’s confused protest that he still did not understand what was happening. Natasha just shook her head, agreeing

“Peter’s right, it's way too much.”

Bucky shrugged as if to say ‘You’re probably right’. Then he carefully heaved Steve back over his shoulder, ignoring his boyfriend’s protests as he carried him into the living the room, carefully dropping him onto the sofa as he said “Yeet!”

Which sent Peter into yet another fit of laughter that had Bucky smiling proudly as he returned to the kitchen and handed Natasha the actual salt as if nothing had happened.

[pileontheyears]

Chidi’s Soulmate - Eleanor/Chidi One-Shot

(Diverges from canon after "What's My Motivation.")

Eleanor was gone. Or rather, Fake Eleanor was gone. Chidi shook his head, closing his eyes concentrating on his thoughts. She wasn't exactly gone, per se, she was just somewhere else, not in the Good Place, not with him.

His soulmate, Real Eleanor, was still there, and she was doing her best to keep his spirits up with his favorite meals and discussing poetry and art and everything that would normally make him happy. But he felt lost, no matter how hard he tried, there was something missing, and he knew what it was.

His stomach hurt.

He was rifling through all of his books and teaching supplies as he had decided that he wasn't ready to live with Real Eleanor just yet and he didn't want to go "too fast" in their relationship. She simply smiled, nodded, and asked if she could help with anything. He forced a smile, gave her a quick no, and headed towards the guest room. He started with his clothes, putting turtle neck after turtle neck in his suitcase. He supposed Eleanor, or Fake Eleanor, was right, he had quite the extensive collection of turtle necks. Then he moved onto his books. From Kant to Plato he moved his fingers along the binders of each book, each one a different story of a lesson Eleanor, Fake Eleanor that is, had not only learned, but applied to her stay in the Good Place. Chidi was proud, Eleanor had really begun to earn her place here, and in turn helped him along the way, as well. He was no longer the Chidi Anagonye who filibustered recess, insistently went by the book, and saw in black and white. He was Chidi Anagonye, a smart and capable moral philosophy teacher that at least Eleanor didn't hate. In fact, she had told him, on more than one occasion, that she loved him. And in one case, said she was IN love with him. He recalled the warm feeling it had given him when she had said that, and the slight disappointment when she had later told him she didn't mean it, but she loved him in a platonic sense. Or rather as platonic as a savior/saved relationship could be. He grabbed his books and moved them to his book bag, slinging it over his shoulder. It was then he thought he heard something, faint but still there. He looked down to see a small note and looked at it as if it was the most peculiar thing to see on a floor. He proceeded to bend down to pick it up and flipped it over.

His heart stopped.

In gold letters, the note read "Fork Off, Eleanor." He laughed. The first time since he had seen her waving goodbye on that train, he laughed. A memory flooded over him, one of a beautiful day by the lake and Eleanor standing with his bag of French poetry and a rowboat waiting for him. She had listened to him, to his dream of paradise, and had arranged for it to happen. Then he remembered something not as joyful.

"I know we'll never be soulmates."

It was like when she had told him after she wasn't in love with him that they could never be meant for each other.

Now back to his previous serious expression, he focused desperately on a way to get Eleanor back, and a small part of him searched for an answer to a question he was afraid to ask.

"You should go."

Chidi whirled around, unaware of the presence of another person in the room. Real Eleanor stood by the doorway, looking at him with something sincere in her eyes, what it was Chidi didn't know.

"What?"

"You want to go get Eleanor back. Please go."

"I uh- I was packing to go back to my apartment, I wasn't-"

"Chidi, you haven't been yourself since she's been gone, you go out to see Michael whenever you get the chance and I assume it's to ask him if he has any news about Eleanor. Chidi, you love her, now go get her."

"Rea- Eleanor, I know what you must think but I assure you nothing-"

"Nothing is going on between you two, I know. You said that at dinner and even then I had a feeling Eleanor had feelings for you."

"Eleanor- but she told me she loves me, not that she's IN love with me."

"Chidi, I know you're a smart guy, and empathetic, you must realize what she had said was more of a way to move past what could be awkward and hurtful, and perhaps she did think that at the time, but Chidi-"

She looked desperately into his eyes, almost pleading him to listen to each and every word and take it to heart.

"I see the way she looks at you, talks about you, and while she may be willing to try and push her feelings away, I won't let them go unnoticed. She loves you Chidi, she wanted you to be happy, more than she wanted to be happy."

The words he had once said to her, "you're too selfish" found their way echoing in his mind. Was it possible? Could she really love him? And on top of that, of course she brushed her feelings to the side. She told him about the relationships she had with the men she'd dated, of all her selfish deeds on earth. She had never experienced love.

"Just like me." A small voice in him whispered.

"N-now hold on Eleanor, even if she did love me, how could I- I mean, the system- it set US up- and we ARE compatible, we share similar interests and values and-"

"Oh, Chidi, please you're not fooling anyone."

"Tahani?"

"Yes, Chidi, I'm here too. Believe it or not, you're not the only one who misses our dear Eleanor. And come to find she left for the sake of the neighborhood, well I couldn't just do nothing! Look, I even brought snacks for your trip! Let's see, I baked a pear pie since you and Eleanor are a perfect "pear," some matcha tea cause you're a "matcha" made in heaven, and uh, oh some mint chocolates because you're "mint" for each other. Do you get it?"

"Ah, y-yes Tahani but what is going on?"

"Oh, don't worry about a thing, Chidi, Eleanor here has told me everything! You're off to save the other Eleanor who has left us prematurely and whisk her off her feet and bring her back here where she belongs. I just think it's wonderful!"

"Tahani, you're wrong, I'm not going to 'whisk' Eleanor off her feet, I'm just moving back into my old apartment."

"It's just as I'd feared, you're in denial."

"Tahani, really there's nothing to discuss."

"Chidi, listen, I knew from the moment I saw you and Eleanor together that you two truly belonged together. I sensed a sort of spark between the two of you that only true soulmates could have. Of course, I thought Jiyanu and I had that same spark but then he spoke. Oh, Chidi, I did mean what I said about how true love is rare, you mustn't let it go so easily."

"This is insane. I'm not- you think- this is too much."

"I'm sorry, Chidi, but I think it's important we talk about this, that's why I invited Tahani over. She's seen you and Eleanor together longer than I have. I thought maybe she'd have more insight than I have on your relationship with Eleanor."

"What relationship? I care about Eleanor but we don't- our relationship is- I mean. Oh, stomachache."

"Oh Chidi, and people call me dramatic. I simply can't sit here and watch you let the love of your life slip away. It reminds me of my two dear friends and star crossed lovers, Brad and Angelina."

"It still doesn't make a difference, the system-"

"Chidi! Eleanor was a mistake by the system, was she not?"

Chidi pouted and looked at the towering woman in front of him as if waiting for a lecture from an authority figure, and secretly hoping it would shed light on this disgusting ethical soup of a situation.

"Tahani is right, Eleanor wasn't supposed to be in the Good Place, but you tried to make sure she stayed, right?"

He nodded. Of course he tried to help her.

It did begin by a feeling of duty to his beliefs but after time, he sincerely wanted her to stay, for her to learn to be a good person, to see her happy.

"Now, isn't that against the system?"

"I- uh- I suppose but, it's different trying to save someone from eternal damnation and being in LOVE with someone you might not supposed to."

"Chidi, this isn't about ethics, or a calculation that set us up as soulmates, this is about how you feel. Chidi, do you love me?"

"What?"

"Chidi, it's important to you that you don't suppress whatever your answer might be. I want you to say what comes to you first, tell me how you feel when I ask do you love me. Now Chidi, do you love me?"

"But my motivation, and we were paired together and-"

"Chidi…"

"I just feel like if I had more time-"

"Do you love me?"

"A-and maybe if I had some frozen yogurt…"

"Chidi! Do you love me?"

"No!"

He looked shocked, he might have known that answer but to shout it, and in this context!

"Eleanor…"

"Chidi, it's fine. I think I knew, from that moment I told you how I felt, it didn't feel right for you to say it back. But Chidi, this is just as important."

He looked at her, as if she had the answer to all his problems. If she arrived instead of the Eleanor he learned to care for, maybe he could have loved her, been soulmates with her. If he never knew the other Eleanor existed.

A world without Eleanor…

"Chidi… Do you love Eleanor?"

His head whipped up to meet her eyes.

D-did he? L-love?

Oh this whole thing wasn't just giving him a stomachache, it was as if his appendix was about to burst. Did he even have an appendix anymore?

"Chidi, I need you to be completely honest with me. You hate lying, so don't do it to yourself."

Lying to himself? Had he been? Without even realizing it, had he been deceiving himself? Perhaps Eleanor was right, maybe living with a lie is easier than it seemed to him.

But he still hated lying, and wouldn't do it, not anymore.

"What do you think?"

"What do I think? Chidi, these are your feelings, I have no way of knowing-"

"You said you could tell Eleanor loved me by how she looked at me and talked about me. I want to know, do you think I love Eleanor?"

She said one word, clear and without hesitation.

And Chidi knew it was true. He smiled and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Thank you."

She smiled, a bit of sadness in her but more joy in spite of it.

"You're welcome."

"Might I add I too believe you two are meant for each other. I'm not quite sure but something about you two seems to work. Or maybe I'm just, as Eleanor put it, "going with it" since Janet and Jiyanu got married and left, probably on their honeymoon."

"Yeah I still have no idea how that happened."

"It doesn't really matter how, does it? Because it did."

"Right, like how Eleanor was sent here instead of me when we first died. I mean, maybe it was meant to be that way, so you two would meet and fall in love."

Chidi had never thought of it that way. Of all the places and people in the world, two Eleanor Shellstrops were killed in the same accident. One, his assigned soulmate, the other, the woman he learned to love.

"Maybe you're right. Ok, I'm going to go, thank you both. And Eleanor, please I want you to know I do care about you."

"I know Chidi, please go."

"Ok."

Tahani gave Chidi the basket of treats, he smiled and made his way to the door and opened it. He was about to walk out but turned to look at Real Eleanor one last time.

"Maybe there's another Chidi Anagonye."

She let out a small laugh, nodding, muttering "yes" and "please go."

With that he smiled, truly grateful for what she and Tahani had done, and was gone.

He made his way toward Michael's office, hoping there was some way of finding Eleanor, contacting her, anything.

He loved her. He loved the shrimp stealing, garbage storm inducing, selfish, stubborn, loud, warm, funny, and surprisingly good Eleanor Shellstrop. He realized he always had, perhaps in a small way at first. When she first said he was a good person, when she picked up trash and tried to hide the fact she was also going to dump some in Antonio's house but assuring him she was going to try and be good from that moment on. When she found a friend in Tahani thus making a beautiful plant grow, or when she supplied him with his ideal paradise in spite of her believing she wasn't his soulmate. Every little time she scrunched her face, or the way she looked at him seeking approval, and perhaps love. Even when she mocked and made fun of him, he had to admit he found her cute. It was everything she was, everything he knew she could be. When she was with him, she was the best version of herself, and he was the best version of himself when he was with her. They had had their arguments and they both had their faults, but when there wasn't a massive sinkhole threatening to swallow the world or giant animals destroying everything, he found himself being happier than he'd ever been.

He looked back at the note he had picked up before, and realized the answer had been so simple, so obvious he couldn't believe he hasn't figured it out. While he felt terrible having to tell the Real Eleanor that he didn't love her, the "I love you" note hidden in his egg was certainly more romantic and would cause anyone to feel something, but to him it didn't compare to his "Fork Off, Eleanor" note. For whatever reason, that moment, or that breakthrough for her or whatever it was, he found himself completely enamored by her and the note. It was an "I love you" note in itself, she was saying "I'm going to put you first, even before myself." And coming from the Eleanor that he met the day he arrived in the Good Place, it was the most precious thing he possessed.

With all these new feelings, he was scared. How would it all work out? What about Real Eleanor? Was he ready to be in love?

But he remembered what he had realized before, that at least if this was the first time he truly felt in love, Eleanor would be right there with him in the same boat.

"Ah, fork it. I'm in love with Eleanor."

The fake one, of course.

[mind-reader1]

Queen of Hearts (Ch.13)

Drake x MC (Emma Barnes)

TRR AU: What would happen if Emma loved Drake but had to marry Liam?

Catch up here

Warnings: Some cursing 

Note: Thanks for the love everyone! Please Enjoy!  If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know! Got some good drama in this chapter, and maybe something else  ( ͡º ͜ʖ ͡º)

Word Count: 2187

Summary: Drake and Liam exchange some harsh words, can they come to an understanding? Olivia offers some unsolicited advice, and Kiara is back and all over Drake. 

