#doodles dropping shortly (i need to sleep first)

[cervicrazed]

walt + all the other named members of his species

GAH this one took so long whoops

Haven't technically introduced other members of The Jek just yet, but I'll throw in one lil guy I've been rotating in my mind

OC Lore under the cut! (body horror cw)

^ Walt's "Human" form ^ 'Standard' Jek form

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name?

Walt-> a year or so after I made Wilton, I made Walt(on) - they weren't originally gonna be in the same story so I didn't notice there was only a vowel difference between them🤦🏽 I fixed this by having Walt choose his name to be similar on purpose, unknowingly bonding the two forever afterwards

Iniko -> originally heard it from an amazing artist of the same name! Really liked how it sounded so I looked more into the etymology & started crafting the story from there (working backwards this time around)

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range)

The Jek as a species are as old as fear itself - but Walt is around 80 or 90 years old by the start of the Dead Wood plotline

Iniko is about 15 years older than Bambi

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)?

Walt -> There've been a few, but Wilton is the only one he would die for. Since emotions are all he can see/smell, he often forgets that others can't tell what he's feeling just by looking

Iniko -> Not yet. They're a bit too preoccupied plotting revenge to think about anything else

🍕 - What is their favorite food?

All Jek feed on Nightmares, but as an individual, Walt's favorite are ones that involve the dreamer being chased by A Creature™ (Adrenaline is particularly sweet)

Iniko enjoys the taste of paranoia the most - it's not as filling as a full on nightmare, but it's in a much richer supply

💼 - What do they do for a living?

Walt -> Fulfills the role of a Boogeyman-esque urban legend to keep potential trespassers away from his family. Not to say he doesn't enjoy it, as the fear he inspires is it's own reward.

Iniko -> political subterfuge/espionage; despite having no interest in whatever politics are going on. Their services can be bought, but not with money; they'll only take the job if you agree to do something for them first (you may live to regret it).

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies?

Walt -> Painting! He can't actually see the final product, but part of the fun is hearing Bambi and Wil try and guess what the art depicts

Iniko -> Enjoys studying and growing plants since they're the only living thing they can't mimic very well

🎯 -What do they do best?

Walt -> he's a skilled strategist! Prides himself on staying at least two steps ahead of everyone else; unfortunately doesn't mean he's never wrong

Iniko -> Mimicry! They've perfected their shapeshifting into an art - even being able to seemlessly mimic the voices & cadence of others

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do?

Walt -> Loves spending time with his family! Wil and Bambi are his entire world. Holds nothing but righteous rage towards Casters (magic users) - he blames their greed for driving The Jek to (near) extinction

Iniko -> Loves the feeling of 'getting away with it' & gossiping. It's a valuable way to get information, but they easily + inadvertently get too involved with local affairs. Hates everything about the Rader family, especially Bambi.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

Walt -> Dutifully watching and waiting for his daughter to grow. It took her a year and a half before she was ready to pluck out of the ground

Iniko -> Finding out they had a sister this whole time!

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories?

Walt -> Watching Wilton waste away to disease. While happy there was a way to revive him, Walt's not sure he can survive losing him again

Iniko -> Finding out they had a sister this whole time.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one?

Walt -> kinda? His 'human disguise' hasn't really changed that much, but his 'true form' has changed at least 3 times

Iniko -> as of rn they don't have a design yet 💀 I'm workin on it!!

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Walt -> i wanted to make an OC based off supernatural's leviathans + that balerina girl from Cabin in the Woods (2011) bc I really liked the idea of a person's head/face being nothing but teeth

Iniko -> Getting this ask & watching Boy Kills World (2024). I haven't made another Jek character since Bambi, kinda wanted to change that thanks to this ask!

🌂 - What genre do they belong in?

Walt -> Animated Dark Comedy, but bonus points if the hypothetical director can pull off the live action practical effects

Iniko -> Dark Fantasy Revenge Thriller....like The Prestige (2006) if there were monsters as well as magicians

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality?

Walt -> Masc but not exclusively + Demisexual

Iniko -> Agender + Asexual

🙌 - How many siblings does your OC have?

Walt -> one, but he suspects they're long dead by now

Iniko -> one, and they hate her

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like?

Walt -> Was stolen from his family shortly after sprouting; still aches for that lost connection but tries to make up for it with his new family

Iniko -> Relentlessly hateful towards their parents. Doesn't want to kill them, but not out of mercy; they want to take everything away from them first.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

Walt -> teef. They make drawing him take foreverr but it's always worth it to me. Pincushion of a creature

Iniko -> their antagonist status. Dead Wood's been desperately needing one for a while now and they're a very fun fit

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC?

Walt -> admittedly haven't drawn him in a while ...gotta change that

Iniko -> been drawing them a lot trying to figure out what they even look like. Haven't settled on a design I like yet

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Walt -> nah. He'll live forever, which is much more tragic

Iniko -> maybe? They're too new for me to want to do that

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias?

Walt -> I guess technically he has all of them?

Iniko -> the only fear they have is of failure

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival?

Walt -> his father in-law, an ancient forest demon

Iniko -> their sister, a moody teenager

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?

Walt -> Easter, 2015...9 years...

Iniko -> as I'm writing this... a month or so?

🍥 - What age were you when you created the OC?

Walt -> 14...

Iniko -> 22 💪🏽

[dindjarindiaries]

Mandoctober - October 18: Arvala-7

summary: You catch a half-asleep Din telling stories of Arvala-7 to the baby. (from this old prompt)

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: sleepy!din is back and better than ever

rating: G

word count: 928 (short ‘n’ sweet!)

mandoctober masterlist

october 18: arvala-7

You’ve been working on the Crest for nearly the entirety of the day when you finally close up your tool box. Din had really run into some trouble during your last flight, getting caught up in a skirmish that ended with the Crest roaring for mercy—and forcing an emergency landing on the nearest planet. Thankfully, it’s a fairly abandoned forest moon, and you’ve been able to fix up the ship as long as you’ve needed to without any safety concerns.

In all your months spent running with this Mandalorian and his adopted child, you’ve never heard the Crest so quiet before. You’re almost worried when you’re stepping back up the ramp and into the hull, nearly expecting both of them to be gone—having escaped somewhere to run around or do something active. You hope that’s not the case, because you know the only thing Din needs is rest. He’s been going job after job endlessly and restlessly, taking whatever he can pick up that’s not Guild work. It’s been chipping away at him slowly yet surely, and you know if he keeps exhausting himself too much, he’s going to be the next thing you have to fix.

Though, you wouldn’t really mind that. You know how you truly feel about the man clad in beskar—you’ve known from the moment he trusted you enough to use his real name.

You close the hatch as you place your toolbox back on its designated shelf, holding in a light sigh as you also reach for a ration pack. You start to nibble at whatever’s inside as your gaze roams around the Crest, looking for any sign of life other than yourself. Typically, the child’s running around the hull as Din tries to tame him, or Din’s keeping himself warmed up with his Amban pulse rifle as the child looks on with wondering eyes, but you know that neither thing is happening in the hull—which means they must be somewhere else.

Once you finish off the small portion inside the ration pack, you decide to ascend your way to the cockpit, wondering if Din’s been doing some work trying to find another planet for you to lay low on. What you find, however, is something much sweeter instead. Din’s sitting in front of his navigation system with the child in his arms, his pauldron missing as he nestles the child comfortably against his shoulder. You stay quiet as you walk further inside, straining your ears to hear what he’s saying.

“… was not my favorite. But this, this… thi-this is Arvala-7, where I found you.”

Din’s modulated words are hushed and almost slurred, as if he’s about to fall asleep at any moment but forces himself to stay awake. Your heart melts as you lean your arm against the passenger’s chair, continuing to watch and listen for a bit.

“It was… warm… and dry, do you remember that? It was… very dry….”

The child makes no kind of response. You realize he must already be asleep—and you know that Din deserves the same kind of relief.

“Except for when it rained. Before the mudhorn. That—That was cold. So… so cold.” Din pauses again. “And the ship… it was stripped. But thankfully the Ugnaught had some supplies. Do-Do-Do… you remember that?”

You hold back a soft laugh at the way Din sounds so entirely innocent in this moment, as if he’s barely even here. At the same time, your heart yearns for him to give into the need to sleep, so you finally decide to speak up. “You’re cute when you’re half asleep,” you inform him with a smile.

Din nearly jumps in his chair as he turns off the navigation system and spins around to face you, slowing down as he remembers the sleeping child against his shoulder. His visor stares at you for a few moments, as if he’s trying to swallow down his embarrassment before speaking. “How long have you been standing there?”

You shrug. “Long enough to know that you need some sleep.”

Din starts to shake his head. “But, I need to—.”

“The only thing you need to do is rest,” you insist, raising your brow at him as you gesture to the ladder of the cockpit. “Remember, I’m a mechanic—I know how to fly. Just tell me where you want me to go, and I’ll get us there. All right?”

Din lets out a sigh, half full of relief and half full of exhaustion. He turns around quickly to punch in the coordinates for the planet he’s aiming to land on, standing up from the chair shortly thereafter. He stops just in front of you, taking one of your hands in his free one and giving it a gentle yet secure squeeze. “Thank you, cyar’ika.”

You beam up at him. “You don’t have to thank me, Din.”

He gives your hand another squeeze, holding it a moment longer than he should before dropping it and walking off to his cot. You bite back a smile as you head towards the pilot’s seat, unable to stop thinking about your unspoken affection as the Crest roars back to life.

One day, you’ll be able to ease him to sleep in your arms—and you’ll make sure he’s much warmer than he was that day on Arvala-7.

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec​ @stilllivindue2spite​ @givemethatgold @xbrujita​ @mandalorianspace​ @blushingwueen​ @sevvysaurus​ @myakai13​ @thisis-theway​ @beskars​ @rachelloveseveryone​ @theindiealto​ @hiscyarika​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @bookwafflefangirl​ @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi​ @ezraslittleblondestreak​ @hdlynn​ @your-pixels-are-showing​ @b0n-chann​ @javier-djarin​ @nettyklecan​ @mistermiraclee​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @smellssharpies​ @catfishingmorales​ @wille-zarr​ @kaetastic​ @saltywintersoldat​ @agentpike​ @mrsparknuts​ @readsalot73​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @mandhoelorian​ @lilangeldevil006​ @roxypeanut​ @hail-doodles​ @randomness501​ @this-cat-is-dea​ @hopplessdreamer​ @paintballkid711​ @dracos-jedi-marvel​ @whataenginerd​ @katlikeme​ @petertingless​ @propertyofdindjarin​ @theocatkov​ @bisexual-space-slut​ @cyaredindjarin​ @arkofblake​ @cryptkeepersoul​ @motleymoose​ @mrschiltoncat​ @f0rever15elf​ @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache @rogueonestan​ @goldafterglow​ @thedevilwearsbeskar​ @badassbaker​ @pancakepike​ @create-a-constellation​ @mymindisawhirpool​ @antmnwasp​ @capbrie​ @freak-of-nature2002​ @arabellathorne​ @mandilflorian​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @beiroviski​ @darthadeline​ @cheriedjarin​ @edencherries​ @mstgsmy​ @seasonschange-butpeopledont​ @aliciaxglasgow​ @poesflygirl​ @weirdowithnobeardo​ @dee-rosemary​ @ceebeetheartdork​ @kiwi-the-first​

mandalorian tag list: @lola-wolf​ @hoodedbirdie​ @chibi-liz05​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @hdlynn​ @thepjofanqueen​ @bwemph​ @starwarsslytherin​ @iellarenuodolorian​ @littlevodika​ @jjemcarstairs​ @promiscuoussatan​ @fahrenheit-not​ @vernon-dursley​

[frostsinth]

“... Nikostratus.”

I shifted, my eyes rolling behind their lids, my breath hitching slightly as I moved from the sleeping world into the waking one reluctantly .

“Nikostratus!” The hissed whisper was more urgent now, sounding properly irritated.

I blinked groggily, looking across the bed at a pair of flashing scarlet eyes. Grier scowled at me over his shoulder, and I raised one eyebrow at him. His scowl deepened.

“I seem to recall that when Izaak was born, we decided to set and keep boundaries.” He reminded me sourly, his voice still whisper soft. “As in, our bed is OUR bed.”