Chapter 13: Elastic Heart - Sia

And another one bites the dust But why can I not conquer love? And I might've got to be with one Why not fight this war without weapons? And I want it and I wanted it bad But there were so many red flags Now another one bites the dust And let's be clear, I trust no one

You did not break me I'm still fighting for peace

Well I've got thick skin and an elastic heart But your blade it might be too sharp I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard But I may snap when I move close But you won't see me fall apart 'Cause I've got an elastic heart I've got an elastic heart Yeah, I've got an elastic heart

Drake stepped in front of Liam and he frowned at his friend.

“Drake. Please move. I need to speak to you and Lady Emma.” Liam stepped to the side and so did Drake.

“No. We need to talk Liam. Let her have a break tonight.” Liam continued to scowl but let everyone else walk ahead into the manor.

“I've been giving her a break this entire trip.” Drake shook his head in disbelief.

“You really haven't Liam. You've been on her case about every little thing and you shouldn't be!”

“Really? I can't believe you two! Sneaking off today in public, to fuck?! Could you imagine the consequences if someone else had heard you two rather than us! I have gone over this with Lady Emma, but nothing seems to get through. Don't think I don't know about you sneaking into her room every night! What is it going to take? Or are you both determined to make this fail so you can get past your jealousy!” Drake was seeing red, he couldn't believe his best friend was saying this to him.

I gave her the ring, I followed her after your engagement photos. It was my idea to sneak off today. All these things you're getting mad at her for were my idea so fucking lay off Liam! It seems like she's been doing everything on this tour. She recruited Madeleine and her family when you were nowhere to be found. The polo game was her idea, today she rallied the people at the press conference and asked the kids to play. I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but I've had enough.” Liam sighed and ran a hand through his hair starting to cry. Drake was so caught off guard he didn't know what to do.

“I'm sorry, Drake. Ever since the ball it's been one thing after another. I have to stay calm for everyone else, it gets bottled up and I just explode on those I care about. I've been seeing a therapist to help me, but I'm still working through it.” Liam dragged his hand down his face, the tears having stopped. Drake had never seen his best friend like this. Sure, in college he had been in a bad place after an assassination attempt, but he was like a ticking time bomb, you never knew what was going to set him off now.

“I don't like this charade any more than you do, watching you masquerade around for the cameras with the woman I love is torture. The only reason I'm still here, that we didn't run off is because we believe in you Liam, we're here to support you. We were all at the homecoming ball; I got shot Liam! I know it seems like we don't care about making this work, but I have nightmares. Every night I see Emma get shot and I can't save her, I wake up paralyzed, then I see her, and I know it's not real. It's the only way I can get any kind of sleep.” Both of them finally put it out there in the open, they used to talk about things all the time, now they just couldn't. Liam had no one to talk to, his best friend and the woman he loved were together, can't exactly talk to them about Emma. Hana and Maxwell were good friends to him, but they were Emma's best friends, he couldn't talk to them either.

“Maybe this will be beneficial for you then.” Liam held a small white card out to him with a name and phone number on it, a therapist. Again, Emma's words echoed in his head, Drake hated the idea of spilling his guts to a stranger, but maybe it was time to consider it. He took the card without a word, a newfound tense silence hanging between them.

“We used to talk all the time, Liam, I know that this is weird. You should try to find someone you can talk to if it's not me. I'm sorry, I really am. You'll always be my best friend though.” Drake clapped him on the shoulder once and walked away without looking back.

Drake's words weighed heavily on Liam, they had talked all the time, but ever since that night in New York there had been a distance between them...well more like a person. He couldn't blame Emma though, it wasn't her fault that they had both fallen in love with her, and it wasn't like she had a choice falling in love with Drake. Nevertheless, it made him impossible to talk to. He found himself aimlessly wandering through the grounds outside the manor.

“Liam, what are you doing out here so late?” He turned to find Olivia strolling towards him.

“Lady Olivia... trouble sleeping is all. What brings you out here?” she looked away, it was the first time Liam had ever seen her so unsure.

“I overheard some of your argument with Drake…” Liam sighed, nothing seemed to go as planned anymore. Emma had mentioned that they should tell Olivia, there was no hiding it now.

“I suppose I should explain.” Liam led Olivia to a nearby bench. He turned to face her and looked down, fumbling with his hands.

“It's all a lie isn't it?” Liam nodded and didn't meet her gaze.

“You have to understand Olivia, I love her, I thought she loved me. I may be the one who gets to 'be with’ her in public, but I'm not the one who gets to hold her when she's scared, sneak out of parties with.”

“This arrangement is ridiculous Liam!” Liam ran a hand over his face and explained to her, why he had to do it, why it had to be Emma.

“Regardless Liam, your people need you to start acting like a king and not some lovesick fool pining over his best friend’s girl. This isn't some stupid movie, this is real life.” Liam's lips twitched into a small smile, Olivia could always be counted on for tough love. She surprised him by reaching out and grabbing his hands, squeezing.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you Liam, and what you're doing could be an amazing thing if you pull yourself together.”

Drake shuffled towards Emma's room where he thought she would be waiting for him. He knocked softly, but got no answer, he checked the hall before quickly opening the door and slipping inside. He walked over to the bed and saw she was already fast asleep, still in her clothes like she had been waiting up for him. He brushed a stray hair out of her face and kissed her forehead gently. She mumbled something incoherent and lifted her head, squinting.

“Drake?” He smiled and bent down so he was eye level with her.

“I didn't mean to wake you, go back to bed.”

“Stay with me.” She mumbled laying her head back down already. Drake wasn't going to argue with her. He changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed beside her, she didn't even seem to notice.

Early the next morning Drake was up before Emma. He tiptoed to the bathroom and was grateful he had done so, as he heard her bedroom door swinging open just seconds later.

“Madeleine!” He could hear Emma's surprised voice.

“Why aren't you up? The train leaves in an hour.”

“We just got here yesterday, we're already leaving?”

“Yes, everything's calmed down. We're going to Kiara's duchy. Have you been practicing your French?” Drake rolled his eyes, listening to her.

“Absolutely, in all my free time I learned a new language.” He could hear the sarcasm dripping out of her voice and held back a snicker.

“I suspected as much. I printed you out a sheet with important words on it. Look it over on the train.” he heard the door slam again.

“Drake?” Emma whispered. He emerged from the bathroom and she let out a sigh of relief.

“You really need to start locking your door Barnes.” She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms.

“Oh yeah? How do you plan on getting in every night then?”

“You could lock the door after I sneak in.” Emma playfully rolled her eyes.

“I guess you'll find out tonight Walker. Now get out of here, I've got a train to catch in an hour!” Within minutes of boarding the train she was in the boutique with Madeleine and Maxwell. Instead of a ridiculously thick binder about the family, Madeleine handed Emma a stack note cards. Emma just gave Madeleine a look, they both knew she wasn't going to read them. She resolved to giving them a quick breakdown. Hakim, Kiara's father was a well-known Cordonian diplomat and a Duke, apparently, he was important in Cordonia. Her mother, Joelle, is a famous artist. Her older brother remained a mystery as he was never really seen outside of the duchy. Madeleine outdid herself with the dress, it was a halter with black sequins on the top half and a black mesh with large black flowers for the knees down. She added an owl arm band as an embellishment, and nod to their house crest. It was stunning, as always. While visiting they would all be attending an international art and food festival, the goal was to be enthusiastic about the events in the hopes of gaining the family's support. That was all they had time for as the train began to slow. Emma stepped out of the motorcade and Drake wandered over, his eyes lazily roaming up and down her body.

“That dress is...I mean… You look beautiful Barnes.” Emma smiled faintly as Drake stumbled over his words.

“You cleaned up?” Emma's question came out harsher than she intended. Kiara was a tense subject between them since she was still pining after Drake. He cautiously slipped his hand in hers and squeezed, letting go before anyone could see them. He wore his nice blue suit and dark green shirt underneath it, a small patch on the shoulder from where he had been shot the night of the homecoming ball.

“You look good Drake.”  

“It's less…international than I expected.” Drake mused. He was right. There were no country flags, no signs in different languages, no borrowed concepts from other cultures.

“Just wait.” Olivia said, as Kiara came down the steps, a young man in tow.

“King Liam, Lady Emma, I am so glad you're visiting our home.” they both nodded respectfully as Liam said something in French.

“Drake! You look... I…that suit looks very nice on you.” It had already started. Emma who had grabbed Liam's arms for appearances, dug her nails into his skin as she grit her teeth and smiled. Liam carefully placed his hand over hers trying to pry her fingers off inconspicuously.

“Thanks.” Drake said flatly, avoiding Kiara's gaze. It wasn't difficult to pick up on the tension, but Madeleine, Kiara and the young man weren't sure why it was there.

“We heard you were injured at the homecoming ball. How are you now? Are you doing okay?”

“Oui, it was a terrifying night. I am healed after spending some time here at home.” Her smile faltered, she was still reeling from the attack like the others.

“Shall I introduce myself or were you planning on getting to that?” The young man beside her stepped up.

“Of course. This is my brother Ezekiel. These are my friends King Liam and Lady Emma, Lady Olivia, Lady Hana, Lord Maxwell and Drake.” Her eyes lingered on Drake a bit too long, it would be a long stop on the tour.

“I'm so glad to finally meet you all, Kiki has told me so many stories.”

“Oh? What did she have to say?” Emma asked out of curiosity.

“She mentioned King Liam's generosity, Lady Emma's resilience. She also said there would be a scary one, a pretty one who's good at everything, a party animal and a really sexy one named Drake.” Emma had to remind herself to stay neutral, force a smile even, everyone was waiting for the explosion as they snuck glances between Emma and Drake. Emma turned to sneak her own glance at Drake, who was bright red and looking anywhere but Emma or Kiara.

“Zeke! Well I think that's enough greetings. Come, let's get you inside.” Kiara cleared her throat and kept her face down until the color had mostly disappeared from her cheeks. Just as they began to make their way inside, Penelope came up with her poodles. Kiara and Penelope hugged as Zeke fawned over her poodles. Liam pulled Emma aside just before they entered the doors, she was worried this would be a lecture about keeping her cool around Kiara and Drake, but it wasn't. Constantine was getting worse and was supposed to be at the festival, but couldn't due to his illness, it was clearly bothering Liam.

“I'm sorry Liam.” Emma squeezed his arm and he gave her a small smile.

“I need all the help I can get redirecting questions.”

“We'll figure it out Liam, don't worry.”

Tag List: @notoriouscs @leelee10898@princesstopgun @choicesyouplayandmore@sleepwalkingelite @roonarific@indigo39 @skyila@speedyoperarascalparty @andy-loves-corgis@furiousherringoperatortoad@blackwidow2721 @drakewalkerfics@findingdrake @sue9659 @smritysriv@tmarie82 @larryssunflower

[phan-of-the-pen]

Undisclosed Desires

My second @phandombigbang fic was unfortunately deleted (along with many of my other posts) so I am reposting this! I’m sorry for the inconvenience. This has been one of my favorite fics to write so far, ask me about it if you want to know more. Enjoy!

Thank you to @just-another-phanfic for making amazing art! You can find it here. Thank you also so so much for stepping in as my beta <3

Tags: major fluff, angst, extremely brief mentions of: self-harm, suicide, and abuse, implied smut, vague descriptions of tattoo needles/machines, tattoo artist!phil, HAPPY ENDING

Word Count: ~11.8k

Summary: Phil Lester is a tattoo artist who makes art come to life on his clients’ skin. One day, a new client walks in. A young man with stars and broken glass in his eyes and curly hair. Dan, the client, doesn’t really say much, Phil’s learned, but he soon becomes a regular at Phil’s tattoo parlor. Phil found the brunet cute, to say the least, but he really has no choice but to confront his feelings when Dan asks for a tattoo splaying across his hips.

(song!) (ao3!) <– you can find the complete list of flower meanings here (check out my other fics!)

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey Phil, do I have any other appointments after this?” Travis asked over the buzz of the tattoo machine.

Phil hopped off the stool, where he had been watching Travis work, and opened the store appointment book. He sighed when he saw the state of it. The times were all messed up and half of the writing was nearly illegible, but granted, that’s what Phil got for letting Travis do the books this week.

"Is that Shelly?" he asked, squinting at the page to try and make out the words. It was the last name on the list that hadn't been scribbled out, but the time read for almost three hours from now.

"Yeah, I moved her up after Tony cancelled again."

"Then yeah, you've got nothing else for today. You think he's ever going to come back and get that shading finished?"

"Who knows? Maybe the guy likes walking around with a half-finished tattoo. Maybe he thinks it looks badass like that."

Phil snorted and closed the book just as he heard the woman—Shelly, as it seemed—suck in a deep breath as Travis continued to do the line work for her tattoo. Travis reminded her to breathe before continuing.

"Would you mind if I left a little early then? Jess' parents are coming over later and she wants me to be there when they arrive."

"Sure, I'll handle any walk-ins we have, as long as you bring breakfast tomorrow."

"Deal."

Phil grinned.

"Good luck, mate, we all know how much her parents just adore you."

Travis laughed and gave Phil a glance in between the lines he was inking before turning his attention back to his work.

"I think you're confusing 'adore' and 'hate-with-all-their-might' again, Phil."

~~~~~

Travis slipped his coat over his shoulders and gave his station another once-over.

"You sure you're okay with this? I don't want a shit ton of people to walk in like last time I asked to leave early and you end up staying until ass-crack o'clock because they were willing to pay triple and you can't say no."

"Don't worry, I'm only doing it for the doughnuts you promised me an hour ago, not a potential pay increase."

"Doughnuts? You said breakfast, mate. For all you know I could bring in a half eaten box of cereal and throw it at your head."

Phil put a hand on his chest and feigned the best horrified expression he could manage on the fly.

"Travis, you wound me."

He couldn't keep a straight face though and cracked a smile. Travis grinned back and pulled him into one of those bro hugs that, before meeting Travis, Phil had thought were just a joke.

"I'll see you tomorrow Phil. And do yourself a favor and just tell people to come in the next day alright? You're too nice sometimes."

"Yeah yeah yeah, go on, get out of here and try and survive a night with the in-laws." Phil said, shooing Travis towards the door. He stuck out a tongue when Travis gave him the finger and shut the door behind him, waving before turning around and walking back behind the counter. He sat back up on his stool and took out his phone. He didn't have anything scheduled for the rest of the day, and while walk-ins were always possible, he wasn't betting on there being many on a late Tuesday afternoon. He checked the clock as the game loaded. There were about two hours before closing time, but Phil could probably sneak out in one if there weren't any walk-ins—Travis wouldn't care if he slipped out a bit early.

Flappy Bird loaded and all of his attention flocked straight to the pixel animation on his screen. He grinned. An hour playing games wouldn't be so bad.

~~~~~

Phil checked his pockets, making sure he had his wallet and phone on him. It had been a little over an hour since Travis had left, and Phil was heavily looking forward to returning to his flat and curling up on the couch with some leftover pizza from last night.

He casted a glance over the rest of the store behind him. He had already wiped down the tattoo equipment and lavished his tattoo machine in care and attention because he had actually had the time for once. He had swept and taken out the trash, as well as all of the other little miscellaneous chores that were required to be done on a daily basis. Phil had even sat down and attempted to decode the appointment book, but decided against it almost instantly when he was once again faced with Travis' impossible scrawl.

"Perfect," he muttered to himself, locking the back office before turning back around and walking back to the front, past the handful of tattoo booths. Phil was humming softly to himself and swinging his keys on his finger, a smile on his face. He adored his job with every fiber of his being, but there was just something inherently refreshing in leaving early, even if it was for not much more than an hour.

Phil yelped in surprise when he rounded a corner to find someone waiting in the lobby, his keys flying off of his finger and hitting the floor as his body froze and the keys' momentum kept them going.

The guy jumped and looked up from where he was leafing through one of the flash tattoo binders at the loud entrance Phil made, and Phil hastily tried to explain himself.

"I'm sorry! I didn't hear you come in and I was, uh, just taking care of some stuff in the back." Phil said, gesturing hopelessly behind him as if it would explain everything. The guy didn't follow Phil's hand and continued to not really pay Phil much mind, minus his snap to attention at the sound of Phil's keys hitting the ground.

"Can you tattoo me? Your website said you didn't close for another hour."

His voice was cautious and extremely soft, but also completely and utterly flat and monotone. Phil wanted to frown at it, not used to hearing someone sound so...sad? Defeated? He didn't know.

"Sure. Did you find a flash design that you liked? I'm afraid if you wanted anything custom I could probably only give you a consultation and draw something up for you due to time and all that."

"No," the guy said, closing the binder and putting it back onto the table, "I was just looking. I just want words, if that's okay?" He stood, but he continued to keep their gazes from meeting. His whole frame was hunched over and closed in on itself. Phil wondered why, but didn't dare press the issue—it wasn't his place.  

"Yeah, that's fine." Phil said, walking into the room more and sitting down across from him. Phil didn't miss how the guy took a step back and curled his shoulders into himself even more than they were at the action, but didn't say anything.

"What would you like? And where?"

The guy reached behind him and dug out a wadded up piece of paper and a pen, unwrinkling it as best as he could. He then leaned over and started to write something, his brow crinkled in concentration. He wrote slowly and steadily, like he was trying his hardest to make it neat. When he was done, he sat up and handed it to Phil, once again avoiding looking directly in his eyes. Phil looked over what he had written and nodded, recognizing the lyrics.

"Good song. Is this all?"

"Yeah. I want it in my handwriting though. And right here," he said, reaching up and pulling away his jumper collar, tapping his finger on his collarbone, "please."

Phil frowned. Tattoos in general were painful. How much pain someone experienced with a tattoo varied person to person, but a general rule was that tattoos that are on areas with less skin, muscle, and tissue between the tattoo needle and bone, hurt more. Collarbones and ribs were easy and painful examples.

Phil let his eyes scan over the exposed skin once more. This guy's collarbone was easily visible and therefore would probably hurt like hell.

"Are you sure? Collarbone tattoos hurt, especially when they're on ones as prominent as yours…" Phil said, trailing off and still concerned whether this guy knew what he was getting into. But he just nodded.

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Okay, let me just trace over this to create a stencil and get all set up. I'll be right back." Phil held out his hand. "I'm Phil by the way," he said with a smile, hoping to help the guy relax. He didn't smile back, but his hand was warm and soft in Phil's.

"Dan."

Phil stood.

"Alright, give me a minute, Dan."

He made his quick exit and filed himself away where he and Travis kept the equipment to make a stencil. Phil worked quickly, but let his mind wander.

Dan was tall—though not as tall as Phil—and lanky, full of sharp edges and small curves. He had a nice face framed with a mass of curls coagulated on top of his head and pink lips. He was attractive, yes, but Phil didn't really go for kicked-puppy-looking men, as in his experience, it was only an act to hide their shitty personality.

Phil rolled his eyes at himself when he realized his train of thought and derailed it: he may not know Dan, but he didn't have to make any bad assumptions about the guy.

Minus Dan's inherent prettiness, he was obviously a ball of anxiety, or just extremely nervous. He was jumpy and had yet to look Phil in the eyes, not to mention return one of Phil's smiles. None of those things were necessarily bad per se, there was something just...missing from Dan. A spark, an emotion, Phil didn't know, but he got a distinct, instinctual feeling that something was just off about him. Maybe it was his flat voice or almost scared posture, or something else, but he just was.

Which was fine, Dan was allowed to be however he wanted, Phil was only there to tattoo him.

Phil shoved away the various materials he was working with along with the paper of Dan's handwriting as he stood, the newly made stencil in his hand. He walked back to the waiting room where he had left Dan.

"Hey Dan," Phil asked, mentally kicking himself for forgetting again, and not asking earlier, "do you have some kind of ID on you? I forgot to make sure you're legal." Phil continued, a little sheepish. "I know you're probably older than eighteen, I just have to make sure. Parlor rules and all."

This was not the first time that checking the ID of people had slipped his mind. Phil had had plenty of teens over the years try and weasel their way into getting a tattoo before they were eighteen, which was why he and Travis had ended up implementing the no-exceptions rule in the first place.

Phil breathed an internal sigh of relief as Dan slipped his wallet out of his pocket and wordlessly showed Phil his driver's license.

"Thank god you're legal," Phil said with a bit of a breathless laugh. "I didn't really want to kick another sixteen year old out this week."

Phil's eye caught on the date of Dan's birthday, and his eyes widened in surprise. 

"Hey, wait, you turned twenty-six today? Happy birthday!" Phil cried, his mouth splitting open wide, eyes snapping up to Dan's. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before Dan was tearing them away, Phil's chest left feeling warm.

Phil wasn't one to miss detail. Mostly because it was his job—Phil's specialty in hyper-realistic tattoos making it essential to spot the things that people would normally skim over. So in that half a second, Phil was able to map out the gold flecks starbursting out from Dan's pupil and the incredible range of browns melting together and flowing apart. He saw the sadness like broken glass, but also the shreds of joy bursting up over Phil's words, and it all rushed over Phil like a tidal wave.

Jesus, he has really pretty eyes.

"Thanks," Dan said a little weakly, but with a faint tone of happiness at Phil's birthday well-wishes. The corner of his lip twitched into a half-happy-half-sad smile, and Phil had the impression that Dan hadn't had anyone wish him a good birthday yet today. The thought made Phil's heart clench.

He turned back around and beckoned Dan to follow him, leading Dan to Phil's bench and gesturing for Dan to take a seat as he gathered what he needed. Phil pulled on his gloves and opened the cabinet to his left, flopping back on his rolly chair. He settled on a round liner needle—since he wouldn't be doing any shading on Dan's tattoo—and pulled one out. He assembled it onto his tattoo machine after inspecting the needle for any defects, threading it through and fastening it with three rubber bands. Phil tested it twice to make sure that everything was settled before getting up. He returned with black ink in a disposable container, and a cup of water.

As it turned out, Dan had to remove his jumper due to the collar being too tight to rest off of his shoulder comfortably and safely without the possibility it would slide off and snap back into place in the middle of tattooing him. As it also turned out, Dan had very, very pretty lightly tanned skin that Phil appreciated from a strictly artistic viewpoint.

Dan's cheeks were dusted pink as soon as the jumper was off of him, and he hastily let his left arm cover his stomach, his balled up shirt in his grasp. Phil tried to give him his most reassuring look, but Dan once again wasn't quite looking at him.

Which was fine, Phil understood completely.

Phil applied the stencil after prepping the area and he okayed the placement with Dan. He dipped his gloved finger into the water and ghosted the few droplets onto the back of the stencil. Phil repeated the process as necessary, but he ended up chewing on the inside of his cheek all the same, quietly observing what nice collarbones Dan had and how the water glistened on his skin.

Once Phil peeled back the stencil and nodded—pleased at how the words transferred—he used a little hand mirror he had buried in one of his cabinets to make sure Dan was 100% okay with it. Dan just nodded before settling back against the tattoo bench, staring up at the ceiling as he waited for Phil to start.

Phil clicked on his tattoo machine and leaned over, bringing the needle to Dan's skin.

Most people, when they get tattooed, they react. They squirm, they tense up, they squeeze their eyes shut or bite down on something. They blast music, try and distract themselves by bringing a friend or chatting with their artist, anything.

Dan, however, didn't.

Phil, trying to give Dan a chance and get used to the ordeal of tattooing, had started as far away from his collarbone as the design allowed, even taking it slow at first and cheering Dan on silently, but now Phil was half-way through and Dan had yet to even twitch. His worries over how Dan would take it were seemingly unfounded because Phil was directly over Dan's impossibly exposed collarbone and all Dan was doing was laying back, breathing calmly and staring up at the ceiling like this was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

Phil was in shock.

He had been tattooing professionally for over ten years, had tattooed every place imaginable on a person's body, had seen thousands of customers, and no one had ever reacted so peacefully to a tattoo in such a painful area.

Normally, at this point, he would be leaning back, asking if the person he was working on needed a break, but Phil flicked his eyes over Dan's relaxed body and just kept going, finishing the 's' he was in the midst of and wiping the skin before moving onto the 'e'.

Sooner rather than later, Phil was shutting off his machine and setting it down, unhooking the needle and rubber bands holding it and throwing the needle away. He rifled through his cabinets to find his bandages and pulled them out.

Phil wiped down the skin one last time, looking up at Dan, who had torn his gaze away from the ceiling and was now watching Phil.

"Do you want a picture before I wrap it?"

"No, it's okay."

He bandaged the fresh tattoo, smiling as he surveyed the ink curling around Dan's collarbone.