I yawned, shifting again. “I believe I remember that, yes.” I replied in an equally soft volume. I wondered briefly what time it was. Very late, I would guess, based upon the heaviness of the air and darkness of the room.

Grier’s brow scrunched. “Then why, by the Gods, are very nearly ALL of our children currently asleep on top of us??”

I let my eyes flutter back closed, unperturbed by his general grouchiness. “The twins are teething. They were fussy, and a little feverish.” I mumbled back to him, as if that were obvious.

A soft scoff was my reply, before “And what about Lorette? All her teeth are certainly in.” He returned, his tone becoming more bitter with each word. He might have gestured to our 4 year old currently snoring with abandon by our knees, based upon the way I felt the mattress shift.

I ignored the implication, giving Yua’s hand in mine a gentle squeeze as she began to roll in her sleep at the sound of our voices. “Lorette was scared to sleep in their room all alone without the girls.”

I felt Grier turn to face me a bit better, gently tugging his hair loose from Hilal’s nubby grasp. She quickly refastened around his ear instead. Squeezing herself closer to him.

“And Izaak?”

I shifted slightly, feeling our eldest’s warm back against mine. “He had a nightmare.”

Grier scoffed again. “This is ridiculous, Nikostratus. I cannot sleep in a bear pile every night! We cannot coddle them forever.” He scolded. “I need to sleep! How can I be expected to run a country if I don’t sleep?” I sensed him rolling, and knew he was now checking on our youngest asleep in his cradle by the bedside. “Viktor is certainly more than enough for our evening interruptions.” I gave him a softly rumbling ‘hmmm’ in the affirmative to that. “I’m serious, Nikostratus! I’ve had enough! In the morning, everyone is going back to their own beds and they are staying there.”

I hilted a sigh, but nodded sleepily. “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll support you of course.”

“You know you’re the culprit.” He accused, and I cracked an eye open to look at him again. “So you’ll have to put your foot down. Be firm with them!”

As if on cue, there was the soft creak I had come to recognize as the telltale sign of another nightly visitor opening our door. Secure in the knowledge that as all his siblings were already piled into our bed, I didn’t need to see our second oldest, Corwin, appear at Grier’s side to know it was him. He didn’t even spare me a glance, reaching out quietly and tugging on the back of Grier’s nightshirt. The goblin heaved a hefty sigh, untangling himself from Hilal’s grip again to roll to face our son.

“Inunu... there’s a storm outside...It’s loud...” He told Grier softly, his thumb finding its way back into its traditional place in his mouth. “I’m scared...”

“Corwin, you...” Grier’s voice started firm, but I saw our son’s eyes go doe wide and hid my smirk in Yua’s hair as the goblin King’s voice dropped off. After a brief pause, he heaved another great sigh, reaching out and gently stroking Corwin’s face with the back of his knuckles. “... Alright, come here.”

He scooped the nearly 6 year old up with one arm and rolled to bring him to the now complete pile. Corwin clambered about, crawling over my legs, until he found some space in between me and Izaak. As he snuggled down and stole some of the blanket from his sister, I raised my eyebrow at Grier again. My smirk was too large to hide anymore.

“... Shut up.”

So definitely not what I’m supposed to be doing right now. But gods will damn me if I can resist drawing these two. This started out as a quick sketch of Nikostratus and Grier with ONE child. Now its a sketch and quick color of pretty much everyone (Their sixth child came in after this scene, as the blurb describes).

Grier goes by inunu (basically goblinese for daddy) and Nikostratus goes by papa. They have absolutely no control over their children as they are both far too indulgent (save for potentially dangerous things). But each child has an adoption story, and shortly after realizing they can’t necessarily adopt every orphaned child, Nikostratus establishes what becomes known as the Royal Cottage (he didn’t like the word ‘orphanage’). All orphaned children become wards of the Royal family, and are cared for and educated at the Cottage until they can find distant relatives or permanent families. Some choose to never leave, as the Cottage is a family in and of itself.

Some notes: The babe (Viktor) is human. The twins (Yua and Hilal) are not actually twins, but are both girls of the same age that they adopted at the same time. Lorette is half-goblin. Corwin and the twins are full goblins. Isaak, the oldest, was born of a surrogate after a magical attempt to splice Nikostratus and Grier’s genes together. The pregnancy was hard, and the first few weeks of his life dangerously difficult due to complications from the magic, so they decided never to risk it again (Isaak is Crown Prince as the eldest, but they tend to call him their little miracle). 

Read the full story of Nikostratus and Grier in their story Royal Flush. Check out more of my ramblings on my MasterList, or check out the # Monster doodles to see more monster/terato artwork! I’m very much in a baby/family mood, so please expect more monster families over the next little while.

[nerdypanda3126]

It’s Complicated - Ch. 1

What happens when you cross a black cat, a designer, a guitarist, and a fencer? The answer is it’s complicated. Chat Noir stops by to help Marinette with her design block, but when he discovers the design is for Luka he has to figure out why that bothers him. Surely it’s because she’s a very good friend, right? Meanwhile, Marinette struggles with letting Adrien go and figuring out why Chat Noir is suddenly acting so differently... 

This story takes place shortly after Miracle Queen, so everyone’s still a little confused. 

Read on Ao3 Ch. 2

Chapter 1: Design Block

Marinette groans as she scribbles over yet another design, and rips yet another sheet of paper out of her sketchbook, crumpling it before tossing it to the ground among the many others. Nothing is working. This piece has to be finished by this weekend so she can give it to Luka before he goes onstage with Kitty Section, but she can’t even get a vision of what she needs to be sewing. Her head is too full to think straight.

“Maybe you should take a break?” Tikki asks, floating hesitantly in front of her. Marinette considers it, but then she shakes her head.

“One more try, Tikki. I promise.”

She bends her head back over her sketchbook, letting her thoughts flow onto the page. She keeps Luka’s stage character, his colors and his mask, in mind as she draws. Her mind drifts to the small smile he gets when he plays. The bright blue of his eyes when they flick open to glance at her in his audience. The songs he’s played for her in the few moments they’ve had together. He always manages to play the song she needs to hear.

When she looks down at her work, blinking out of her design trance, she finds that she’s covered the paper in hearts. Oh no. This can’t- she doesn’t- it’s not like that. She takes a deep breath. His voice echoes in her mind. 

You can be yourself with me, you know. Just yourself.

She glances at her screensaver: a picture of Adrien she couldn’t bear to take down. She touches her fingertips to his bright smile. Her heart twinges. Hard. She still sees him in class, of course. And that has gotten easier. They’re still friends, after all. Alya isn’t a fan of this new plan, obviously, but she respects it. Marinette has noticed that Alya has subtly been rearranging their hangouts. She appreciates the thought, she really does, but she does miss Adrien. Maybe she should invite him to the concert this weekend.

Her eyes travel to the hiding spot where she’s tucked the Miraculous box. Boys should really be the last thing on her mind. She tears the page out of her sketchbook with a sigh and crumples it, throwing it behind her. She’ll clean this mess up and try again tomorrow.

When she looks around for Tikki, the kwami isn’t anywhere in sight. It’s not normal for her to just disappear unless –

Chat rakes his claws against the glass of her window. The sound makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she grits her teeth as she gets up to let him in.

“Why do you do that? You know I hate it.”

“And that’s why I do it.” He grins rakishly as he steps inside, spinning his baton over his palm before he latches it to his back. She slumps back into her desk chair. He wouldn’t be here unless something were bothering him. She can hold off going to sleep a bit longer.

Chat’s brow furrows when his boots hit the floor and he sees that it’s littered with her failed attempts. He moves to pick one up out of curiosity.

“Chat, don’t. Seriously, it’s not good.”

He smirks as he smooths out the paper, but she’s scribbled out every design she’s tried, so she knows he can’t see what she was working on. He picks up another from the floor, but it’s the same result.

“Design block?” He tilts his head at her and one of his cat ears flops over. She nods, then curls onto her desk chair, setting her chin on her arms. “Maybe I could help? I know a thing or two about this stuff.”

“Maybe? I don’t know,” she says.

“What are you trying to make?”

“Menswear.”

“Have you ever done menswear before?”

She shrugs. She’s not going to mention the mound of gifts she’s made for Adrien that are in the chest behind him, still waiting to be presented. Mostly accessories. “I’ve dabbled.”

“Well, talk me through it.” He crosses his ankle over his knee and leans forward. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s supposed to be stage wear, but also something that could be casual.”

“Who are you designing for? Like, who’s your guy?”

The tips of her ears heat up when she thinks about the hearts she hadn’t meant to draw. “I don't think I should tell you. You might know him.”

“Oh, so it’s a specific ‘him’, then?” Chat asks, his cat ears perking. “Who is this ‘him'?” She starts to stammer an excuse, but he waves her off. “Just throw me some adjectives.”

“Well…um, he’s…nice.”

Chat’s lips quirk in amusement. “I can’t help with just ‘nice’. Keep going.”

She pauses to think. Chat and Luka have met a few times now. But it's not like Chat knows him well enough to guess who it is off a vague description. It should be safe. “He’s laid-back. Quiet, even though he has a lot to say. Patient. Perceptive. He keeps his nails painted black. He likes Jagged Stone, and he plays the guitar. And he’s sweet. Very sweet.” She hadn’t realized while she was talking that she had started smiling, and her cheeks are starting to burn.

“Luka,” he breathes, “you’re making something for Luka.”

She tries to hide her surprise. He got it on the first try. How well does Chat know Luka, anyways? No, don't think about it, that's dangerously close to identity territory. She clears her throat. “Um, yeah, it’s for Luka. The band is performing this weekend.”

Chat stands from the chaise and paces to the other side of her room. She’s seen him irritated a few times now, and she can tell by the tense curve in his shoulders and the way his tail is flicking around his calves that something she’s said has bothered him. She watches him as he seems to try to get ahold of himself. It only takes him a moment or two before he drops into his feline crouch and sidles back to her.“So, this design, it’s for a concert?” He’s slipped into his professional problem-solving tone, like when they’re brainstorming how to defeat an akuma. She can’t place her finger on why she finds this odd.

She hesitates before she answers. “Yeah, just the band and a few friends. Nothing big. Kitty Section usually draws a crowd along the banks of the river, though. I thought that maybe I could make something different for Luka to wear on stage. Something more him.”

She can’t bring herself to mention that she also wants to thank him for being there for her. She had broken down in his arms when everything had fallen on her shoulders and he held her and told her it would be okay. She hadn’t known how much she needed that until he gave it to her. The least she could do is make him something thoughtful.

Chat has recovered only slightly. He picks up another of her crumpled sketches off the floor and starts to smooth the wrinkles open with the pads of his thumbs, lingering on the corners. Her pulse speeds up when she notices it’s the one she had been working on right before he walked in. At least there’s actually an attempt at a design on there for him to look at. Hopefully he doesn’t tease her too much about the hearts. He runs a hand over the paper, tracing her wispy pencil marks and probably trying to make sense of it.

“It’s a jacket?”

“I was playing with the idea.” She knows her cheeks are turning bright red. “I thought that might be the easiest for him to work into his stage costume. If he wanted to.”

Chat nods, reading her fabric and color annotations. “It’s a good idea. I like this here, the hood you had.”

“I got that off of those hooded character towels.” Her blush is deepening every second he holds that paper. She tries to take it out of his hands. He hasn’t said anything yet about her doodles, but she knows it’s coming.

He catches her wrist, taking the paper back from her, and a grin spreads across his face.

“Chat, give that back.”

“Nope. I’m going to take it home and frame it.” He jumps up out of her reach when she lunges for the paper. “These hearts are for me, right? Or are they for Luuuuka?”

Yup, she knew that had been coming. She tries again to get the sketch away from him, but he’s too fast, keeping it just out of her reach.

“Will you autograph it for me? I want to keep it for when you’re famous.” He clutches it to his chest as if it’s precious to him. She can see the challenge in his eyes. For a moment neither one of them moves as they size each other up.

Then Marinette tackles him, catching him around his midsection and throwing him down to the chaise. He wraps an arm around her as they fall, still trying to protect her even when she’s trying to fight him. Typical. She grabs for the sketch as she rolls away from him, but Chat wriggles it out of her grasp. Quicker than she can follow, he’s up into a crouch position on the chaise, the sketch dangling from his claws. Taunting her.