"Well, I think it's great, and not just because I'm biased. Lyrics are always a good choice, but Radiohead ones? Almost as amazing as Muse-inspired tattoos." Phil rambled, scooting back on his chair when he was finished with the bandage, his fingers warm from the body heat radiating off of Dan.

Dan was smiling a little as he sat up, tossing a half-glance in Phil's direction, nodding to what Phil was saying. He tugged on his jumper, Phil's gaze following the slide of the material. However, Phil's mouth ran dry and his heart caught in his chest when he saw a fist-sized bruise span Dan's side, right where he had rushed to cover with his arm earlier.

Phil frantically looked up at Dan's face, trying to meet his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice strained and his gaze slipping back down to burn a hole in Dan's jumper where it continued to cover the bruise.

Maybe Phil shouldn't have said anything. Maybe he just should have silently acknowledged it, given Dan a bit of a supportive smile and reduced his tattoo price. Maybe that's what anyone else would have done. But Phil just honest to god couldn't.

Because suddenly, maybe the sadness in Dan's eyes made a little bit more sense and Phil wanted to be wrong, he wanted to be so wrong in his jump to conclusions, but there was a sick feeling in his gut that told him that he was right.

Dan froze in the midst of climbing off the tattoo bench. Phil watched as a dozen emotions that he couldn't name flew across Dan's face faster than he could pinpoint, and Dan squeezed his eyes shut.

For a heartbeat, everything was still.

Then Dan slid off the bench and opened his eyes, keeping them trailed on his feet.

"I'm fine."

Bullshit! a voice screamed in Phil's head, but then Dan was looking up at him with a pleading look on his face, and the words of protest at Dan's blatant lie died in his throat.

Phil's stomach churned. If he had glimpsed Dan's back, would he have seen more bruises spanning his skin? If he hadn't been so engrossed in his work, would he have caught another flash of black and blue?

He didn't know, but he wanted to because fuck, that shouldn't happen to anyone.

Yet, it wasn't his place.

But god did Phil wish it was.

"How much do I owe you?" Dan asked when Phil did nothing but stare just as pleadingly back, Dan's voice just as soft and heartbroken as when he had first spoken.

"Nothing," Phil blurted out.

Looking pained, Dan just shook his head.

"Please let me pay for this, Phil. I'm fine, I promise."

Phil kept his gaze on Dan, but Dan didn't relent, and Phil crumbled.

"Okay, let me ring you up then."

"Thank you," Dan breathed out, and followed Phil back to the register. Phil, a lance in his heart, just did as Dan pleaded and rung him up. Dan's tattoo was small and didn't require fine detail, so already the price wasn't that high, but that didn't stop him from taking a few pounds off because he could, damnit.

Dan just pulled his wallet back out and handed Phil the money, slipping in extra, but not without Phil catching him.

"Dan, please, you don't have to-"

"You're supposed to tip your tattoo artist, Phil. This tattoo means a lot to me, and you worked hard on it. Thank you." Dan said, finally, finally pushing his eyes up to meet Phil's, determination and genuine gratitude swirling through them.

"Dan…" he said, trailing off. His eyes caught on the edge of the bandage peeking out from Dan's collar, and he could easily see the ink pressed into his skin in his mind's eye. Before he could guess what they meant, and really, Phil still had no clue as to what those lines were worth to Dan, but he had a much better idea now. He could only hope they were true.

"Thank you," Dan said again, pushing the money into Phil's hand, his fingers soft and gentle where they skimmed Phil's skin. Dan smiled, and it was the realest smile Phil had seen from him.

Dan stepped back and gave a little wave before turning around and pushing past the door, the bell at the top chiming as he left.

Pained, Phil just watched him leave.

He looked down at the cash in his hand, and sighed, slipping it into his pocket even if it felt like blood money. He rubbed his temple and turned back around. He walked back to his station where he had just had Dan with him, heart heavy. Phil cleaned up, wiping down the bench and giving his tattoo machine one last once-over. He pulled his jacket up from where it had fallen off of the back of his chair and slipped it over his shoulders once more. Phil flicked off the lights and cursed himself when the backlight where the stencils were made still shined. He had forgotten to turn it off evidently after he had made Dan's stencil. Not necessarily abnormal, but deeply unwelcome when his soul hurt and he just wanted to curl up in bed and curse humanity for being so fucked up because Phil cared too much.

Phil groaned when he was reminded how his past self had just shoved everything out of the way and not taken the time to legitimately clean it up. But he was a man of habit, and if the parlor was a mess then he couldn't bring himself to leave.

So Phil gathered the trash and threw it away, put the stencil equipment back in its place, and bent down to pick up the pen he had used off of the ground. He scooped up a piece of paper that was also on the ground, and glanced at it before tossing it in the bin.

His heart throbbed again at Dan's handwriting staring back up at him, but Phil tried to push it away. He was well aware that he was nothing but a bystander in this situation, and even outside of that, he didn't even know the situation, he only had a guess. And no matter how he would look at it, he'd never know what was really happening unless Dan decided to tell him, a stranger, which would never happen.

So he had to hope.

He read the lyrics again and breathed out deeply, his heart hurting a little less. Dan would be fine.

Phil tossed the paper into the bin, the words fluttering down until Phil could no longer see the words Tonight I'll set you free scribbled in Dan's penmanship.

As Phil locked up and walked out of the tattoo parlor, he smiled. He hoped Dan was enjoying his first night of freedom.

~~~~~

Phil wiped away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his arm and hunched back over, using the fine needle he was working with to add the finishing touches to the tattoo he was detailing.

A realistic watercolor-style flower was spanning the thigh of the girl on Phil's bench. This was her third and final appointment, and Phil was already fifteen minutes past the time he had originally allotted.

"Almost there," he muttered when her hand started to fidget again, "I'm just blending a bit to make it look a lot more natural."

She nodded and gripped the chair as Phil went back to work.

Twenty minutes later, she was done and thanking Phil over and over as she paid, positively beaming and saying that she absolutely loved it. Phil was just as excited as she was because moments like this were the reason why he picked his profession; he wanted to make people happy with themselves and their bodies. Every eye-crinkling smile at the end result was a rush for Phil.

"Phil! I need to you handle the walk-ins we have. Xander and I are in the middle of appointments, and you were supposed to be done ages ago, mate." Travis called from where he was hunched over his own customer. "The guy with the curly hair was here first, and I already got his stencil done before Stacy here walked in so go get him done before anyone else."

Phil called his agreement—as well as an apology—over his shoulder and quickly threw away the needles and empty cups of ink, and cleaned up everything from the last tattoo he had done. Phil wiped down the bench and picked up the stencil in the back where Travis had left it before he had to work on his scheduled appointment. It was a little constellation, about the width of Phil's palm. Because he had been asked to do the zodiac signs of people for years now, he easily recognized it as the outline of the Leo constellation.

"Sorry for the wait, we're a little backed up today. Can I have whoever is getting a Leo tattoo done?" Phil asked, walking into the waiting room. There were three people in the seats. Two were what looked like a mother and her teenage daughter that were paging through one of the flash tattoo books, and the last person was sitting with his back to Phil, looking at his phone. The guy looked up when Phil spoke, tucking his phone into his back pocket and standing. Phil recognized him immediately.

"Dan?" he asked, jaw dropping. "You're back!" he finished, a smile pulling up the corners on his mouth. Dan didn't really look him in the eyes, but he did return Phil's grin a little.

"Yeah, I'm back."

It had been over three weeks since Dan had first walked into Phil's tattoo parlor, and Phil honestly hadn't thought that he would see him again, but as Phil glanced over Dan's frame—everything about him just the same—Phil knew that he was more than glad that Dan had found his way back.

"So Dan," Phil asked in the middle of assembling his tattoo machine with a round liner needle, "last time you were here it was your birthday, and I know a thing or two about zodiac stuff since they're such a well-asked-for tattoo, so I know you wouldn't be a Leo. I'm still curious as to why you picked it, however. Can I ask why you're getting it done?"

Phil attached the rubber bands onto the machine and tested it, sparing Dan a glance. Dan shrugged a little, seemingly uncomfortable.

"Just...kinda because, I guess?"

Phil nodded, dropping the topic. He set his machine down and picked up the stencil with his gloved hands.

"Fair enough. I've had tattoos done 'just because' as well." Phil said, hoping to make Dan relax. Phil had forgotten how high-strung he was. "Can you take your jumper off? I need it out of the way again to do this where you want."

Dan nodded, and suddenly Phil could feel a tension between them. Or, more like a tension emanating from Phil, right in time with the breath that seemed to get stuck in his throat.

Last time Dan had his shirt off for a tattoo, Phil had seen bruises.

Would there be more?

Phil honest-to-god might cry if there were.

Dan pulled off his jumper and with every inch of skin that was revealed, Phil let his eyes roam, searching for evidence that this man was being mistreated.

There was nothing new, which made Phil almost sigh in relief.

The bruise that he had noticed last time had obviously had time to heal—it wasn't black and blue, but a muted yellow of sorts; it was clearly on the mend.

Phil also noticed the first tattoo he'd given Dan, the black letters standing out against Dan's skin.

"Your tattoo is healing really well. You've obviously been taking care of it." Phil said, carefully avoiding the elephant in the room. They both knew that Phil had looked, and they both knew what Phil was looking for. However, that didn't mean that they had to talk about it.

Last time Dan certainly hadn't wanted to.

"I love it," Dan said simply, and Phil knew his sentiments exactly.

Phil himself had many tattoos—what respectable tattoo artist didn't? The art on Phil's body collectively didn't have much in common. Some he'd given himself in his apprenticeship days, others he'd gotten done by other artists. And all of them, from the garden of plants spanning his side and back to the little Pikachu on his wrist, he'd taken care of religiously because having something that you love etched into your skin? Priceless. There's no other option but to take care of them in Phil's mind.

"Yeah," he said, checking over his equipment and the stencil on Dan's skin yet again in a nervous habit of his, "I know what you mean."

Neither of them said anything after that, but the silence wasn't by any means strained. If anything, as Phil started to etch the lines of ink into Dan's skin, the lack of conversation felt comfortable and normal—more like something that Phil had been doing with Dan for years.

This tattoo was even less complicated than the first one that Dan had had done, so they were done much sooner; a handful of lines and dots representing the stars were crawling over Dan's collarbone by the time Phil ended up pulling away.

"All done." Phil said, leaning back. Dan sat up, looking down at his collarbone even though he wouldn't be able to see the whole thing from his perspective.

"Thank you."

There was the beginning of a smile playing at Dan's lips, making Phil beam.

Ten minutes later Dan was walking right back out of the door of the tattoo parlor, the same little wave Dan gave Phil last time making another appearance. The gentle smile on Dan's lips was still there, the corners pulled up higher than Phil had ever seen them. The sight made Phil's chest grow warm.

~~~~~

Over the next four months, Dan became a common sight in the tattoo parlor. He was in at least once every two weeks, asking for something that generally fit the m.o. of all of his other tattoos: small, typically uncomplicated, and carrying hidden meanings that Phil only wished that he could know. And even though Phil was always the one to tattoo him, all of the other artists knew him at this point and greeted him whenever they saw him as if Dan was a friend. Every time it happened Phil saw the happiness blossom across his pretty face at being acknowledged.

Now, after months of steady tattooing, Dan had a respectable amount of his pale skin covered.

His third tattoo was no larger than the length of Phil's fingers and only a few inches wide. It was of a bear, it's paws dissolving into stars. The bear was near the crease of Dan's right elbow, on the inside of his forearm. Phil remembered the session vividly after seeing the faint, vertical, white scars on Dan's skin. When he had seen them he couldn't stop his fingers from running lightly down them, tracing the lines with the pads of his fingertips, frowning. That tattoo had taken two appointments to finish the shading.

The fourth tattoo Dan got from Phil was a loose line of leaves blowing in an invisible wind, spiraling up the span of Dan's left forearm. There were half a dozen in total, starting at Dan's wrist and stopping a few inches short of his elbow.

Dan's fifth tattoo was a hand-sized, linework-only heart on his upper right arm, cor cordium inscribed in between the veins. (Phil had googled the words after Dan had left before he had forgotten them. They meant "heart of hearts" in latin.)

His sixth tattoo was another phrase, the words have the courage to exist—once again in Dan's handwriting—on the inside of his wrist, partially overlapping a much larger and much deeper white scar that ran horizontal along his right forearm.

The seventh tattoo was of flowers and leaves. They were on Dan's right shoulder, spilling over a little to his collarbone and quite a bit onto his shoulder blade. Phil added in minuscule splashes of color to some of the petals after the standard black shading. (The end product was much better with the color in Phil's opinion.)

He and Dan ended up seeing each other regularly in those months, and Phil found himself looking forward to the next pleasant surprise of having Dan walk through his parlor door.

A few weeks after Dan's latest tattoo he wandered in much earlier in the day than ever before, almost as soon as they had opened.

"I want something different this time."

"Oh yeah? What kind of different?" Phil asked, pulling his sketchbook closer, flipping past drawings to get to a blank page; Dan had warned him when he walked through the door that this tattoo would need proper designing.

"I want claw marks on my ribs, but I don't want them to be bloody or whatever. I want the part of me that's 'clawed away' to reveal a galaxy underneath. Kind of like I have the universe inside of me, as stupid as that sounds."

Phil thought for a moment, his pencil hovering over the page for a count of ten before he started drawing. It took them several re-draws, but they ended up with something that not only looked badass but made Dan smile in approval.

Due to appointment scheduling, Phil didn't have any time to start right away, but Dan left with an appointment for exactly ten days away. Ten days that slugged by so much slower than Phil wanted.

The first appointment passed without trouble. The linework for the claw marks and some of the fundamental shading was done in their few hours together. The next few appointments happened just the same, though they all focused on the shading and building the forms of the claw marks and the beginnings of the galaxy.

With every appointment however, Phil found his feelings...mixing, to say the least. His eyes lingered on the bends and curves of Dan's body, and his own fingers might have  stayed just this side of too long on Dan's skin, their drag causing Dan to shiver just so slightly (something that gave Phil an irrational amount of pleasure, knowing that he could make Dan react like that).

He was also sure that he talked too much during the appointments. Since Dan wasn't that much of a talker, Phil went on and on about pretty much every scrap of thought that passed through his head. Dan surprisingly didn't tell him to shut up or make Phil feel as if he was annoying him; he listened attentively and would sometimes even softly chime in to offer his opinion on the recent rambling of Phil's. Every soft word of Dan's was a victory to Phil, and it only made Phil talk even more.

More appointments passed, and with each one the layers on Dan's tattoo were fitting seamlessly together, and altogether building the illusion of space flowing under Dan's skin. In the beginning Phil had entertained the idea of dragging out the sessions just a little, but he ultimately decided against it and instead poured his soul into the tattoo. Phil played a deathly amount of attention to detail and revisited areas several times after allowing them to heal in between. He used so many shades of ink that he lost track, but it didn't bother him in the slightest.

The moment he finished it was one that he would remember for the rest of his life. The first thing he did was sit back and stare in disbelief at the art in front of him. The art he made.

"It's done," he had muttered.

Dan heard and sat up to have a proper look himself. Phil watched in rapt attention, his mouth open as he watched the universe inked into Dan's skin ripple and move with him as he sat up. It made the whole thing seem alive.

It was by far the most beautiful tattoo Phil had had the pleasure of bringing into existence.

Dan seemed to share Phil's sentiments. Together they stared at it until Dan looked up at Phil, awe in his eyes.

"Phil, it's...it's bloody amazing. I don't even know what to say. Thank you so much, fuck, I love it." There was a smile so wide on Dan's face that it showed two dimples that Phil had never seen before. Quite frankly, between Dan's soft beauty and how well weeks of his work turned out, Phil had needed to catch his breath.

That was weeks ago.

He hadn't seen Dan since, and while he understood that he had zero claim on Dan's time, Phil still found himself glancing every time the door opened in the hope that it would be Dan. In some sense, Phil was remorseful over not letting the sessions drag a little because now Phil didn't get to see him.

Phil was on his phone playing one of his many games; it was an especially slow day. They hadn't had any walk-ins, and there were few appointments scheduled. That all translated into Phil being bored as hell.

He didn't look up when the bell chimed—it had been too long since Dan had last been in for him to properly hope for Dan to walk through—but he did slip his phone away. He got up from where he had been lounging and walked to the waiting room; he rounded the corner and started to greet the customer, but felt his jaw drop to the floor when he came face-to-face with Dan.

There was something different about him. He was stood straighter, and he actually met Phil's eyes without shying away. The bags under his eyes were the smallest Phil had ever seen them and the curls a top his head were messy due to general lack of styling, not looking as if the strands had been pulled by stressed hands. He wasn't as pale and even looked generally healthier.

"Hey, Phil."

"Hi, oh my gosh, I thought you weren't going to come back." Phil rambled, a smile on his face. Dan was grinning as well, his right dimple a shallow depression in his cheek.

"Oh come on, you know I wouldn't be able to stay away from you." Phil's heart dropped at the words. He tried to keep his mind from somersaulting to conclusions, but it might have been too late. Meanwhile, Dan's mouth twisted a little, like he had said something he wasn't supposed to, but he didn't try to change it. "Anyways, I have another tattoo idea in mind. It's not as labor intensive as the last one, don't worry, but it means a lot."

Phil nodded to show that he was listening, but was mentally hung up on Dan's little "it means a lot." All of Dan's tattoos had meant something to him—from what Phil could gather at least—but he had never expressed it so vocally. What was different about this one?

"What are you looking for?"

"Flowers, namely. Here, I have a list of all of the ones I want."

Dan dug a paper out of his jeans pocket and passed it to Phil. The paper was torn at the edges and crumpled, as well as covered in writing. There were eight total flowers, and Phil knew quite a few of them, but hadn't even heard of two. Meanings and half-baked thoughts were spread over the rest of the paper, some crossed out and others were circled. He couldn't read all of them at the moment, but he got the gist.

"I want it to look a lot like my shoulder one, but with more shading, if you wouldn't mind."

"How much more?"

"As much as you want. I want this to look as realistic as you can make it."

Phil nodded, already thinking about ways to arrange the flowers.

"Where do you want it?"

"Here," Dan said, putting his palm in his hip bone, his fingers splayed across his thigh, "right on my hip. I'd like for it to cover a bit of my side and thigh as well."

Phil swallowed to replace the moisture in his mouth. He couldn't deny that he found Dan attractive, nor that tattooing Dan hasn't affected him. Hell, Phil would constantly sneak guilty looks whenever Dan had had to remove his shirt for some of the other tattoos Phil had given him. But collarbones and the bumps of ribs were suddenly so much easier to handle than the prospect of spending extended amounts of time with his hands on Dan's hips.

He's going to be the death of me.

Phil didn't even ponder giving his heart a break from his crush and have one of the other artists work with Dan for this tattoo—Phil knew he would get too jealous.

"Do you have a more specific design?" Phil asked, praying that Dan couldn't hear his voice warble in the beginning. Dan shook his head.

"I want you to design it."

Phil closed his eyes and nodded, breathing deeply. His own design, right on what was an intimate area of Dan's body. Damn, okay, Dan really was going to be the death of him.

I appreciate the cute boy, universe, but this is just unfair, he thought.

~~~~~

Phil tested his tattoo gun. When he was sure it was working properly he dipped it in the cup of ink and brought the needle to Dan's skin, starting on the outline of the peony.

A few days ago Dan had asked for this tattoo. They'd spent two hours drawing it and making the stencil along with setting up a series of appointments for it. This was Dan's first one, and all they had planned was the line art. Simple enough, but Phil's left leg was still shaking.

Dan was laying on his side on the tattoo bench so his right hip was easily accessible for Phil. There was a blanket wrapped around his legs and torso to cover his body, which was naked from the waist down. The blanket was pulled away from his one hip so Phil could tattoo him, and really all of Dan that was exposed was the area he wanted inked and a bit of his ass, but Phil was still out of breath. He blamed Dan's smooth, unblemished skin for making Phil this much of a mess.

Travis walked past them to help a customer when the little bell above the door chimed. He shot Phil a wink and mouthed whipped. Phil suddenly regretted telling him about his crush on Dan a few weeks ago.

In short, Phil was nervous. He was pining. He was trying to stay calm and keep his freak-out internal. All of the pressure made him start to ramble, but he was certain that it was much less coherent than ever before.

The only thing that he didn't have to worry about was his hands, thank god. A combination of steel-like will refusing to make Dan's tattoo anything but perfect and years of practice made the tattooing smooth and unrushed. Phil was so good, he was even able to have time to do a bit of shading with Dan's consent.

The whole appointment was about four hours long, but it passed in about five minutes. When Dan's gone, Phil takes a lunch break longer than any other to gather his wits. He spends most of it with Travis after deciding that company would get his pining heart back under control. It works, even with Travis teasing him the whole time.

"He's got you wrapped around his little finger, mate." Travis unhelpfully supplied, cackling. Phil grumbled in response, pouting.

"Yeah yeah, sure, let's make fun of Phil for falling for a guy a little bit."

"A little? Sorry to break it to you, but you're gone for him, Phil."

~~~~~

Phil glanced at the clock again. He wasn't going to finish it in this appointment like planned.

He leaned back and clicked off his tattoo machine. Dan looked up at him, a happy smile on his face.

"Is it done?" he asked, excitement in his voice. Phil hated to disappoint him, but he shook his head.

"I still have to add in some of the harsher shadows and a few of the highlights. We don't have enough time for that since I have someone else coming in right after you, and starting it to only clean up in about ten minutes doesn't make much sense. I'm sorry it's not done even though I said it probably would be."

Dan was still smiling, which was a relief. "It's fine, Phil, I really don't mind coming back."

Phil wrapped the tattoo and took the materials he had been working with to properly dispose of and clean them while Dan disappeared to the bathroom—still wrapped in the blanket—to redress himself. Dan sat on the tattoo bench and watched Phil clean everything up after he was done, which was absolutely adorable if you asked Phil. Since he had the time he got out what he needed for his next customer and attached a small magnum needle.

"What kind of tattoo are you working on next?"

Phil winced. "Shading on a...well...let me show you." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his pictures until he found what he was looking for; it was of a client after his latest appointment. All of the line art and about half of the shading was done on a dragon that curled around the hairline of the guy's face. It was small, but still easily noticeable. Phil handed the phone to Dan who started giggling.

"God, I can't believe he'd want something like that on his face. What an idiot."

Phil mumbled something in agreement, his head stuck on how happy Dan sounded when he was laughing.

"Good luck with that." The bell chimed, letting the both of them know that Phil's next client had arrived. Dan's smile became a little more wistful. "I guess I should get going then."

Phil shrugged, hoping that his disappointment at Dan leaving wasn't showing too much. "Unfortunately I do have another customer. Should I schedule you for the same time in another month?"

"No, my schedule got changed around at work and I won't have time to come it while you guys are open." Dan pouted, sadness in his eyes. "It won't last forever, but it'll be a little bit until we see each other again, Phil."

Phil felt the frown pull the corners of his lips down.

"When are you off?"

"Sundays I have the whole day. During the week I'm working longer during the day, so we'd really only have fifteen minutes by the time you guys closed. It's okay though, I don't mind waiting a little for the rest of my tattoo."

The thing was, Phil wasn't prepared to go who-knows-how-long without seeing Dan.

"Stay here for a second," Phil mumbled, a crazy idea unfurling in his head. He walked to the back of the parlor where Travis was lounging on the sofa in the break room. He looked up when Phil came in.

"What can I do for you, Phil?"

"Do you think I could open the parlor on a Sunday?"

Travis raised his eyebrow.

"Phil, Sunday is the whole parlor's day off; why the hell are we opening it then?"

"Not everyone, just me. Dan can't make it for another appointment when we're open, and we don't know when he'll be able to come back on his new work schedule, which makes Sunday his only option."

Travis snickered.

"How did I know this was about Dan?"

"Travis, please, be serious. Can I?"

Travis traced the rim of the can in his hands with his finger, thinking. He took a sip before nodding.

"Okay, but I need to know when you guys are going to be here, and it's gotta be in the books for liability reasons. Make sure it's just the two of you, and don't make it more than two hours. If he doesn't show after fifteen minutes you leave, alright?"

Phil beamed.

"Thanks, Travis, I owe you."

"Don't do anything indecent in our tattoo parlor, Phil!" Travis called after him when he turned and left. It made Phil's ears reden, but didn't put a damper on his mood.

Dan was right where Phil had left him.

"How do you feel about coming in after hours on a Sunday?"

"What? Phil, you guys are closed on Sunday."

"I talked it over with Travis, and he's okay with me finishing your tattoo when it works for you. All that's left is just you picking when."