She lunges for it again, but he jumps back, his feet landing on the floor on the other side of the chaise. With an impish grin, he holds the sketch above his head, to the full extent of his reach. She refuses to jump for it. He knows he’s won. She can see it written across his face, that victory grin and his bright eyes.

“You’re supposed to be helping me!” She picks up the pillow from the chaise and throws it at him. He dodges it easily, laughing.

He clears his throat, his smirk still lingering. “Alright, alright. So, something special for the stage, but casual enough to wear regularly. Laid-back like he is, but that makes him stand out.” He lists the criteria off and glances down at the sketch still in his hands. She’s surprised at how much he had actually been paying attention. “It’s a tall order,” he says.

“He’s a tall order.” Marinette slaps a hand over her mouth as the words leave her. The response had flown out of her before she thought it through. She knows she’s blushing all the way to the roots of her hair. Chat’s eyes can’t possibly be any bigger.

There’s an awkward pause between them. Strange, considering nothing has ever been awkward with Chat before. He blinks at her and clears his throat again, coughing to cover it. His cat ears flatten against his head and his belt tail droops.

“Uh, it’s late. I… I should go.” He lays her crumpled sketch on her desk next to her. “I think you should go with this. It suits him.” He gives her a small smile before he slinks up the ladder to her skylight and pulls himself onto her balcony.

She’s too stunned at his sincerity for a moment to follow him, but when she does, he’s already run off into the night.

[prettytoxicrevolver]

Damage | Jack Avery

Warnings? Angst? Idk this isn’t good I’m sorry 

Requested? Yes! I hope you like it and if you want a part 2 pls let me know! 

Summary: Jack and you have been best friends since kindergarten. You two grow up together and eventually you become the photographer for his band Why Don’t We. During your job, you and Jacks bandmate Daniel get together. After a long time of dating though, Daniel gets jealous when fans continue to ship you and Jack and Jack’s feelings can’t help but resurface.

Word Count: 2,308 (it’s a long one with a lot of exposition) 

Part Two is here

Five Years Old 

“Jack! Come downstairs for your playdate!” Jack comes barreling down the stairs, nearly ramming straight into his mom and she laughs lightly. 

“Momma who's coming over?” He asks and she squats down to talk to him. 

“Momma's best friend has a daughter your age and we think you guys will be best friends.'' Just as she finishes talking, the doorbell rings and Jack goes running again. His mom takes off after him to catch up just as he's opening the door. 

"Hi Jack! Did you get taIIer?" (y/n)'s mom greets Jack warmly and he smiles. 

Jack's mom greets (y/n)'s mom and the two get caught up just long enough for Jack to stare curiously at the other girl. Before the two can get too antsy and run off, (y/n)’s mom introduces (y/n). 

“Jack, this is (y/n), (y/n), this is Jack,” The two wave shyly at each other and the two moms smile fondly at the sight. 

“Why don’t you two go play outside while we catch up?” 

Jack turns around and speeds off, (y/n) close in tow. He swings open the backdoor and straight for the giant play set in the back. The two run around, playing a sort of chase, up and down the slide, before getting tired and settling on the swings. 

“What’s your favorite color?” Jack asks.

“Pink!” (y/n) exclaims. “What about you?” 

“Green.” 

The two go back and forth like this and by the end, they’ve decided they’re best friends. When (y/n)’s mom comes to get her a few hours later, she protests, insisting she never wants to leave. The two hug tightly and part with the promise that you'll be over again soon. 

12 Years Old 

"(y/n)! Jack is here!" (y/n)'s mom yells up the stairs. 

Before she can respond, her childhood best friend comes barging into the room. He plops onto her bed, instantly relaxing and she turns from her spot at her desk to look at him. 

"What's up?" She asks.

"How am I supposed to ask Anna to the dance?"  He sighs dramatically and she smiles. She  stands up and lays down next to Jack. 

"Just ask her. She obviously likes you." She responds and he rolls his eyes.

The first school dance of the year was this friday and Jack had been freaking out about asking his crush to go with him for weeks. (y/n) had been trying to convince him forever but he insisted she was going to say no. 

"What if she says no?"

"Then you're sad for a bit and then you get up and party at the dance with me." That cracks a smile and the two are back to their normal activities. 

16 Years Old 

“What do you think we'll be doing ten years from now?” (y/n) asks Jack as she rolls over on his bed to face him. 

“I'll be a famous singer and you'll be a photographer. We'll travel the world together and live out our best lives.” She smiles, and Jack turns back around to continue working on his new song. 

As he works, she takes a few Polaroids of him and judges which ones to keep, add to her portfolio and which ones to give to Jack. Just as she sits back down, Jack's mom comes in and knocks on the door. 

“Dinners ready! (y/n) are you staying the night?” She asks and (y/n) looks over at Jack who nods and she copies the action. 

“Sounds good,” His mom says before disappearing again. 

Ever since Jack and (y/n) hit middle school years, they ended up sleeping over at each others houses. Their moms decided that they trusted the other enough for sleepovers, and soon they became a regularity. 

"We'll always be friends right?" (y/n) asks once the two are settled for bed after dinner.

"Always." He smiles and it goes straight to her heart. 

Present Day

"What do you guys have going on today?" (y/n) asks as the boys gather in the living room to leave.

"Meetings, interviews, more meetings." Daniel says while sitting down next to you and pecking your cheek. "You?" 

"A photoshoot and that's it.'' She tells him and he nods.

"Have fun my love." He says kissing her and standing up again. Jack comes up and kisses the top of (y/n)'s head and tells her to have a good day before leaving with the rest of the guys.

3 years ago (y/n)'s best friend had joined a band and ever since they've taken off. Millions of followers, several eps, an album, and another tour coming up here you were. Her best friend had traveled the world and she fell in love with his band mate. Life seemed perfect.

Ever since Jack had taken off in his career (y/n) hasn't been far behind. At the beginning of the band's career she had taken all of their photos. Overtime other artists and influencers have reached out to her and asked her to take photos for their own profiles. She had begun to take off with Jack by her side. 

That was also how she met Daniel. (y/n) first started staying with the band shortly after they all moved to LA and she picked up a few photography jobs. Daniel and her hit it off right away and three years later they were here. Taking on the world by storm.

The boys seemed to have never ending meeting that was starting to take a toll. Zach looked like he was going fall asleep, Daniel wouldn't stop tapping his pen on the table, Jonah was doodling, Corbyn was on his phone like he was still in high school, and Jack was daydreaming. They were usually better than this in meetings, but it felt like they had been going in circles for days. 

"Last two things," The execs say and an audible sigh can be heard around the room. "Your opener and your photographer. Who do you want?" 

"Wait, we can bring a photographer with us?" Daniel perks up and Jack does the  same. 

"Whoever you want." 

The boys come home that day more excited than ever. (y/n) had just gotten home from her shoot and was flipping through the photos she had taken when they came practically crashing through the front door. The loud noise causes her to jump, and she spins around to see them bounding through the door. 

“(y/n)!!” Jack and Daniel both yell at the same time and she sits up quickly. 

“What’s up?” She asks confused as to what the big commotion has been about. 

“You free for the next few months?” Jack asks.

Once the boys settle enough to explain that they would pay (y/n) to tour with them and take their pictures she practically has the same reaction as they did. She had been wanting to do a tour with an artist for as long as she could remember and now to have this opportunity especially with her best friends was a dream come true. 

We work out the details and (y/n) leaves the house practically screaming inside and out. This was everything to her and she couldn’t believe this was actually going to happen. She was also so excited to travel with her best friends and essentially make great memories for months. 

Two Months Later

“Do you have your laptop?” (y/n)’s mom asks, frantically turning around to look around her near empty apartment. 

“In my backpack,” She tells her. 

“Your chargers? Enough film? Your SD cards? Did you pack enough socks?” She asks and (y/n) sighs. 

“Ma,” She says and her mom smiles. “I got it.” 

“Okay baby I love you,” She says and (y/n) hugs her mom tight and promises to call as much as possible. Just as they let go, (y/n) hears the shrill beep from the boys car and grabs her bags. 

She heads down to the car, where Daniel and Jack meet her. They grab her bags and put them into the trunk before climbing back into the car and diving head first into a summer they would never forget. 

“Are you serious?” She asks. 

“Dead. Come on!” Corbyn begs (y/n) and she rolls her eyes but holds her camera up regardless. 

Her and the boys were stuck in the airport for at least another half an hour and came up with the brilliant idea to snap some photos while they waited for the plane. Corbyn grips his favorite pillow in his arms, offering a pleading look towards (y/n) as he insists it’ll be a perfect photo for his instagram. She relents finally, and kneels down, getting the perfect angle and snaps shot after shot. 

“Flight 247 to Las Vegas now boarding,” The overhead speaker announces and Corbyn and (y/n) spring up. 

Corbyn grabs his stuff and she follows, running over to where she left hers to find it gone. Her heart drops for a second before she hears a whistle. She snaps her head to the side, seeing Jack raising her backpack in his hand and she smiles gratefully before running over with Corbyn just behind her.

“Gonna need this to start the best summer ever,” Jack says, handing the backpack over with a wink and (y/n) sighs. 

When we land in Las Vegas, we head to the hotel first, dropping off our suitcases and getting everything settled. While (y/n) would get her own room, the rest of the boys had to share one way or another. But they were always on the same floor and ran around to hang out with each other in one room. 

“(y/n)! My beautiful!” Daniel yells walking into your room. “Wanna explore?” 

“Would love to.” 

Daniel and (y/n) head out together with a quick message to the groupchat where they would be. They decide to catch an Uber to the venue and dinner somewhere close considering they haven’t eaten since before they had taken off in Los angeles. 

Just as they get to the venue, Daniel takes her hand, carefully intertwining their fingers and leads her around the place. She can’t help it, and takes out her phone and snaps a couple of photos as Daniel walks in front of her and when he hears the familiar click of a camera, he turns around. 

“Oh come on,” Daniel jokes and (y/n) smiles sheepishly. 

“I can’t help it! You look great and the lighting is unique.” 

She gestures for Daniel to move and she plops down, snapping a few photos. When Daniel has had enough, he moves towards the girl and pretends to come at her like he’s gonna tackle her. She falls back and Daniel ends up hovering over her, a wide smile plastered across his perfect features. 

He leans down, placing a light kiss on her lips and (y/n) reciprocates by leaning up to deepen it. Just as she goes to reach her arms around Daniels neck, someone clears their throat. The two separate and Daniel rolls over to sit down next to her. 

“Am I interrupting?” Jack asks walking over. 

“A little,” Daniel says and (y/n) rolls her eyes. She raises a hand and Jack helps her up. 

“What were you guys doing?” He asks once she’s standing. 

“Oh I was just taking some photos of Daniel,” (y/n) explains gesturing to the scene around her and Jack nods. Over the years he had gotten used to spontaneous photoshoots and could practically spot a perfect picture spot as well as she could. 

“By the way, the fans are obsessed with our photos on instagram,” Jack mentions and Daniel tilts his head to the side. By now he’s moved so he has an arm around (y/n)’s waist and is staring curiously at the younger boy. 

“Corbyn wanted to use my camera so I let him take a few photos of me and Jack,” (y/n) explains looking at Daniel. “How bad are the comments though?” 

“Well,” 

For the past three months, every time Jack and (y/n) posted a picture together on either one's social media the fans went nuts. They “shipped” Jack and (y/n) like crazy and blatantly ignored (y/n)’s current relationship with Daniel. Some fans really just had no boundaries and Daniel was honestly getting tired, (y/n) was hoping to do damage control, and Jack was hoping his secret crush of 13 years wouldn’t get out. 

“Come on man, did you really have to post the photos? You know how bad the fans have been,” Daniel complains and you turn in his arms. 

“Woah, it’s not Jack’s fault they have no boundaries,” (y/n) says defending her best friend. 

“And you can’t tell me what I can and can’t post,” Jack snaps back. 

“Jack chill,” (y/n) says fully stepping out of Daniels arms to get in between the two boys. 

“What’s your damage?” Daniel asks and Jack takes a step forward causing you to take one back. 

“I think you know exactly what my damage is. Don’t act like you didn’t ask for this.” 

“You had your chance man. Don’t act all high and mighty now,” Daniel says and Jack rolls his eyes. 

“You’re one to talk,” He declares and pushes past Daniel and storms off. (y/n) stares at where Jack walks off for a second, shocked at the random argument that occured before turning towards her boyfriend. 

“What the hell was that?” She asks. 

“Something you don’t want to get into,” He responds before walking away. 

(y/n) stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do or even who to choose. What was that argument even about?

[1lymark]

yellow paint blues || renjun

→ summary: a few hours before renjun needs to submit his art project, he realizes that he’s run out of yellow paint. luckily, you’re there to help (or not.) → genre: fluff, humor, college!au → words: 3.2K → a/n: dedicated to mary, my lovely patron. as always, this got way out of hand and got longer than i anticipated. i hope you enjoy!

Renjun had thought that the art course would be an easy A. He hadn’t needed the easy A to begin with anyway––his grades in every other course were beyond stellar, so most people would probably assume that he was doing it to pass time or to gain extra credits. Or so, that was what he wanted people to assume.

In reality, he had signed up for the course because you had wanted to. It wasn’t like you asked him to accompany him; he recalled you mentioning the course in passing a week before registration and somehow, that little comment had wormed its way to the forefront of his mind as he clicked “ADD COURSE” to his already packed schedule.

“Should be easy enough,” he assured himself, patting his own shoulder in untimely congratulations as he thought of the extra three hours in a week that he would get to hang out with you. After all, Renjun’s art skills weren’t shabby, so surely this could not go wrong in any way possible.

He forgot, in his hubris, about the tantalizing taste that procrastination had to offer. The sweet nectar that he had yet to conquer in all his years of education had once again enticed him like a fly to a fire. It was inevitable, and yet… how could he have been so blind?

So there he was, in his room at one in the morning, with more paint on his fingers than he had on his canvas. The blank surface taunted him in his mind, laughing hysterically at the cruel fate he had assigned to himself in the name of love.

The project should have been simple enough: it was a self-expression piece, wherein the objective was to present what makes them happiest. His professor was lenient to the point of negligent, allowing her students to use any medium they pleased for this first assignment. Macaroni and glue, string and popsicle sticks, scrap paper with a drunken doodle… She was open-minded to anything under the sun. However, the thing about Renjun was that he was an overachiever to a fault, so even though he could’ve theoretically slapped a Spotify playlist together on a CD and called it a day, he simply was not spiritually able to hand in anything less than perfect.

So of course Renjun chose to paint for his first project. Painting wasn’t even his strongest suit, but he wanted to challenge himself, or so he said when he had loudly announced that to you almost a week ago.

A week ago. He had an entire week to finish, with no other pressing assignments or tests in between, and yet he still found himself in this predicament. Thus was the fate of unending suffering that every university student must face.

You had texted him a few hours ago, asking to see a picture of his work. Despite your excitement to take this course, you had always been a bit self-conscious about your art pieces, though you have never expressed this to anyone. Renjun could see it in the way that you would close in on yourself when people ask to see your work, quickly redirecting the conversation elsewhere once people have their eyes off of you.

Not him though––you always showed each other your works. It made Renjun’s heart race just a little bit every time you exposed this side of yourself, and so he made a promise to always give you any sort of reassurance you might need.

Unfortunately for this time, he was a bit too busy trying not to drown in his own irresponsibility to answer you properly when you had texted.

to: renjunnie from: y/n-chi

hey!! how’s your project holding up? can i see yours? i finished mine just now and idk if i’m happy with it tbh…

to: y/n-chi from: renjunnie

not… going well… send reinforcements… T_T i think i’m gonna rot now…

to: renjunnie from: y/n-chi

eh??? the infallible huang renjun is suffering??? from a first year art assignment??? someone call the catholics, because i think the rapture is coming

to: y/n-chi from: renjunnie

y/n don’t be mean >:( this is srs!! i think i have inhaled enough paint fumes to fail a drug test by now

to: renjunnie from: y/n-chi

tsk. that’s what you get for procrastinating, babe. sending my thoughts and prayers!! txt me updates so i know you don’t die from paint ingestion ^^

If you weren’t so god damn cute, he would have smothered you (with his love) by now. Even if you didn’t know it, your texts had given him enough motivation to get something on the canvas, even though none of his drafts seemed to be good enough at the moment.

What was it that made Renjun happy, anyway? He liked listening to music, but that was as generic as it gets… Who didn’t like music? He also liked reading and travelling, though those don’t seem to be too appealing to paint either. Some of his friends had joked that he should just paint a bunch of Moomin, so that he wouldn’t really need to paint because it would mostly be white anyway.

Those things just seemed too shallow for him. While they were things that he enjoyed, he wouldn’t want to be that guy who showed up to class with a half-assed doodle and some stupid explanation like “happiness is what you make of it.” No, he would be better than that.

There was something quite obvious that he could use for his project, or rather, someone. It would be too embarrassing though––not that he was embarrassed of you, by any means. He just wasn’t brave enough to do it, not yet at least. Someday, he’ll have the heart to tell you his feelings, but for now… he was stuck with a blank canvas and an emptier mind.

The clock read 3:30AM when Renjun had decided to throw all his morals to the wind and just paint a field of sunflowers out of desperation. He thought that if all else failed, maybe he would submit that and say something about how he remembered going to a place like that in his childhood. It would be a complete lie, since his family hardly went out to nature spots like that, but at least you would like the painting. Sunflowers were your favorite, after all.

Halfway through his painting however, he realized that his tube of yellow paint was looking awfully empty. He squeezed it as much as he could, scrapping it out as much of the remaining paint as physically possible.

“Crap,” he moans out, looking at his half-colored canvas forlornly. There were still at least six sunflowers to be painted, though he had already painted most of the background. This couldn’t do; he had no time to start over. The art supply shop didn’t open until at least 9AM, but his classes start shortly after that. There was no way he could pull this off at this rate. Unless…

He reached for his phone from his table, almost tripping over his easel in his haste to grab it. He knew you were an early riser, though he doubted you’d be awake even at this ungodly hour. He just hoped to whatever entity up in the clouds that you would pick up your phone and not start cussing him out for ruining your sleep. Though it was hard to imagine you getting mad at him for anything, as he knew you always had a bit of a soft spot for him.

To his relief, you answered on the fifth ring.

“Hello?” You murmured quietly, voice still sounding rough with sleep. Renjun could hear you smacking your lips sleepily, the mental image of it all eliciting a grin on his face. He wanted to know how you looked right now, with your impossibly cute bedhead and droopy eyes.

“Y/N? You awake?”

You yawned, the sound of rustling sheets accompanying your reply. “I am now, I guess. It’s… 4AM? What gives? You don’t normally wake this early. Unless…”

“Yup,” Renjun sighed, head hanging in defeat. “Kinda haven’t slept all night. The project isn’t coming along too well.”

“Aww,” you cooed. Renjun perked up a little at your tone.

Then, “Tough shit.”

Renjun flinched at that, staring wide-eyed at his phone before returning it to his ear. “Excuse me?”

“Well, if you hadn’t been goofing off the entire week before, you wouldn’t be in this mess, would you? Now excuse me… I have another two hours of sleep before my alarm is supposed to go off, so I’ll see you later! Peace,” was all you said before promptly hanging up.

The room was silent as Renjun stood in the middle of his room, shocked beyond all belief. Was that really you that he had just spoken to? Where was the kind, empathetic friend he had come to know and love? Perhaps lack of sleep really does change a person for the worse.

Undeterred by your rejection, Renjun decided to head over to your house anyway. Was he probably going to get his ass handed to him for disturbing you even more? Probably. Was he willing to face the consequences of your fiery wrath? Absolutely. Was he going to enjoy getting berated by you as he stared, lovestruck, at your cute pajamas and angry, puffy eyes? Undoubtedly.

Luckily, your house was only a few blocks away, although Renjun still ran all the way because he was (maybe, slightly, on a little bit) afraid of the dark. So what if he screamed a little when a cat jumped out of some trashcans? No one saw, and that was all that mattered.

He arrived at your place in record time, the dark window panes indicating that you were still, in fact, asleep. He tried opening the door to no avail, not being able to find the spare key you used to place under the mat. With no other option in sight, there was one last thing he could do…

Tap. Tap. Tap.

There was something tapping incessantly against your window for a couple minutes now. At first, you had ignored the sound completely, assuming that it was the first drops of rain before a storm. After a while, you began to realize that rain did not sound like that, and it reminded you more like a finger tapping or knocking. That was impossible though, because you lived on the second floor of a shared house. Surely, it wasn’t what you thought it was––

Before you could contemplate further, you phone started to ring for the second time that night, and the pieces of the puzzle immediately fall into place. It was him, that fucking bastard. Grumbling loudly, you grasped your phone against your ear, a chain of swears tumbling out of your lips quicker than any seasoned rapper out there.

“Wait, Y/N! Lemme explain—“

“Renjun, I swear if I go downstairs right now and find you throwing pebbles at my window to disrupt my sleep even further, you better believe I’m calling the cops on you, friend or not!”

“I just need yellow paint!” He cried out, loud enough that you can hear him from outside. You hiss at him to keep quiet, worried that his noise would also wake up your roommates.

“No, Renjun! You have to learn to be more responsible! You can’t always expect things to go your way without proper preparation! 4.0 GPA or not, I’m not letting you keep doing this––hold on,” you paused, stopping mid-sentence. There had been loud thunk just outside your bedroom wall. There was a suspicious lack of response on Renjun’s end, though you can hear his heavy breathing through the speakers. You slipped out of your covers, padding your way to the window. You peered over, squinting blearily at the darkness of the night.

“Renjun? What are you––“ You gasped before finishing, slamming open the windows and letting the cool breeze gently brush your face. The sight before you was not as great as the wind, though. “Are you fucking crazy? Stop climbing before you get hurt!”

“Almost there,” Renjun grunted, his hands grasping tightly on your ledge. You watched in stunned silence as the gangly boy hoisted himself over and into your bedroom with the ease of someone who had done that at least a few times before. It took you a while before you could find your bearings as you stood, mouth agape, at the beaming boy now standing before you with neon green paint on his cheek.

“Hey,” he greets, smiling.

It took all the energy in your body to keep your hand from meeting his cheek (either to caress him or to slap him? No one was for certain.) “You could’ve fucking died.”

Renjun lifted both his arms into the air and shook his legs around. He shot you a cheeky look, faking contemplativeness. “I feel pretty alive, I would say. All limbs in working order, as far as I know.”

Oh my god. You were friends with a maniac!

“This is so unlike you,” you said. “You’re never this relentlessly annoying.”

“Well, you wouldn’t let me finish my urgent plea on the phone, so of course I had to take drastic measures! I’m gonna fail this GPA booster course, and then I’ll die, and then it’ll be your fault!” He said in one breath, grin never faltering. As his gaze flitted around the room, he noticed your finished project, sitting on your desk and covered in plastic to hide its contents from the world. “Ooh, is that your submission? can I see?”

You rushed over to it, hiding it behind your back with a huff. “Absolutely not! You lost all privileges from me the moment you called me up at 4AM! Now get out of my house before I really call the cops.”

He pouted, deflating visibly. “Okay, look… I know I’m being a prick right now, but you really gotta help me! I ran out of yellow paint and you’re the only person who can help me!”

You were not sure why, but hearing that reason coming from Renjun of all people was making your blood boil in anger. He went all this way to your house, throwing pebbles out your window like some cliché romcom protagonist, even climbing up a building, just to ask for fucking yellow paint?!

“Are you hearing yourself, Huang Renjun? I’m going to kill you!” You grabbed a few of the still open paint tubes by your desk, squeezing its contents all over his clothes in a fit of rage. He gasped, crying out in anguish as globs of blue and red marred the cute little Moomins on his shirt.

“You did not just do that!” He yelled, slapping the paint out of your hands. You were pretty shocked yourself, though you can’t help but giggle a little at how flabbergasted he looked.

“That’s what you get for being ridiculous, you stupid shit––hey, stop! Put down that cup of paint water now before I––NO!”

Murky black water splashes down your left cheek and onto your pajamas, the gross, cold sensation making you splutter out indignantly at the smirking boy. “Oh my god, you absolute bastard!”

It did not take long for the argument to dissolve into a full-blown paint fight as the two of you sprayed each other with every bit of available art supply in your room. Paint, brushes, pens, and markers were launched into the air, both of you screaming in both anger and delight as you hit the other with every type of projectile imagineable.