"Philip Lester," Dan laughed, a twinkle in his eye, "you're absolutely insane."

~~~~~

Five weeks later Phil was unlocking the parlor doors in his pajamas, feeling sleepy, but overall excited for the next few hours.

Dan arrived almost as soon as Phil himself did. He was smiling and in the happiest mood Phil had ever seen him in. It was weird to think about the first time Dan had wandered into the tattoo parlor about a year ago, curled in on himself and horribly passive. It was a good weird though, because when he thought about it, he couldn't help but smile at how much progress Dan has made.

"Aw, did I wake you, Phil?"

"Make fun of Phil, sure, go ahead." He mumbled with a fake pout as he started to set up this things. Dan didn't bother with the waiting room, opting on throwing his jacket onto the tattoo bench before hopping up. Phil could feel Dan's eyes on him, and the attention caused the back of his neck to prickle. He hoped he wasn't blushing.

When Phil thought it was safe he snuck a glance. Dan was in a pair of grey joggers that clung loosely to his body and a too-big black t-shirt. His curls weren't tamed in the slightest and the little rosey spot on his jaw that appeared when he got flustered was there, drawing Phil's eyes.

"You don't look too stunning yourself there, Dan." I'm lying. You look amazing.

"Shut up!" Dan laughed. "Unlike you, normal people can't look like a model in their pajamas, Phil. Have some pity for the rest of us plebs."

Phil chuckled, but he was horribly uncertain. Had Dan just...called him attractive? Was he overthinking it? I most likely am, Phil decided. There was something about Dan that made Phil unsure of everything.

Well.

Not quite everything.

Phil pulled himself from his thoughts. How many times has he thought about spending more time with Dan? Too many to count. And now that he had it (just the two of them, at that) he was busy thinking!

"Right," Phil said after the stretch of silence, "I'm gonna get the ink, when I get back you should be ready for me then."

Phil stood to get the tattoo ink, but he didn't miss how Dan's hands went straight to the hem of his joggers, his thumbs tucking under the waistband. Embarrassed that his gaze had followed such a simple movement Phil guilty looked up only to freeze when he saw Dan's eyes on him.

There was no way he didn't see that. Fuck.

He blushed hard, Phil's whole face heating up. Dan's eyes had a question in them, but it was one that Phil decidedly didn't want to look for at this second. He gave Dan a strangled smile and turned around, booking it straight to the back room where they kept the ink.

Phil picked and measured the ink with hands shaking from his mortification. Dan probably thought of him as some kind of creep now no doubt.

When Phil worked up the courage to venture back out Dan was on his side, the parlor blanket draped over his body like always.

He wasn't so sure if it was a relief or not.

Regardless, Dan didn't bring Phil's little awkward exchange up, which he was sure that he was thankful for.

Phil worked through the first half of the flowers completely fine. He took up his normal routine of rambling about what Dan had missed out on in Phil's life since they had last met. Dan was a bit more vocal, his hums louder than normal and more expressive. When Phil moved onto the fifth flower he started talking about how he had been driving home two weeks ago, and some douche had given him the finger because he hadn't been moving fast enough.

"Are you serious?" Dan asked over the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"Yes! I wasn't doing anything!"

"What an asshole. Did you do anything back?"

"No. I wasn't about to stoop to his level, Daniel."

Dan snorted. "We both know that you didn't because you're too nice, Philip. If I were there though, I would have told him where to go for you." 

"If I were there"

The four words hit Phil particularly hard. What if Dan had been there in the car with him? Would they have been going to Phil's to hang out as friends? Something else? A can of worms opened in Phil's head, and suddenly he was thinking a thousand scenarios that he could only wish would happen, and positively none of them were platonic.

For some reason, it made his heart ache.

After that moment, all of the rules they had nonverbally made shattered. Dan was talking more than usual; he was telling his own stories and making Phil laugh and smile, not the other way around. Dan also seemed to have lost his iron grip on his filter because Phil could name a few things he said that could be taken as flirty.

As a result, Phil's heart was flying all around the inside of his ribcage, and his head was hopelessly flipping between whether or not he should pursue it.

Best case he was reading the situation right and Dan actually had feelings for him as well. Worst case was Phil was horribly wrong and Dan (possibly homophobic in this scenario) would hate Phil and their friendship would end as abruptly as it began.

His anxiety told him that it was most likely the latter.

Phil clicked off the tattoo gun much sooner than he had anticipated. He studied the lines curling on Dan's skin for a flaw that he could fix, but there was none.

"Is it done?"

"Yeah. Looks like your latest tattoo is complete, Dan."

Dan took a few awkward pictures of his thigh before letting Phil wrap it. The whole time Dan was smiling wide enough for his dimple to appear on his cheek; Phil's heart ached longingly at seeing it.

After Phil ducked out of the room to let Dan pull on his pants, Dan helped Phil clean up the few empty cups of ink and other bits of trash while Phil cleaned his tattoo gun. They were standing at the register within fifteen minutes of Phil finishing Dan's tattoo even with his attempts at drawing the time out. He gave Dan his total and watched as Dan shuffled around in his wallet for the right amount of cash. (That was another thing about Dan. He always paid in cash.)

Feeling panicked at their time together slipping through Phil's fingers, he let his eyes drink in Dan standing before him, a sudden desperation to remember this moment perfectly taking over him. He traced over the dip of Dan's neck and the fall of his shoulders and over the curls of his hair, and certainly didn't miss how adorably soft Dan looked in his too-large clothing.

God, he wanted to kiss him so badly.

Phil wasn't sure what his expression was, or if his face was betraying what he was thinking about, but when Dan looked up with his money in hand, he immediately flushed scarlet.

Shit.

He opened his mouth to try and explain himself, but no words came out. Dan's eyes flicked from the floor, to Phil's face, and back to the floor.

It was silent for a few moments.

Right as the words "I'm sorry" were about to fall out of Phil's mouth, Dan finally looked back up at Phil, something in his eyes that Phil couldn't quite read.

"You don't want to fall for me, Phil."

Out of everything that Phil expected Dan to say, it certainly wasn't that. Maybe a "I'm flattered but-" or a "I'm not gay." But Dan telling Phil he didn't want to fall for him? He'd never have expected that in a million years.

"Why not?" he found himself saying. Dan shuffled on his feet.

"You just don't."

"Are you like a serial killer? Have you run over a puppy or something? I'm only asking because I don't think you realize I've already fallen for you, so it's a little late for that warning."

Phil hadn't really meant to say all that, but as he thought about it he knew it to be true. He was head over heels for Dan. There was no denying it.

"Do you like me, Dan?" Phil asked softly after Dan didn't respond. Something pained surfaced in those brown eyes of his and he nodded.

"Have you seen yourself?"

Phil let himself the little breathy laugh that escaped his lips—most of it was nerves anyways.

"One date?" Phil's voice sounded small even to his own ears.

"Phil…"

"Just one, if you're willing. If you don't want to or don't want to go on a second I won't be mad. We can just go back to being friends if you want. Just...one date, please? Let me treat you to dinner"

Dan didn't say anything for a long time. He just looked  Phil in the eyes. Phil, for his part, held Dan's gaze and let him search for whatever he needed to.

Eventually, he nodded.

"Okay," he said, his voice quiet. Phil could feel the smile taking over his whole face and saw as Dan slowly started to grin as well. "Okay."

~~~~~

Exactly eleven days later Dan and Phil found themselves on the top of Phil's apartment complex after their dinner date because Dan wanted to see the stars, and Phil didn't have a balcony.

"That's Orion." Dan said, pointing up to a cluster of stars to Phil's left. "You can tell because of those three stars in a line make up his belt. That one a little to the left is Andromeda. You can't quite make out what's supposed to be her legs because we can't see all the stars, but it's still nice to look at."

"How do you know so much about the stars?"

"They were something I've always loved. I had a lonely childhood, so when I was little I made my own constellations and made stories for them—stupid, I know. When I got a little older, I decided to learn their actual stories."

"Is that why you've asked me for so many tattoos with stars in them?"

"Yeah. They all mean something."

Phil nodded even though they were laying on their backs and Dan most likely couldn't see the movement.

"Could you tell me about them? Your tattoos, I mean. You don't have you, you know. I understand more than most people that tattoos can be really personal."

Phil could feel nervousness creep up the back of his neck. Should he have asked that?

Dan rolled onto his side, and, unsure of if he was going to be told off or not, Phil copied the movement so they were facing each other. He watched as Dan touched his ribcage where Phil knew that he had inked the universe into his skin.

"This one pretty pretty much has to do with my love for the stars. I like to remind myself that everything is made of stardust, and because of it we're all our own set of made-up constellations." Dan's hand landed on is upper arm. "Cor cordium-"

"Heart of hearts." Phil blurted. At Dan's playful eyebrow raise, he blushed. "Sorry, I, uh, googled it after you left that one time."

Dan laughed. "Anyways, yes, it means heart of hearts in Latin. My inspiration came from the whole 'wear your heart on your sleeve' thing. I got it because I've spend an unhealthy amount of my life bottling things up and I now want to actually live my truth, not imagine it."

Dan pulled up his sleeve to reveal the little bear and have the courage to exist.

"These are sadder, honestly. Like I said, I had a lonely childhood, but it also wasn't a very good one. My parents...weren't the uh, best of people. They didn't really want me, and didn't really know what to do with me. They hated that I liked guys later on, and in general didn't really bother supporting me. They were abusive, bottom line. The bear covers up the remainder of my self-harm marks, and the quote is where I tried to kill myself when I was a teenager."

Phil's heart felt like it was splitting in two. On some level, he knew what those scars were before Dan told him, since Phil had seen them back when he had first given Dan the tattoos. On another, he had been in denial.

"Dan I'm…" Phil trailed off—he didn't even know what to say. Sorry? Sorry didn't cover the least of it.

"It's okay, it was a long time ago. I'm a lot better now."

Dan's fingers traced his collarbone next, his shirt separating his hand and the tattoo of the Leo constellation. "Like you said when I asked for it, I'm not a Leo. I'm actually a Gemini, but that's besides the point. I always wanted to be a Leo because everyone describes Leo's as so brave and confident, and I was constantly jealous. So, I thought, that if I have it tattooed, I'd always have a bit of that self-assurance that they always seem to have."

Phil nodded.

"What about the leaves?"

"That one I actually got because I thought they would look pretty on me. The flowers on my shoulder as well"

Phil hummed, a smile pulling at his lips. "Well, you were right. They do."

"Are you trying to say that I'm pretty, Phil?"

"Very."

Before Dan could answer, a breeze blew, making goosebumps prickle up on both of their arms. The weather was warming as they grew increasingly closer to summer, but it still might be a little too cold for laying on the roof to star gaze.

"How about we go back down before it cools off too much now that the sun's gone down?" Phil asked, helping Dan up. Dan agreed and subtly linked their fingers together before asking Phil to lead the way.

Phil shut the door to his apartment behind them. When he turned around, Dan was looking down at their hands still clasped together. He swallowed. Was Dan having second thoughts about this whole thing?

"Can I kiss you?"

He should be used to Dan flipping his whole world upside down, but he wasn't.

Phil licked his lips, trying to remember the last time he had put chapstick on—he couldn't. He hoped that his lips weren't horrendously chapped.

"Yes."

Dan stepped further into their shared space first, and with his movement Phil drifted forward as well. They met in the middle, the only their mouths and hands touching.

That didn't last long, however.

The contact soothed something that he didn't even know was aching in him, and it apparently had a similar reaction in Dan because it almost instantly deepened into something much more primal. Their hands broke apart to tangle around each other, Phil's fingers drifting just under the hem of Dan's shirt. At the action Dan nodded wildly, moving the fabric out of the way to let Phil's hand touch more of his soft skin.

"Dan," Phil gasped when Dan tried to pull them towards the couch, "are you sure? I'm okay with it, but I don't want to push you I just-"

"Shhh," Dan interrupted, pecking Phil's lips once more. "I'm more than okay with this as long as you are."

The knowledge took a moment to register in Phil's head with how mush it was from kissing Dan, but he gave Dan a smile when it did.

"Then stop pulling us towards the couch, you idiot, the bedroom is this way."

Dan giggled when his back hit the duvet, reaching up for Phil, who eagerly settled into Dan's arms. Their lips met again, slower and with more of a purpose than before. He wasn't sure how long it took for them to break, but he knew that when they did to pull Dan's shirt over his head, his lips were red and swollen.

As Dan's upper body was revealed Phil pressed kisses up and down the exposed skin where it was tattooed, using his mouth to trace over the very lines he had drawn months ago.

Phil decided that as much as he enjoyed looking at Dan's tattoos, he loved kissing them even more.

"What about this one?" Phil asked, sucking on the jut of Dan's collarbone. Dan moaned as Phil worked the hickey right over the words of his very first tattoo.

"I got it the—ah—day I cut ties with my parents. They weren't happy with it, as I know you noticed—remember that bruise?—but I really don't—Phil!—care."

Phil was frowning at the words, absolutely seeing red over thinking about that bruise he had noticed on Dan's side coming from his parents. He hated it, and he loathed that these people had hurt Dan so badly, emotionally and physically.

As much as he didn't like it, Phil couldn't do anything about the past.

But he could do something about the present.

Later, when they were both naked, moaning together in the throes of passion, Phil couldn't still his hands from finding their way to Dan's last mystery tattoo as he rolled his hips into Dan's. It was the only tattoo that Dan had yet to explain the meaning of, but Phil knew that he didn't have to guess.

Peonies, red carnations, lavender, daisies, and other flowers danced over Dan's hip. Healing, strength, new adventures, and happiness of life respectfully.

It was a tattoo of healing. Of new beginnings.

Phil couldn't wish for anything more than to be a part of it.

~~~~~

"Good morning," Phil whispered, kissing Dan's cheek. They had fallen asleep almost instantly after their activities last night. Now, they were cuddled together, Dan's head tucked under Phil's chin, his body completely enveloped by Phil's protective embrace. Dan sleepily blinked his eyes open.

"I hate to wake you, but I know you have work in a few hours. I thought you may want me to drive you to your place so you could get ready soon," he continued, keeping his voice soft. Dan frowned at the mention of work and buried his head into Phil's chest as if to avoid his responsibilities.

"Alright, sleep a little bit more if you want, but not too much."

"No, it's okay." Dan said, rubbing one of his eyes. He stilled once again in Phil's arms and for a few moments they were silent, Dan letting his fingertips follow the lines of one of Phil's chest tattoos, Phil just enjoying the moment.

"What are we, Phil?" Phil shifted so he could see Dan's face properly. "What do you want us to be?"

Dan didn't answer right away, but Phil was surprised at the certainty in his voice when he spoke.

"Boyfriends."

Phil smiled wide and kissed the top of Dan's head.

"Whatever you say then, boyfriend."

Dan laughed softly and gave Phil a fond smile. It melted after a few moments.

"Are you sure, Phil? Are you sure you want to be that with me?"

Phil understood that Dan had a few problems. He knew that Dan had trouble seeing the best in himself, but it was also evident through the progress Dan made by himself since Phil had known him that he was getting better. He used to resemble a scared kid, but now he was so much more comfortable in his own skin.

Phil knew that it wouldn't always be good. He understood that Dan would have his bad days. He realized that Dan would need a bit more reassurance and love.

Phil also knew that he was more than happy to provide it.

He kissed Dan tenderly on the lips, pouring in just how right this was.

"Completely."

~~~~~

Things, as a matter of fact, were not always good.

They were a bit rough in the beginning, but as they learned to work together as a couple and not just as casual friends things got better. Phil gave Dan everything he could to make him feel more comfortable in their relationship, and Dan put the world at Phil's feet.

They fell in love hard and fast, moving in with each other before the year was out.

Looking back, Phil knew that they both grew so much as people in that first year together.

"Phil, I'm starting the popcorn, hurry up!"

Phil smiled in the mirror of the bathroom at the sound of Dan's voice. This was going to be their ninth year together. Nine years of good and bad and everything between. Nine years of loving Dan.

"Coming!" Phil called, drying his hands.

He turned off the bathroom light and opened the door to join Dan in the lounge.

He didn't miss how the soft yellow of the nightlight caught on the ring on his left hand.

[everythingbutthekitchensphinx]

I just want to vent about my grimoire for a bit.

My grimoire currently exists as a text document on my computer. From the very beginning, I have wanted to turn it into a physical object. But just printing out the pages and doing nothing with them wouldn’t cut it. This is my grimoire. This is a collection of so many things I’ve learned over the years. The physical book has to be an object of art - something that stirs my mind to look at and handle, something I need to work to piece together bit by bit. 

My original idea was to buy a fancy hardcover journal, print out the pages from the digital version, cut them apart, and paste them into the journal with a combination of washi tape and stickers. The digital document is rather complex; the “pages” appear so wide on the screen that I mostly have two columns on each page of different information. Separating them physically and arranging them with proper spacing on the physical page seemed appropriate.

The more experienced crafters may have already picked up on the problem here - taping a page onto another page with stickers and other accoutrements doubles or even triples the thickness of the pages. In a bound book, this causes the open edge to bow out and can even break the spine. I had not thought of this at all until I saw the grimoire of a young witch who had done this. She was only maybe a fourth of the way through the pages of her book and already the cover would not close properly and the spine was in danger. 

I totally shelved the idea for awhile after that. I didn’t know what else to do.

Last year it hit me - if breaking the spine and not being able to close the book are my problems, why not use a three ring binder? If I get a heavy-duty 3″ one I could potentially NEVER run out of room! The outside may not be a fancy as the inside but it would work far better. I could also re-order the pages easily, meaning I wouldn’t have to have finished the whole thing at once so I could keep my sections in order. 

But what would I use for paper? Printing out the pages on standard paper and then taping them back onto standard paper seemed both wasteful and maybe a little flimsy. Hm...

Recently I realized the answer was simple. The base pages should be cardstock. It’s harder to bend and mess up than regular paper, and it comes in colors! I could skip on a lot of stickers and washi tape if I was starting from a decorated base. I’ve even had experience with such lovely paper in the past - my mom used to make handmade holiday cards she’d piece together with various papers from these big books. What were they called, scrapbook collections?

*heavy sigh*

Did you know scrapbook paper comes in two sizes, 8″ x 8″ and 12″ x 12″? Did you know binders fit one size of paper, which is 8.5″ x 11″? There are “binders” that fit the wider paper; they are actual scrapbooks. The biggest ones I’ve found can fix between 25 and 35 pages.

My current grimoire, scaled down to fit letter size paper, is 100 pages. 

e.o

Time to go see what sort of non-fancy-scrapbook cardstock there is I guess.

[lethesomething]

The definitely not definitive otome guide

I sincerely doubt the world needs this, but that sort of thing has never stopped me before. Have an extremely biased guide of several dating sim games, organised by some arbitrary metrics.

Word of warning: this will be long (4k words), because I've played an embarrassingly large amount of otomes.

As a disclaimer: obviously this is a personal opinion. If you (as a lot of people do) enjoy the more forceful bad boy type in your dating sim, I’m not going to judge you. I, however, don’t, so this list is very specifically going to call out games for how they treat the protag.

Featured here: Amnesia: Memories,  Blood in Roses, Cutie Demon Crashers, Destined to Love, Dream Daddy, Hatoful Boyfriend, Hustle Cat,  Ikemen Revolution, Ikemen Sengoku, Lost Alice,  Midnight Cinderella,  Monster Prom, Mystic Messenger

A note on play styles.

These games come in a few flavours, which is important to know if you're gonna try them.

The vast majority of the mobile games here follow a basic visual novel structure. You pick a guy and read through the different chapters, and depending on your answers you'll be leaning toward one of two or three endngs. Since these are free to play mobiles, there's a bunch of challenges you will need to log in daily to pass.  

Mystic Messenger is the main outlier, since it's a chat simulator that plays in real time.

The pc games tend to be more complex, with interlocking routes and more endings, generally. You'll need a number of skill points to meet character A for instance, or you'll need to do a series of actions to reach ending B.

  Great games

Ikemen Sengoku

Hands down one of the best mobile otomes out there right now. I found this when searching for pics of Masamune Date (from a different game) and I've sort of been obsessed with otomes since.

Platform: Android (free to play, pay for premiums) Story: MC gets sucked into a wormhole and finds herself 500 years back in time, in Sengoku era Japan. She drops in on the exact moment where Nobunaga Oda, the Demon King, would be assassinated at Honno-ji. She stops the murder, disrupts the timeline and now there's a bunch of hot warlords vying for her attention. Protagonist’s spine: Reinforced steel. This is one of my favourite protags, because she is Super Sassy and doesn't take shit, unless she's literally being threatened with a sword. The protags where I feel like I understand their actions are few and far between, but this is one of them. Except when she goes far beyond mere bravery to get her man, and decides to forgo tampons and, like, wifi, to live 500 years in the god damn past. Squick factor: Low. This game is made by Cybird, a company that appears very big on consent. The guys generally treat MC with respect, probably more than could be reasonably asked of a Sengoku warlord. The only worrying stuff happens in the Obvious Yandere route, but you kinda know what you're getting yourself into with that one.

The Good: I friggin love the writing for this game. The guys feel like real characters, there's a ton of interaction between them and I need to give this game extra points for the story events, which are almost invariably gold. This is where the makers stop giving a shit about realism and just go for what they want to write. There's ones where all the guys are suddenly idols, there's a Christmas episode, there's one where they battle through cooking and cleaning. It doesn't take itself serious, is what i mean, and it's Hilarious. The Bad: This is one where the in-game art (aside from the CG's) is actually not that great. Hideyoshi's smile is kinda weird looking and the models feel a little outdated at this point. Best Warlord: This is very difficult, because a lot of them are dreamy, but let's just say that I need a Mitsuhide route so very badly.

 Ikemen Revolution

The newest Cybird game and my current fave.

Story: MC falls down the rabbit hole when she tries to give a rushed White Rabbit man something he dropped. She ends up in Cradle/Wonderland, where war is about to break out between the Red and Black army, the Hearts and the Spades. Everyone is hot dudes and MC is considered Alice the Second (after the one from Through the Looking Glass). Squick factor: Low. Again: Cybird game. This means there is steamy situations and sex scenes, but they're blatantly consensual. The routes I've played so far keep well within the bounds of what I would consider romantic. Protagonist’s spine: Varnished wood.  In general MC is self-propelling with occasional bouts of bravery. You can tell why she's doing the things she's doing and how she reacts to situations feels sort of logical. She's hard-working and caring and a little naïve, but the fact that she's canonically a woman from early 19th Century London does put a lot of her actions in perspective (like the amount of bullshit she puts up with).

The Good: The writing is fun. There's a good mix of angst and just… general comedy. The characters interact with each other a lot, and it feels like they're a big loud family, especially in the Black Army, which is more like a frat than anything else. The art is also decent. The backgrounds are utterly gorgeous and most of the guys are very good looking. When I first started the game I was weirded out by the blinking animation, but I have since gotten used to that. The Bad: I found some of the plot rushed. Like you spend so long slow burn growing toward each other, and then suddenly stuff has to happen action movie style because we're running out of chapters. The final chapters of Fenrir's route were just plain dumb. Like could that BE more of an obvious trap. Come on MC, I expected better of you. Also, since this is a very new game, not that many routes are out (four at the time of writing). Best boy: Hooo man. Of the routes that are out, Ray is very… oooof. But my fave chars are probably 'so done' Sirius (the fact that he's voiced by Suwabe has nothing to do with this, surely) and 'also quite done' Kyle, who is both a doctor and an alcoholic wreck of a human being.

 Mystic Messenger

You know Mystic Messenger, it's like one of the biggest otome's of the past few years.

Platform: Android, iOS (free to play, pay for extra saves and stuff) The Story: MC follows a text message to a weirdly high tech apartment and this somehow puts her in the position of party planner for a secretive group of weird people. It only gets more complicated from there. The game plays out in real time, via chat conversations and the occasional story segment. Squick factor: Um. I personally wasn't weirded out, but I also decided very specifically not to play Jumin's route. This girl did her research. The routes in Another Story are also very over the top and would probably bug me. While I love the Saeran character, I don't think I'd be able to handle that route. So: highly dependent on chosen route. Protagonist’s spine: Adderall. It takes a specific kind of person to download a chat app and follow the instructions given by a random stranger therein. It takes a much stranger person to sit in an apartment with a bomb and just keep inviting people to a party. MC is on a different level from us mortals.

The Good: I loved the game mechanic, because it felt very real. The player is following a chatroom, just like the character is. Besides that, the story is completely bonkers and I appreciate that. The Bad: Did I mention it plays in real time? Because it plays in real time, meaning you get chat conversations at two in the morning. I was very sleep deprived when I played this. Best boy: 707. Dude is funny and deep and hot and relatable and smart and I want to give him all the hugs.

 Dream Daddy

One of the few decidedly mlm games I've played so far. You've probably heard of it since it was the subject of much hype and much controversy. Markiplier played it. Friggin Buzzfeed has video's on it.