Renjun jumped across the bed, searching your bedside table for more ammo once you managed to hoard most of them on your side. It didn’t take long for him to find one of your unopened bottles of yellow paint, and he hooted in victory as he held it up in the air like a trophy.

“Yes, I found it! Ceasefire, Y/N! I got what I wanted!”

“And you think I’m supposed to stop just because you’re happy?” You screeched back, readying a large amount of black paint on one of your paintbrushes like a makeshift catapult. “Drop that paint bottle if you wanna live, Renjun!”

It was in that moment when one of your roommates suddenly barged in to the scene, her entire being blazing with heat as she furiously accessed the room. There you were, paint dripping from every inch of your body, with a similarly painted boy on the other side of your bed with a little 50mL bottle of yellow paint in his open fist. No one made a sound for a moment, afraid to explain what the hell you both were doing, until––

“I’m not even going to ask. Just shut up before I get you evicted,” Yeri growled, slamming the door with the frame rattling in her wake.

“Oh god, she’s going to kill me tomorrow,” you moaned, dropping the paintbrush and dropping your head against your newly painted bed. Not looking at him, you pointed your finger in his general direction, forcing him to stop as he tried to covertly escape through the window. “Don’t you dare move another muscle. You are helping me clean my room before class, or so help me I’ll paint angry eyebrows on all your Moomin plushies.”

That got him moving to help you quickly, at least. With the two of you working together instead of fighting, you managed to get all your bedsheets into the washer and most of the paint splatters removed from your walls and floor in record time. Thankfully there wasn’t much damage on your room, as you and Renjun were the main casualties of the paint war.

While the two of you finished up, you hadn’t realized that the sun had already begun its approach into the sky, meaning that it was time to get ready for class.

“Shit, I won’t be able to shower in time,” you whined, fruitlessly picking at the paint clumping your hair together. You gave Renjun the evil eye, who had the decency to look sheepish at least.

“Wait, hold that thought,” he said, grasping your hand in his as he appraised you with an odd look. His brows were furrowed, thinking deeply as he traced the strokes of yellow and blue on your cheeks, all the way to your neck. His proximity made the blood rush to your face, and you hoped that the paint was doing a good job covering your flush.

It was an odd sensation, feeling so aware of your friend’s presence. You never noticed how cute he looked until that moment, when he was so focused and thoughtful like this. He had always looked handsome to you, but for whatever reason, the dash of red on the corner of his lip never looked more enticing than it did then.

After a bit more staring, he smiled softly at you, tucking a bit of your hair behind your ear with the sort of gentleness that you have come to associate with him. Your stupid, funny, smart, lovable Renjun. The only boy that you could never stay mad at.

“I think I have my submission for my art project right here,” he said, simply and honestly.

You giggled a bit, not quite understanding. “Well, you got the yellow paint, right? Shouldn’t you head home and try to finish your painting before class starts? You got a bit of time, I think.”

He shook his head, cupping your face like something to be held. Like something to be admired. There was something blooming inside your chest; a field of sunflowers, all of them reaching towards the light right in front of you.

The sun grinned at you, and the sunflowers rejoiced. “Nah. I think I’m good. More than good.”  

[monstersandmaw]

Mothman x male reader (sfw) - Starfall Springs

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Whoop! A story! An actual full-length story! I'm sorry it's been a bit quiet lately - I've had a lot going on, and doing all those hand-written thank you stories and cards took it out of me a bit last month.

But! We're back on track again! And here's an adorable mothman to celebrate!

So, without further faff, here's Fitz' story (here's his colouring and sketchy doodle in case you missed it over on Patreon). Don't forget to let me know what you think of it!

Content: 4,445 words, sfw, reference to high-school bullying and there's the appearance of a face from Fitz' past who brings back bad memories.

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“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“You… ok?” came a hesitant voice from behind you.

You jumped, turning your back on the mess behind you as the lab door swung closed with a soft hiss and your heart sank. Not only was the subject of your every waking (and sleeping) fantasy standing before you, but he was observing the absolute, catastrophic, and apocalyptic cock-up you’d just made of the test samples.

The mothman tilted his dusky head slightly and then allowed his delicate antennae to waggle before, to your surprise and evident relief, allowed himself a tiny chuckle. The sound wheezed out of him in a little squeak and he fluttered his twin wings to make a soft buzzing sound. His two sets of silvery brown arms waved in a pacifying gesture and he stepped closer on his impossibly tiny feet and murmured, “It’s ok. Those are the samples of varnish from the furniture conservation lab, right?”

You nodded disconsolately, no longer worried about concealing the mess of broken glass and flakes of ancient, decrepit varnish behind you. “They were…”

He buzzed his wings again and grinned, his dark, fuzzy face splitting into a frankly adorable grin as his mouth parts moved. “It’s fine. My friend is head of furniture conservation. I’m sure she can take some more samples for you. Relax… You don’t want to know how royally I fucked up on my first day here.”

“But it’s not my first day,” you mumbled. “Or even my first month…”

“I know. You’ve just been storing it up for now…” Fitz laughed and took you gently by the arm, steering you carefully away from the mess of shattered glass and out of harm’s way. Your hands were shaking. He tilted his head and frowned, his huge eyes unblinking and yet somehow full of concern. “Hey, you ok?”

You took a huge sigh and shook your head. “I… I just wanted to do ok here, you know? And I’ve fucked up already. My three month probation period isn’t up yet… They can just fire me, and there’s nothing I can do…”

To your surprise, he laughed again, but it wasn’t unkind. “It’s fine,” he said, his small hand coming to rest between your shoulder blades as he guided you away from the mess towards the door. Instinctively you leaned into the touch before you’d even realised it, and he smiled again when you jerked your chin up to look at his face. “Accidents happen,” he reassured you. “Come on, let me take you to the break room and get you a cup of tea.”

“Really, you don’t need to -” you began, but he only smiled. “I mean, I should clean this up first…”

“It’s non-toxic and it’s just you and me in the lab today. I’ll lock the door behind us. Besides, I’d like to get a cup of tea with you. You don’t have to come with me though,” he added, taking half a step back, “If you’d rather not.” It was then that you noticed just how delicate his tiny feet were, and he did another little shuffle as your eyes landed on them. He was barefoot, and they were fuzzy.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He smiled and led you away. “I haven’t had much chance to chat with you,” he said conversationally in his rasping, musical tenor, and as he turned you saw that in the downy fur on his hunched, dusky shoulders were the markings of a skull. You guessed that he was a privet hawk mothman, given that his wings and body had a glorious pink banding on, and as he glanced back over his broad shoulders, he caught you staring at the dusky brown wings that hung down his back, shuffled them ostentatiously and smiled. “I’m guessing I’m the first moth boy you’ve met, right?”

“Right again,” you said, flushing hot.

Fitz chuckled again, a sound like a whickering horse, and he said, “And you’ve not been in Starfall Springs all that long either…” It wasn’t a question.

You shrugged. “Few months.”

“Where are you living?” he asked, holding the door open for you with one left hand and ushering you through with the other.

“In a caravan on the outskirts,” you said. “It’s all I can afford right now, and I don’t have a lot of stuff so…”

“Oh,” he said, his antennae perking up. “Have you met Saph then?”

“Saph?”

“Guess not. She’s one of the conservators who works at the workshops across town but she lives at the park too. She’s a feisty little goblin - if you’d met her, you’d remember her,” he snorted, quickly adding, “But she’s great.”

“Not trying to set me up, are you?” you said, unable to keep the heat from your cheeks again, and Fitz laughed.

“If you want me to, I can try, but I’m no matchmaker. For that, you want someone like Crystal.”

You halted. “The goth faun from forensics?”

He bowed his head. “The very same.”

“No.”

He waggled his antennae in a way that reminded you of someone raising their eyebrows, and said nothing.

You snorted and said, “Well, thanks, but I don’t swing Saph’s way anyway.”

“Not into goblins, or not one for an interspecies relationship altogether?” he asked, a sudden and almost imperceptible quavering creeping into his husky voice, though when you glanced back over your shoulder as you entered the break room, he didn’t seem to show any sign of unease.

“Not into women,” you muttered, and the sudden rush of adrenaline that came with the admission nearly made your knees cave in. If you’d have admitted to being gay to a colleague at your previous job in the city, you may well have found your car tyres slashed at the end of the day at the very least. That had been a chapter of your life you’d been only too happy to leave well behind.

But Fitz seemed to relax and even laughed softly again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was absolutely none of my business. I apologise.”

“I’m the one who brought up matchmaking,” you countered jovially, pushing through your momentary stall. “It’s fine.” You filled the kettle and set it to boil while he went right up onto tiptoes to get a couple of mugs out of the cupboard.

He wasn’t as tall as you, perhaps half a head shorter, and when he turned round and caught you staring at the way his wings flexed slightly when he strained to reach the shelf, he seemed a little bashful. “Well, we can’t all be big graceful men like you,” he snapped quietly, clearly embarrassed. Excluding antennae, he was probably about 5’6”

It was your turn to laugh, “‘Graceful?!’ Did you actually see the giant mess I made back there?” you snickered, jabbing your thumb over your shoulder.

“Good point. Here,” he said, handing you a mug. “There’s an assortment of teas in the cupboard, and milk in the fridge. Sugar is in that pot there.” That last bit of information he added with particular relish, and you had to smile, knowing how moths essentially existed off nectar and sugar water.

“So what exactly did you do that was so catastrophic on your first day?” you asked with a twinkle in your eyes once you had your mug cradled in your fingers, and he threw back his head again and laughed, wings fluttering with merriment.

“I broke the portable XRF machine… Dropped it.”

Your brain stalled. Those things didn’t come cheap. “Wow, ok…” you said, fighting off a giggle. “That… That puts a few dropped specimen jars into perspective!”

“Right?” he said cheekily. “Oh man, the boss was angry about it, but, that’s what they have insurance for. It was fine, in the end. But I was banned from using any equipment except for a pencil for a week…”

Chatting with him over a cup of tea had precisely the effect that Fitz had hoped for, and you relaxed after the shock of breaking the glass, and didn’t feel so bad about the shattered containers and contaminated samples either. You got back to work not long after that, and he headed up to his office on the second floor with the promise that he’d have his friend collect a few more varnish samples from the antique furniture she was working on for you to run through the FTIR spectrometer.

Shortly after five, you had just switched the lights off and locked the lab door behind you when the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you in the dark corridor almost made you screech like a stepped-on dog toy.

Whipping around, you saw a dark shape in the dimly lit passageway, with hunched shoulders and a strange, cape-like silhouette. For a horrible moment your brain went blank with fear until you realised that it wasn’t a cloaked figure, but rather that the outline was in fact that of gently folded wings. “Fitz!” you hissed, “Fuck! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” he said. “I forget that humans can’t see in the dark.”

“Or hear your adorable feet moving around,” you muttered.

“I’ve got good hearing too,” he said dryly, letting your awkward compliment slide by him.

“Of course you do,” you cursed. “What did you want, other than to make sure my adrenal glands are still functioning, which they are, by the way.”

He snorted a delicate laugh out of his fuzzy nose and stepped back as you walked down the corridor towards him. “I wondered if you wanted to get a drink after work, that’s all.”

You paused and frowned curiously at him. “Sure,” you said. “Alright. You have somewhere in mind?”

He nodded, suddenly shy. “Yeah. There’s a nice cosy little traditional pub on the north side of town.”

“That’s a bit of a walk from the trailer park, but I could use the exercise. Sure. You want to go straight there, or shall I meet you there later?”

Fitz shrugged a wing. “Up to you. It’s probably a good forty minute walk from here…”

You adjusted your rucksack on your back and said, “I’m up for it. It’s a nice evening.”

The mothman’s delicate mouth parts shifted slightly into his little smile, and the two of you left the building together. His stride was surprisingly short and dainty, but his delicate feet made easy progress along the road and down the hill from the research lab and down towards the rambling town of Starfall Springs below. The ancient trees of the forest which was known by locals simply as the ‘old forest’ whispered softly to one another and you could have sworn you heard half-articulated phrases drifting on the light breeze. Leaving the eerie, timeless place behind, you and Fitz rounded a bend in the country road and saw the sandstone buildings with their cheery terracotta roof tiles and lush, green spaces spread out like a fairytale tapestry below you.

You sighed contentedly and shook your head slightly with mild disbelief that this verdant paradise was now where you lived.

Fitz picked up on your shift in mood almost instantly, as though the wind had changed direction, and, antennae shifting back and forth slightly in alternating waggles, he asked, “Something wrong?”

You shook your head. “The opposite actually… This place is unreal.”

Fitz turned his head back to look at the same view, but something told you he saw a different scene. “I guess…” he said softly.

Quizzically you turned to look at him. “You don’t think so?”

He shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life,” he said, letting the light breath of wind lift his wings a little before clamping them back down again. “I grew up here, went to high school here, moved back here after university… I mean, sure, it’s pretty, and it’s a haven for non-humans who’ve had a shit life in the city, but it’s not without its issues.”

“Like what?”

“Oh… you know… I don’t want to put you off or anything, but… it’s not just a case of ‘humans versus non-humans’… There are family feuds and deep prejudices amongst the rest of us too. Take the Silkfoots for example…”

“The driders up in the mansion on the hill?”

“Exactly,” he said, running his small hand over his fuzzy, dusky coloured head. “They’re alright, don’t get me wrong, but they’ve had this long-standing hatred for Rhae, you know, the reclusive lich mage in the tower, and his little so-called ‘gaggle’ of goblins… The miners hate the Silkfoots because they controlled all the trade and taxes in the area way back when and made a load of profit on it, and… yeah, I won’t bore you with all of it, but let’s just say there’s politics here too, right down to a seriously petty level.”

After a moment’s thought you said, “I guess I should have realised…”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though you could see that something troubled him deeply still; something long-ingrained and with great emotion behind it.

“How do you feel about more humans moving here?” you asked hesitantly.

Fitz took a moment to think about it, but after a sidelong look at you, he nodded and said, “I think it’s a good thing… It stops us non-humans getting too high and mighty and ‘better than thou’, way out here with no humans to hunt us or bother us or objectify us, and it opens up healthier communication between the species.”

“Back to that interspecies relationship stuff again,” you grinned, digging him lightly in his fuzzy ribcage and nudging him off balance for half a step.

His wings tucked in suddenly very tightly and he turned his face away, antennae flat to his head like a worried horse’s ears.

“Fitz? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable…”

A nervous laugh fluttered out of him and he risked another glance at you before laughing awkwardly and scratching the back of his head with his upper right hand again. The death’s head pattern on the thicker fluff of his stooped shoulders was disturbed for a moment before it rose like a werewolf’s hackles and settled back into place, as though he’d got the shivers for a moment. “Forget it,” he said, his hoarse tenor voice cracking a little. “I just meant that it’s nice to have some humans around who are actually good for us, for a change. My best friend in school was human.”

“Was?” you blurted before you could stop yourself.

You were nearly at the bottom of the winding road into town and the wide sweep of Starfall Springs beyond was beginning to melt into the dusky haze of late evening. Fitz sighed again. “‘Is’ human,” he corrected himself. “Just no longer my best friend.”

“Oh.”

He sighed. “He and I were so close. We never thought anything of the difference between us as kids. Then when he went away to university - Oxenbridge, no less,” he added bitterly, “He just… ditched me. Said that I ‘couldn’t possibly think he’d stay in contact with a dirty animal like me now that he’d escaped Starfall Shithole’…”

“Fuck, Fitz, that’s awful,” you growled, heat rising up your neck, fists clenching, pulse quickening to a gallop in your ears. “Ack, shit like that makes me so angry. It’s so unnecessary and small-minded.”

Fitz fixed you with a strangely sanguine stare and shrugged again. “I figured I’m better off without someone like that in my life. Still hurt at the time though.”

“I bet,” you breathed. Acting on impulse, you reached for his lower left arm as it swung gently beside you as you walked side by side towards the river and the old stone bridge into the town. You touched him lightly above his elbow and let your thumb play back and forth over the fur there, the colour of wet sea sand, and he shuddered violently and then laughed.

“Mothfolk are pretty sensitive,” he murmured, voice catching in his throat.

“So I see,” you said, repeating the gesture just once more and withdrawing your hand.

After a few more paces down the road, he smiled shyly again and said, “Thank you,” and you knew he was referring to his story about his best friend’s betrayal.

“Did you love him?” you dared ask.

He nodded silently. “He was my first.”

“Ah, shit, I’m sorry. That makes it even worse.”

Fitz took a big sigh and stared off into the horizon.

“Hey,” you asked, changing the subject and looking at his wings. “Can I ask you something completely different?”

“With pleasure,” he said wryly. “Fire away.”

“Since I’ve never seen any mothfolk before, let alone met one, I have no idea if this is a rude question or not, so…”

“I’ll forgive you if it is,” he laughed. “You’re making me nervous. Get on with it!”

With a snort, you said, “Fine, ok, how come you get the bus to work in the morning instead of flying? Surely it’d be quicker, and more sanitary than public transport…?”

Fitz gave a beautiful laugh, and let his twin set of wings unfurl slightly, a sign, you’d come to realise, that he was feeling relaxed and trusting again. “You want to watch me fly? Is that what you’re really asking?” he asked, leaning in a little closer as the two of you walked through the emptying market square and out towards the northern quarter of the town.

The lich’s tower stood out above the pine trees in the distance, but your concentration was all on Fitz as your mouth went very dry and you realised that you did want to see him fly. Very much.

You nodded.

“Maybe another time,” he said, eyeing the tall buildings on either side. “I’m not the most graceful in takeoff; less ‘jump-jet’ and more ‘cargo plane’…”

“Aw, I bet you’re cute though,” you smiled, and his antennae bobbed bashfully.

Changing the subject away from himself this time, he raised his upper right arm and said, “The bar’s just up there.”

You caught a glimpse of the beautifully hand-painted sign hanging above the door which showed a kenku with a hood covering their dark head and an open beak, and below the figure, written in a curly, elegant script, was the name of the pub: The Kenku’s Aria. “Strange name…” you commented. “I thought kenku had no voice…”

“Ah, interesting story with this one,” he said, pushing the door open with his arm and letting you step inside first. It was nicely full, though not too rowdy, and you waited for him to catch up with you again to continue his explanation. “Turns out that the current owner’s grandfather fell in love with a kenku, who had no voice of her own, but she’d heard this beautiful orc singing an aria from an opera once, and she choice her voice to be her own, and she would sing the aria night after night to draw in the crowds.”

“Amazing,” you breathed. You glanced around at the bar at the back and saw what looked like one of the lizardfolk working behind it, but instead of being entirely covered in jade green scales, they had tufts of black feathers behind their temples and down their back. It was only then that you realised you were the only human in the bar.

“Not popular with my kind here, I take it?” you hissed at Fitz as he leaned on the unusual, copper-topped bar to wait for the lizard to look your way.

“Hmm?” he asked. “Oh, I… I didn’t even think about that…” he said, turning suddenly mortified, his antennae lying flat against his head.

“Relax, it’s fine,” you reassured him, putting your hand unthinkingly on his upper arm again and eliciting exactly the same full-body shiver of pleasure as the first time.

He laughed and this time he put his other left hand reassuringly atop yours. “Perks of having more than two hands,” he quipped with a cheeky tilt of his head that was definitely his equivalent of a wink, before turning to order a huge glass of honeysuckle nectar from the lizardfolk bartender and pausing to wait for you to order something.

“Oh, a beer please,” you said.

“Which one?” the lizard rasped. “Ale, beer, lager, bottle, cask…”

“Uh…” you said, raking your eyes along the taps. “That one,” you blurted, pointing to one with a picture of a minotaur with a war hammer in his enormous grip.

“Good choice,” the lizard grinned toothily and began to pour.

You and Fitz retreated to a table not far from the bar, and he sank onto a little three-legged stool that allowed him space to drape his wings behind him without squashing them. You talked more about yourself than you asked him about his life, mainly because he seemed interested in what you’d done before coming to the research lab in Starfall Springs, but partly because you thought he’d probably had his fair share of giving uncomfortable answers to you.

Perhaps an hour later, you were leaning on the table between you, your chin resting in the palm of one hand with your elbow propped up on the tabletop, while Fitz carefully held your hand in both of his lower hands. It was a private, quiet gesture of mutual respect and understanding, and it gave you the closeness you’d craved for such a long time. The warmth of genuine affection that surged through you for this gentle being was almost overwhelming, and you swallowed the last of your second pint and looked away, eyes glassy.

The door opened and a breeze ruffled the shaggy fur of Fitz’ collar. Over his shoulder, you caught sight of someone who was so startlingly beautiful that it stole your breath for a moment. Fitz followed your gaze a moment later, and his shoulders dropped, antennae drooping, wings hanging limply down his back. “That’s Alec,” he said in a tiny voice.

“Who’s Alec?”

“He’s in fashion now,” you heard him say as you stared at the dazzlingly blue wings of one of the rare and exquisite lepidoptera, or butterfly folk, “But he was at high school with me.”

You turned your gaze back to Fitz and said, “Bet he was a right arsehole…”

Fitz nearly snorted his nectar back into his glass, and his adorable, curled proboscis sprang back into his mouth like a loosed spring as he fought off laughter. “Hit the nail on the head with that one. Actually, we were both kind of ugly… our caterpillar stages weren’t… all that pretty.”

“Oh?”

“I was bright green,” he said, clearly deathly embarrassed about it, though you couldn’t quite see why. “He was also green, and he was pissed that everyone thought I was like him, or - even worse - that he was mothfolk like me… He made my life hell, even after we had both metamorphosed…”

“Keep your head down then,” you said. “He’s looking this way.”

“Fuck.”

And sure enough, as though Fitz were a beautiful flower, Alec was drawn over to him, his fabulous, electric blue wings fringed with black splayed wide in a display of arrogant self-assertion. Your admiration for his beauty quickly soured as he sneered, “Well, well, if it isn’t everyone’s favourite little mothball. Fancy seeing you here, butt-fluff. I see you never left this little provincial backwater… Well, it was to be expected after all.”

Fitz took a long moment of utter stillness before he turned slowly to look up at the tall, slender lepidoptera who loomed over his seat. “We’re not in high school any more, Alec.”

“No, indeed,” he crooned. “Some of us have actually made a success of ourselves…” he said, reaching out with a black hand that reminded you of an opera glove and plucking at the thick, sensitive fur of Fitz’s collar with a snicker as the mothman winced and flinched.

You waited for Fitz to tell Alec to fuck off, or even bat him around the face with one of his fan-like wings, to inform him curtly that he had a PhD and worked at one of the top research labs in the country, but he didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“Come on,” Alec sneered after an uncomfortably long silence to the strange, wasp-like insectoid creature beside him who might have been a bodyguard or a crony, but it was impossible to tell which. “I’m bored with shagpile here already, and I don’t want to get fleas from his dirty fur… I only came here to speak to Anwen, and now that I have, I want to remove my beautiful feet from this vile, sticky floor as soon as possible.”

Your lip curled and you placed your hands on the table, intending to rise and yell at the obnoxious peacock, but Fitz shook his head subtly and implored you not to move without saying a word. Grinding your teeth, you respected his request and sat back in your seat, watching as Alec swayed away, as gracious and uncaring as a petal on the breeze.

“You ok?” you asked when he’d gone.

Fitz was trembling subtly. “No,” he said in a whisper. “Dammit. You can get away, you can go to university, you can get a job, but something can still tip you right back into being sixteen again and having selotape and chewing gum stuck to your new fur…”

“It’s a powerful thing, Fitz, but you showed him. He lost, and he knew it. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

He smiled, his mouth parts shifting slightly and his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Where?”

“Anywhere. How about a stroll over the bridge on the other side of town? I bet the stars are nice tonight and there’s nothing but vineyards and farmland on that side of town for miles…”

For a moment you thought Fitz was going to refuse you. He still looked frightened and caged, but then he made an obvious effort to pull himself together and he nodded, visibly relaxing again. “I’d like that,” he said.

The two of you rose and threaded your way between the tables and out into the cool, summer night. The moon painted silver lines along the rooftops and delighted in her own reflection on the windows of the houses whose rooms were already dark, and as you walked towards the other side of town at a leisurely pace, Fitz slid one hand into yours and gripped it with surprising strength.

“Thank you,” he said again.

In answer, you squeezed his fingers back and said nothing.

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[screamingatanemptyroom]

I Can’t Eat Love pt 5

Here is part 5 everyone. This one is bit longer, trying to make some story progress! A few new characters introduced!