Platform: PC and Mac (it's on Steam) The Story: MC is a Dad who moves into a neighbourhood with a lot of other single(-ish) dads. Time to work it. Squick factor: Low. This is primarily a humour game: there's a ton of dad jokes and silly mini games, and a distinct lack of kabe don's. The canon routes are all very thoughtful. Protagonist’s spine: Barbecued sausage. Player Dad just goes for it. He’s flexible and caring enough to handle the more sensitive subjects, and self aware enough to deal with random crime and weird drunks.

The Good: I remember opening this game and, in the character creation screen, telling a trans friend of mine 'omg you can wear binders', and the sheer Glee of his reaction. That's the kinda stuff this game was, partly, made for and it is appreciated. I really liked the tongue-in-cheek writing, most of the jokes landed and the whole thing is just a lot of fun. The Bad: Some of the minigames are annoying. Why the hell are you making me play Bejeweled with fish? I also had a hard time sympathizing with some of the kids. I mean… Lucien straight up tries to murder someone? Ernest is 'rebellious' but he's also an ass. Best dad: Damien has the best route, but have you Seen Mat? Holy moly.

 Not worth it games

Amnesia: Memories

This game should come with a friggin warning, so I'm giving it here. Its popularity and star rating is a terrible indicator for how much you may enjoy this game. It presents itself as a cute dating sim with gorgeous art, but it devolves into straight up horror, and not in the good way. This feels like a guidebook written in the 1800's to tell young women their place. Not even mortified intrigue could make me finish this. 

Platform: PC (Steam or Google Play) and PlayStation Vita Story: MC wakes up with amnesia. Someone hurt her and she doesn't know who to trust. You'll need to figure out what happened. Squick factor: Super high. Like… so high.  Everyone treats MC like shit and she just lets it happen, even developing all kinds of Stockholm Syndrome as she falls in love with these asshats. MC's childhood friend supposedly loves her but is such a tsun and just… doesn't communicate while also treating her like a small child. One of the other characters is so popular he has a fucking harem but MC is just supposed to wait for him to actually fall in love with her. And don't even get me started on that friggin yandere. *shudders* Even the secret route 'true love' character is a million types of wrong. Protagonist’s spine: Undercooked custard. MC has the self preservation skills of a wet sponge and whoever is playing this is supposed to get turned on by high concept ideas of S&M that are just written out so badly everything feels like an abusive relationship.

The Good: *sigh* The art. The art is very pretty (I'm upset at the art since it sucked me into the horror). Also, as a visual novel, this one is complex as all hell. There's a ton of endings  (most of them deadly) depending your actions as a player. It's vast, is what I'm saying. Also, I hear the clover route isn't as bad as some of the others, but I was too weirded out to try. The Bad: See rant. This is one of those games that really seems to glorify the whole possessive, abusive boyfriend shtick, but it's ok because he loves you, really. Ugh. Just… ugh. Best boy: Kent? I guess? He doesn't appear to be actively abusing MC at least.

 Shall we date: Lost Alice

I wondered if I should include this because I literally played like ten chapters  and then deleted it, but that in itself should give some indication.

Platform: Android (free to play, in-app premium purchases) Story: MC wakes up in the forest with amnesia (I see a trend). Turns out she's in Wonderland and everyone thinks she's Alice. Most of Wonderland's characters are, predictably, hot men. Squick  factor: Unavailable. I didn't play far enough to see but some of the men are quite pushy and also it's a Shall we date app, so… tread carefully. Protagonist’s spine: Cement. This is an MC that puts up a fight, which I respect. Sadly she does so in that 'needlessly aggressive' way that anime characters sometimes have. I didn't find her particularly sympathetic.

The Good: The art. It's always the art that gets me. The Bad: The UI annoyed the shit out of me. This is a free to play, pay for premiums game, so some level of mindless clicking is expected if you try to play for free. This one had just too much. There was friend greeting and picture rating and princess lessons and got knows what else, all taking a ton of time. Trying to get to the home page popped up at least four different 'now on sale' screens every single time. The writing wasn't good enough for me to deal with that. Best boy: Well there’s a cat. So.

 Decent games

Hustle cat

This game is set in a cat café, that was all the encouragement I needed to buy it.

Platform: PC (Steam) Story: MC is invited to take a job at a cat café. Turns out everyone in the café is cursed, and also they're into you. Squick factor: Almost non-existant. This is a very tumblr friendly game in the sense that your love interests are both male and female, and none of them are particularly pushy. The relationships feel pretty natural and mostly consist of MC helping their love interest with some subquest. Protagonist’s spine: Cucumber. MC is actually pretty cool. The game does that 'modern western game' thing where you get to pick a gender and a skin colour for your protag and the general atmosphere is 'tongue in cheek'. MC doesn't let people walk over them, but they're generally helpful.

The Good: CATS. The premise of this game is pretty neat. The Bad: According to Steam I played this five months ago, and I pretty much forgot about it. Fun game but not particularly memorable. Best cat: Landry. Tall, gentle giants are a particular weakness.

 Shall we date: Blood in Roses

This is me giving Shall we Date another shot, because the amount of hot mildly medieval boys was intriguing.

Platform: Android (free to play, in-app premiums) Story: There's two, because this app has been around for a while and now has two 'seasons'. The Witch stumbles upon a supposedly abandoned castle and gets imprisoned there by a bunch of vampires. The Hunter, meanwhile, seeks out the castle because she wants to stop an attack on her village. Both come to realize that the castle is now a hotel for monsters, and that its denizens are both not what they imagined, and also hot. Squick factor: Highly dependent on route. The Witch literally starts in a jail cell, so you can imagine the Stockholm Syndrome shit that goes down. Also, this is a personal preference, but I'm really weirded out by a lot of blood play stuff so most of the vampire routes are gonna be… problematic. Shall we Date games don't shy away from sex scenes and I like that, but coupling them with drinking blood 'to get in the mood' is a rather specific niche. The game does offer a number of other options for you to court, from werewolves to wizards and… grim reapers? It's a mixed batch. If you're not into pushed boundaries I can offer one tip: stay away from the vampires. Protagonist’s spine: Sand cookie. She has one, but it's brittle. I've mostly played Hunter routes and it's like… she tries, and she can take care of herself but she also tolerates more bullshit than necessary, ya know.

The Good: The art is good, and some of the storylines are intriguing despite my reservations. I'm still playing it (mostly in a quest to find a good ending where MC doesn't die to become a weird immortal creature).  The UI, while annoying, isn't as bad as Lost Alice's, or so it seems. The Bad: The writing is very hit or miss. There's routes where the guy just sort of lowkey stalks MC, until she suddenly decides she's incredibly in love with him. There's others  that make even less sense, and then there's ones that feel more natural. In general, MC's actions don't  seem to have a lot of thought put into them. Best boy: So far: Gordon. He's cute and sensible and tortured and not incredibly antagonistic.

 Midnight Cinderella

You'll notice a friggin ton of Cybird games on here.

Platform: Android (free to play, premium purchases) Story: MC gets, mostly by accident, chosen to be the Princess of Wysteria. As such she must prepare to govern the country when the king dies, and choose a consort from a number of suitors. Squick factor: Low. Not only are these men respectful of her, they're rather literally treating her like royalty. Having said that, there is a lot of the typical hurtful tsun stuff going in several routes. Protagonist’s spine: Lightly done steak. There's something weird going on with the protag in this game. When it comes to governing, she's tough as nails. She's thrown into a situation she wasn't ready for, and while this stresses her out 24/7, she performs admirably. On the other hand, her main reaction to literally anything when it comes to love is 'Oh'. She cries a lot, at times she feels like a wet rag. There's a bunch of situations she could have just solved by going 'Yeah I'm into you'. She's complex, I guess.

The Good: The writing, while melodramatic, is nice. The art is good as well. The Bad: This is an old game and it doesn't perform that well on my current-gen smartphone. Expect to push certain buttons several times before the game realizes what you're trying to do. Also the loading takes ages. Best boy: For me, Sid, because he reminds me of Aomine Daiki and I'm weak for that type of personality. As far as routes go, Leo's probably had the most impact on me.

 Destined to Love

I'll be honest, I started this because of an event in Ikemen Sengoku that would give me cross game storage. Don't judge me.

The Story: MC gets flung back in time (this is also a trend, it seems) to the 1800's, a few weeks before the Ikedaya incident will make the Shinsen-gumi a historic Legend. She meets, and chrams, a whole bunch of historical figures. Protagonist’s spine: Cured leather. As a modern woman sent back in time, MC is probably fairly sassy by the standards of the time, but she remains mostly polite. She's tough, considering the circumstances, but quite pliable in that 'we'll see where this goes and make the best of it' way. Squick factor: Low. There's one character that just screams 'red flag' but I have yet to try his route. Since this is a Cybird game, most of the guys are pretty respectful.

The Good: I really like the premise? As the title suggests, MC's love is part of a higher destiny, one that transcends time, and it's one of the reasons she has to go to friggin 1800's Japan. She has a hand in making history. This amuses me. Also, the guys are pretty good looking. The Bad: This is a fairly old mobile game and you can kinda tell. On a technical level it's not as bad as Midnight Cinderella, but again the touch buttons aren't always responsive. Besides that, some of the writing is rather clunkily translated and a bunch of the art is low res. Best Boy: I haven't played all the routes here, but Katsura is a god damn sweetheart, and Kyo and Yamazaki seem adorable AF.

 The weird: the special ones

Hatoful Boyfriend

The reason I know otome's exist. This one shot to meme status a few years back.

Platform: PC (it's on Steam) Story: MC is one of the last remaining humans after sentient birds took over the world. She gets enrolled into an elite school for pigeons. Squick factor: Medium to high. The major thing to understand about Hatoful is that on the surface it looks like a particularly silly dating sim with pigeons, but dig deeper and it is Also a full blown apocalyptic horror story. And it follows the genre where a wrong move gets MC horrifically killed. Having said that, several of the routes, including the god damn serial killer one, didn't bother me as much as something like Amnesia, because they were not sold as romantic. Maybe it's the whole pigeon thing, maybe it's the general weirdness of the plot, or maybe it is because said serial killer actually goes 'Surely you knew this would happen', before he guts you. Protagonist’s spine: Gummy bear. MC is highly forgettable, but therefore also like… not annoying. The main focus here is on uncovering the many layered plot and the player character doesn't really have a scripted personality, she just embodies the player's actions.

The Good: This whole game is so out there. There's a reason it became so popular. It's an Experience. The plot is over the top and intricate and Weird, and that makes it intriguing. There's a ton of routes and endings, some more secret than others. The 'human' version of some of these birds is kinda hot (sadly that includes the serial killer). The Bad: the plot is so weird and meandering that it's kinda hard to follow at times. I'm fairly certain it takes several guides to unlock all the endings. Best Birb: It's been a while, but I remember liking Yuuya's route quite a lot.

 Monster Prom

The new hype.

Platform: PC (Steam!) Story: MC is a student at Monster High, and is trying to get a date for Monster Prom with one of the hot people. Squick factor: None. I mean, nothing that happens here is in accordance to health and safety norms, but that's kinda the point. It's a parody game, making fun of all the hoops teenagers are willing to jump through to become popular. Protagonist's spine: Coagulated blood. MC is willing to make deals with demons, wear corpses as a hat, anything really. The question is very openly: what could I do to make them like me.

The Good: It's a funny game. I like the characters, who embody everything from the Mean Girl to the Hipster Nerd and the Needlessly Aggressive Jock. The art is simple, cartoon style, but pretty neat. The Bad: Everything is very tongue in cheek, which leaves it a little… light for my tastes. I don't feel like any of the routes matter in the grand scheme of things, MC hasn't truly touched anyone's heart. The whole thing is a joke game, so it's funny, but a bit shallow. Best monster: Polly, the permanently stoned party girl.

 Cute Demon Crashers

Technically a sex game? But a really very special one.

Platform: PC (free! Here!) Story: A portal opens in MC's house and four Incubi/Succubi drop through. To apologize for the inconvenience, while they wait for a portal back, they offer to teach MC about sex. Squick factor: I've written about this game before and the best thing, the very best thing about it is how incredibly consent-minded it is. Like, even if you're already in bed, getting it on, there's always an option to turn back and leave it at that. The demons are really just there to help MC find out what gives her pleasure. Protagonist’s spine: Rock. Obviously, MC is mildly upset about four random demons showing up. As mentioned before, what happens next is mostly up to the player.

The Good: It's free and the art is pretty and I love the premise. The Bad: Kinda short, but again: free. Cutest Demon Crasher: *cough* Orias *cough*