I’ve been so excited about this one guys, I’m having a lot of fun! I even was doodling my own fan art earlier today of Lenora! Thanks everyone for the support of the series. I’m going to try to keep up the momentum for this one for now!

Part 1, Part 2 Part 3 and Part 4 linked here. 

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Despite my wishes, the morning of etiquette training with the Queen arrived all too quickly. I departed in a carriage just shortly after sunrise, arriving at the palace without too much delay. As I followed a footman deeper into the building I had once known so well, I felt a cold wave of a memory swell over me. 

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“Just lift your feet, miss!” The dancing instructor clapped his hands, looking frustrated. “You act as if your shoes are weighted down!”

I stumbled, tripping on my shoes, wincing as I felt the skin tear on my elbow as it hit the floor.

The instructor chuckled, the Queen looked concerned, but my mother… she simply stared at me with a look of weary contempt.

A look I knew all too well.

_______________________________________

I gripped my elbow, almost feeling the sting of the scrape that had not happened yet in this lifetime. That fall had occurred six months before Ronan broke off the engagement, as I had been taught a newer dance, with a more intricate and delicate step, to celebrate his birthday. 

I had mastered it, after many brutal hours of training, and countless more falls. I was so determined to live up to the Queen’s expectations, to impress my future husband… to earn my mother’s love.  But I had never gotten to dance the steps. The Prince hadn’t even waited for the first dance to be start before he broke off the engagement.

But that had been the theme of my previous lifetime. Working so hard, striving with all my might, all for someone else’s sake… only to be thrown away in the end.

I couldn’t help but feel bitter and angry for a few moments, over the suffering I had been forced to bear.

It will not happen in this life… not this time. I promised myself, smiling grimly. Never again would I be used for another’s sake. 

No matter what.

 “Lenora?!” A voice called out, breaking me from my increasingly dark thoughts. I looked up, smiling as I caught sight of Queen Amerande, running towards me while waving her arms. 

“Your Majesty.” I started to curtsy, only to be picked up and squeezed tightly, barely able to breathe as she swung me around with a laugh.

“I’ve told you: No ‘Your Majesties’ until we’re in class!” She admonished me, setting me down and tucking my hair behind an ear with a bright grin. “I’ll be your mother one day, so why can’t you just call me that?!”

I tried to catch my breath. It had been so long since I had seen her last, I had forgotten what it was like to be caught up in her presence. Everything about her carried an energy, from her curly untamed hair to her bright green eyes that always seemed to be planning something, usually a surprise for someone else.  Even her steps were graceful and light, almost as if she danced instead of simply walked. Being by her side, the time was always filled with smiles and laughter. She was so bright, so caring, everything I had always imagined a real mother to be like.

But was that really the case?

In my last lifetime… once her son had broken our engagement, I had never heard of her protesting, not once, even though she had known better than anyone else that it would ruin me. Despite the years we had spent together, she had never reached out a hand to help me while I was struggling on the streets. Not even the day I had tried to break into the palace… right before…

A hand touched my face, startling me. “Dearest, you went to a very dark place just then.” Queen Amerande leaned forward, concerned. “Do you need to talk? We can skip lessons today.”

I forced a smile. “I’m fine. Just tired.” Which was the truth. I hadn’t had a full night’s rest since I was reborn, I was too scared to sleep deeply.

I was terrified I would wake up on the streets again, starving to death. And this second chance, this new life… all of it would be the dream.

The Queen did not look convinced at my answer. “Well… we’ll give it a shot, but don’t overdo it! These lessons are important to your future, but not nearly as important as you are. You know I love you as my own, I don’t want you working yourself to death!”

She hugged me again, and after a brief hesitation, I returned the gesture. She seemed so sincere, as if she really loved me. But how could that be true with what I knew from the previous life? I couldn’t trust in her.

I followed after her towards the etiquette room, making sure my steps were measured and graceful, and my smile perfect.

I may not have love, but I didn’t have that in my last lifetime either. This time I wouldn’t expect it. This time, I would have the resources I needed to protect myself, and my family. I wouldn’t have to depend on such a flimsy connection ever again.

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 I was worried that the two years I had spent away from the palace would make all my skills rusty. The night before I had spent part of the night devising excuses for the sudden drop in my skill levels, dreading the work I knew it might take to bring them up to an acceptable level.

Turns out, I was worried about the wrong thing.

“Miss, you’re like a completely different person!” Mrs. Rendler, the Etiquette teacher, applauded, obviously very impressed. “How have you managed to improve so much since your last lesson?”

I was stunned. I had nearly forgotten, as it had ended up being useless, how hard I had worked. Even if I was slightly rusty, there were still 3 years of practice I had gained. 3 years of working late into the night, practicing each movement and gesture until it was committed to muscle memory. Every greeting, every dance, every slight change in custom depending on rank… it was all still in my head, learned through my blood, sweat and tears.

 But to them… it was as if I had gained all this experience in the space of the week between lessons. An almost miraculous improvement.

“I- I…” Lost for words, I could only stutter. I had been prepared for the exact opposite scenario! How could I explain how I already knew everything they had planned to teach me? Fortunately before I could flounder too long, I was rescued by the Queen, who swooped in, grinning from ear to ear.

“Lenora’s so amazing!” She crowed, throwing an arm around my shoulders and puffing out her chest with pride. “She’s been working so hard and it’s definitely showing.”

“Why are you so proud?” Mrs. Rendler looked amused. “It was HER hard work.”

Queen Amerande was undeterred. “Yes, but she’s MY daughter!”

“Future daughter-in-law, Your Majesty.” The teacher corrected.

“Small difference.”

“This is ETTIQUETTE class, Your Majesty.” Her smile was slightly forced. “These differences mean everything here.”

The Queen pouted. “Fine. Have it your way. But even you have to admit, that my future daughter-in-law was amazing today!”

“Yes. Given your progress, we’ll definitely be able to move much faster through the lesson plan.” Mrs. Rendler laughed, a slightly ominous sound. “I’ll make a perfect lady of you, yet, Miss.”

I looked back and forth between the two of them, only now realizing the fate I had brought upon myself. “You mean the lessons are going to be…harder?”

“Oh yes!” She rubbed her hands together. “Much, much harder.”

“Don’t scare her!” Queen Amerande scolded.

“She can take it. The girl is a prodigy!”

I wanted to cry. I wasn’t a prodigy… I just had three extra years to practice in the week since they last saw “me.” Why didn’t I pretend to not know anything?!

But before I could think of any more excuses, the lessons were over, and I was escorted to the Royal Treasury, to meet Hallers’ brother.

_______________________________________

“Ah, you must be the young girl with wild dreams of performing miracles!” 

When I entered the treasury, I was immediately greeted by a large, muscular man with a broad smile. His clothing was slightly askew, a small stain along one sleeve. His hair was starting to grey at the temples, but was disheveled, as if he ran his finger through it frequently. He was the opposite of Hallers, who was always very proper and put together, if a little thin and reedy.

“Pardon?” I was taken aback at his words. Performing miracles? “Are you Mr. Hallers?” 

“Jim is fine.” He shook my hand heartily, shaking it back and forth, fortunately with a light grip. “I’m Tommy’s brother.”

“T-tommy?” It was too much, to try to imagine poor Hallers, who seemed to be born in a perfectly ironed suit, as being called anything as casual as ‘Tommy.”

Jim laughed at my confusion. “He hated me calling him that even then. Insisting that we came from a ‘proper butler family’ and should behave as such.” He rolled his eyes. “Such a waste of time and energy.”

“I assume you have more important things to worry about?” I grinned, liking the casual atmosphere. “That’s why you work in the Royal Treasury?”

“Not really. But I’m a genius with numbers and it’s easy to tuck me away from sight here so I don’t embarrass anyone.” He shrugged good naturedly. “And I don’t have to worry about using the wrong title on the wrong lord and getting hung.”

“A win-win situation.”

“Exactly.” He paused, looking me over with a critical eye. “No offense, young miss, but you seem… easier to talk to than I imagined you would be.”

I thought briefly of the life I had led for the last two years. “I’m... adaptable.”

THAT caught his attention. “Adaptable? That’s… unusual for someone in the nobility.”  Frowning, he stepped slightly closer, towering above me. The atmosphere grew tense. “Don’t bluff, dear. I’d rather you just be honest.”

_______________________________________

“I’m Lenora, the daughter of the Duke of Armeny.” I curtseyed as I introduced myself.

The shopkeeper glared. “If you’re nobility than why are you here, begging for work? Acting like you’re still high and mighty when you’ve got nothing. What nerve you lot have! ”

My shoulders slumped, my perfect posture breaking under the strain. “Please, we’re out on the street, and we’re starving.”

“Plenty of people used those same with tax collectors. Didn’t save them.”

“Please!” My nails broke as I tried to hold onto the doorframe, only to be pushed out.

The door slammed in my face. “And it won’t save you.”

_______________________________________

I looked him in the eye, refusing to back down,  to give even an inch. I wasn’t a sheltered young girl. I had changed. I had learned the hard way how. 

“Sometimes, I wish I WAS bluffing. I’ve learned to be whatever I have to be, to get the job done.”

I don’t know what he saw in my gaze. Whatever it was caused a look of deep sadness to pass over his features, a moment of shared anguish between us to terrible for words. He sat down at a desk, waving me to sit across from him.

“Tommy told me you are attempting to get the Duchy of Armeny to a place of financial stability?”

I sat down. “That’s correct.”

“And that you’ve been looking over the numbers for the past few days.”

“I have.”

He grinned humorlessly. “Then you know what kind of impossible task you have set for yourself.”

The statement hung in the air between us for a few moments, before I laughed, a bitter sound.

“Impossible? No. Extremely difficult, and I might have to play dirty before it’s done? Yes.”

I leaned forward keeping my eyes on his own, refusing to show any weakness.

 “I will do whatever it takes to get my family, and the people who depend on us, where we need to be. I WILL save us.” Sighing softly, I forced myself to relax and sit back in my chair.  “What I need to know is if YOU can help me learn what I need to know to get that done.”

There was silence.

Clap. Clap. Clap. He slowly applauded, seeming to truly lose the tension he had held since the moment I walked in.

“Very good. At least I know I won’t be wasting my time.” He stood up, rummaging through a bookshelf on the corner. “You want to know how to save your Duchy? Well, you’re going to have to understand how its SUPPOSED to be run. 

BAM! BAM!

Piles of thick books landed on the desk, a small coating of dust flying in the air at the impact. I gingerly picked one up, it was heavier than it looked.

“What are these?”

He grinned. “What you need. History. Government. Economics. Tax law.” He paused. “You know mathematics already right?”

“Yes.” I nodded, glad that I had learned years ago that to be able to oversee household expenses.

“Well that’s something.” He wrote furiously on a piece of paper, handing it to me. “Read the chapters I’ve written here, and come back in a week, we’ll discuss concepts and real world applications.”

I looked at the sheer amount of reading I had been assigned, would it even be possible?!

Likely reading the doubt on my face, Jim shrugged, “You don’t have to. But if you want to do it right, and be able to do it in the future without my help. This is what you need.” He held out his hand. ���You work hard, and I promise you I’ll give you the knowledge you need to save your family. Deal?”

I reached out, shaking his hand. “Deal.”

He chuckled. “I have a bad feeling I might regret this.”

I shook my head. “That makes two of us.”

We arranged for the books to be taken to my carriage and set up the next week’s appointment to follow my etiquette lesson. 

As I prepared to leave, Jim hesitated, holding me back.

“Just so you know, I’m also teaching someone else. A young man from Tilendra.”

The neighboring country to our North? “Why is he here.”

Jim shrugged. “No idea, didn’t ask. He’s learning about taxation reform, so there might be some crossover between your lessons. Just warning you.  But don’t worry, he doesn’t seem like a terrible fellow.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Ah yes, what a glowing recommendation from such a trustworthy source.”

He laughed at that. “It’s not like I’m saying you have to marry him. Just sit in the same room as him while I talk about taxes.”

“Fine then.” 

Waving goodbye, I left for home, already overwhelmed by the sheer amount of work I had to do.

[immortalvenas]

For What I Had Wished

For What I Had Wished (A Short Story) It was shortly after it had ended, and I was planning on moving back “home.” He was tired, and I was restless. The day had been long, not to mention emotionally exhausting. Despite this fact, we had decided to devote an evening out with some friends at a karaoke bar. This way, I could spend time with the people that I cared about the most before I left. I knew the night would be filled with people saying, “goodbye,” “see you soon,” and, “come visit me,” but it never felt like I was actually leaving… There was a sense of permanency in the CV that just kept people there, like a tree that had buried its roots deep, down into the Earth for the eternal life that it so craved. Heartbreakingly enough, this energy still exists. One can feel it like an imprint that was left yet can never dissipate – you are marked for life. Departures such as these did not make much sense to me anyway. The word “goodbye” had never really been designed for me – it was too perpetual. For this reason, I preferred to say, “see you soon,” or, “talk to you later” when temporarily parting from those that I loved. Standing true for me, regardless of the amount of time that would pass before seeing one another again. This is something that he knew about me because it was one of those things that we had discussed at the beginning of our now-dying relationship. It was one of those cheesy evenings in which we were trying to hang up with one another on the phone – the classic “you hang up first” scenario. However, as he did with a lot of things, I am sure that he forgot about that as well. Or, at least, he just didn’t care. It was strange, though… After everything had ended, he was, what seemed like at the time, more incredible than he had been during the almost-three-years that we were together. He was acting and behaving how he had in the beginning. If not, better – before he changed. Being more attentive, loving, caring, and being there for me no matter what. For once, I felt as if everything was mutual. Nevertheless, he continued to lie. Isn’t that sad? Although looking back, he and I had both changed. He began “forgetting” everything, lying, and manipulating the people around him, and I became more guarded, less trusting, and more confused than I had ever been throughout the entirety of my existence. Unfortunately, those are things that I did not realize until the last day. But that is a story for another time… My Mother had called that evening and stirred the pot while we were all at the karaoke bar. This conversation led me into being fearful of going “home” to SD; the unknown. Explicitly when I already had a stable environment in the CV, surrounded by amazing friends. I had gone outside to take the call, so I would not disturb the others – to save comfort zones and curious, questioning eyes. He joined me outside shortly after and sat on the ground next to me, listening in on the call. Our bodies were touching while he caressed my leg to soothe. Eyes that resembled turquoise and old blue-jeans simultaneously asked about what was going on and begged to know if I was okay. After I hung up, I sat there in silence, not sure what to do, or if I could even speak. Nothing was going as planned. This was not easy, and that was something that I did not ever want to admit…especially to him. As my eyes welled up with tears, he leaned in and kissed me on the side of the head. “Are you okay?” He asked. This simple question pulled me from my racing thoughts that were tumbling about inside of my head. This made me cognizant of the fact that I really wasn’t as alone as I once thought I was. At that moment, I was exceedingly aware of his presence, which made it more difficult to coherently pull what I wanted to say out of my mind. “I’m not sure what to do.” I finally mustered, looking from nothing in particular, to him, and then back to nothing again. “What happened?” He asked, persisting, and I found myself at a loss for words once more. He must have noticed my hesitation then because he started with something else. Something unexpected. “You know, I will always be here for you, right?” That is when I looked over at him, not sure if his words were true or not, but I desperately wanted to believe him. Sighing, I looked down before responding. “It was my Mom on the phone,” I said. “Is everything okay?” He asked. And before I had the chance to respond, our friends had decided to join us outside, giving us a strange look when they noticed how close we were sitting to one other. He noticed it too because he quickly made some distance between us. I suppose that is to be expected when things end between two people, and others are not attuned to the fact that there is more to the story than words and over-bearing actions. Everyone enquiring, I explained what had happened and our evening of farewells had transformed into an evening of, “Yay, you’re staying” and, “See you later!” Maybe I shouldn’t have listened to anyone that night, and perhaps I should have just left, but that was something that I did not do. Everybody got into their vehicles, and we all drove our separate ways; he and I still riding together. The plan was for him to drop me off and head on home so he wouldn’t worry his parents (who had randomly put a curfew into place, that he had mentioned detesting, yet it only seemed to be enacted when I was involved). Upon arriving at my place, he helped me bring my belongings inside, and that could have been all… But it wasn’t that simple. When he and I climbed the stairs together and entered my room, he laid down on my bed and told me that he was glad that I was staying. He also stated that he wished that he had never broken up with me, all before glancing over and making eye-contact. I was still just standing there, more than confused, yet feeling more content than I had in quite a while. Perhaps, he was merely gaging my reaction and not being serious with the statements that he was making. I could never be too sure after everything that had taken place between the two of us. Then, he told me that he was tired. A fact that we both already knew, but it was revealed all the same. That was when I suggested that he go home to get some sleep and have time to himself since it had been a long day. However, he mentioned that he was too tired to drive. I offered to drive him home and said that he could pick the truck up in the morning. He refused and said, “I think that I’m going to take a short nap so I can drive back in a little bit.” Nodding, I stated, “Okay, if that’s what you want to do. I have to begin unpacking and take a shower so I will probably be back in about a half an hour or so.” He nodded in agreement before saying, “I love you.” I paused at the door for a moment, not really sure what to say, attempting to quiet my mind again from all of its inquisitions. I caught myself saying, “I love you, too,” as if those three words were still natural to say…to him. He smiled at my response before rolling over, and I found myself questioning us, our friendship, our passing relationship, and just everything that had happened. Grabbing some of my belongings, I walked towards the shower, lost in thought. Time flew by, as it always did when I was in my own head, and by the time I had made it back to my room, nearly forty minutes had passed. I noticed that he was still sleeping and had a mental battle with myself on whether or not I should wake him. I did not want him getting into trouble by his parents (he talked about it enough), but I also wanted him to make it home safely. I decided to cover him with a blanket and let him sleep. Not wanting to disturb him, I took the time to pull out one of my sketchpads and a mechanical pencil. Sitting on my floor drawing, while synchronously texting my Sister and telling her that I would not be driving down, I had strangely never felt more at peace. Although the situation was more than confusing, my mind could not help but wonder about the “what if’s.” At those thoughts, I looked up at him, and in that moment, I knew… I knew that if he hadn’t been so afraid of commitment… That if he wanted to take that step (leap, really)… I knew that if he could just be himself… And if he could live the life that he wanted… …if he stopped letting other people control his life… I knew that the brief yet comforting moment that I was experiencing could have been what we had – art, family, friends, faith, late nights and early mornings, cups of coffee, random road trips, travel, bonfires, stories to tell…and such a deep love to share – being surrounded by an ever-flowing contentedness and creativity, not to mention inspiration – true and unconditional happiness. An alternate future had flashed itself on the canvas of my mind, but just like us, it was over before it had even begun. Blinking away stinging eyes, I looked back down at my sketchbook, mentally questioning what the both of us were doing while wiping the tears away before they soaked into the paper below me. I then ran my thumbs under my eyes soon after to catch any stray drops of salty water from falling further. How could something so messy feel so peaceful? Doodling on the beautifully textured paper on my lap, I heard him stirring before his voice drifted my way with a sleepy, yet happy, “Hello.” My eyes flicked up, catching his, and I noticed that he was laying on his side, smiling, and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Hello,” I said in return. Sitting up, he patted the spot on the bed next to him, motioning for me to come and sit. After tucking away my sketchpad, I asked, “How did you sleep?” Before complying. “Good. I really needed it.” He said. “Yeah, I can imagine,” I replied. He and I both smiled at each other before glancing down at our phones and their annoying, brightly-lit screens, checking the time. This had become a sad little ritual of ours. “You should probably go,” I said, thinking about his parents being worried again (although I knew it was just another lie of his). “Yeah, I probably should,” he replied. “My parents will probably question where I was at so late when I get home. They have been doing that lately. Accusing me of all sorts of things that I haven’t done. Typically, I would just tell them that I would stay the night but…” Since his statement trailed off, I continued for him. Besides, I got the gist. “I know,” I said. “You’ve been out with me.” He nodded in concurrence, and that should have been another red flag for me, but I never caught on until it was too late… All of that time, I thought it was them that didn’t like me. Notably, based on the things that he had told me that they had said. But even that was an illusion, and I am never really going to know what was real, and what was fake. At this point, nobody really knows…except for him. He stood up from my bed, slipping past me and towards the door. He and I opened it and quietly made our way down the stairs and out to the truck. The two of us stood by the driver’s side door, and it seemed like the world was silent – as if he and I were the only two people in existence in those ever-fading minutes that had passed by too quickly. He pulled me into him, and his warmth wrapped itself tightly around me, making me oddly aware of how much colder the nights had been getting. And as he and I stood there under the moonlight, the world felt so serene that the sounds of crickets never even orchestrated in the atmosphere as they usually had. Realization hit… This was it, for both of us. No matter what happened from this point forward, this was the official end to our tragic love story. If we could even call it that. After what felt like a lifetime, for the first time, I was the one who pulled away first. A rarity, for I am one who thinks that there isn’t any sense in valedictions. “Goodnight,” I said, smiling as much as I could. I did not want him to notice how much I wanted to break down and cry. At the time, I had not realized how much this simple “goodnight” had actually been a “goodbye” in disguise. Taking a step forward, almost like he had read my mind, he cupped my face in between his two palms, and I could have sworn that he was going to kiss me…just as he had almost every day since our relationship ceased. But he didn’t. He looked deep into my eyes, and I looked back into his. When I thought that he would embrace me again, he kissed me on the forehead. It was then that I knew for sure… He felt it was officially over, just as I had thought. It had ended the same way that it had begun – with that beautifully planted kiss to the forehead. As if a seed of trust and love could be embedded in any other way. Or singed. “Goodnight, love.” He said, before taking a step back and looking into my eyes again. Not knowing what to do at that moment, I too said, “Goodnight, love.” I had been more redundant than I would have liked. Nevertheless, within that instant, like a marionette being led on strings by its master, I just let my body carry me forward. And before I knew it, I was kissing him on the forehead as well. We smiled at one another, and I took a step back, as he turned and opened the truck’s door. He sat down in the driver’s seat, looking at me the entire time. “Sleep well,” he said. I nodded and tipped my invisible hat like I usually and comically did when we would part. That is if we weren’t kissing. As I was walking around the truck to the sidewalk that laid in front of the house, he closed the driver’s side door, started the engine, and mouthed, “I love you.” I mouthed those three words back to him before he drove away, for what I had wished was the last time. ~I. M. Mortal https://www.facebook.com/2037593226324046/posts/2122977687785599/

[rebel-band]

Track 6. Always Tomorrow

The rain always had a soothing rhythm to Yoo-mi -- regular drumming against the sill, rumble of spring thunder somewhere in the grayish clouds -- but it rarely made him sleepy, rather more likely to venture into another marathon of focused guitar practice. At the moment he was, however, nowhere near a guitar, and stared blankly through the raindrop dotted window in the computer corner of the library, trying to force his brain to work on an essay. The words of course didn't come, at least not in the volume exceeding the minimum 300. Instead he did write down in a notebook a set of new chords to try out at home.

"You're more than welcome to come in tomorrow to use the computer," the librarian's polite yet tired voice broke the silence, and Yoo-mi checked a small pixelated clock on the screen.

He still had some time before the shift today but without a computer there was no way to add anything else to up the grade. "This is for tomorrow. Can I just print it?", he said defeated. The woman nodded, although she glanced at the clock on her way back to the counter.

Yoo-mi quickly gathered his things as the printer spat out short of 2 pages of his homework. This would need to suffice, he wasn't counting on a good score anyway. He apologized for the delay, then quickly shoved the paper into his bag. The librarian waved him a goodbye.

Quick change of shoes and a sheepish stare of two girls from class B in the locker room later, he was heading home, thinking about the first couple of weeks of school.

It was new turf and so new rules. Not wanting to fall into a cliché he had been, he obviously fell into another one. But it was far better to not be liked for being the tough and stand-offish guy than the poor fucking orphan. Another day tomorrow to prove the point.

He didn't really have much time to dwell on the drama that was his class life, and frankly didn't care much for it, as long as it didn't escalate to violence. But so far name calling behind his back was all they ever did. After all, this was a different kind of school than his mid school. A school with kids getting scholarships, playing team sports and in bands, planning festivals, trips, and study groups.

It was tough on Yoo-mi for a different reason. Getting back into the right habit, after almost a year of setting your own rules and schedule, was demanding, especially with a job on top of it. Although, he had to admit Kotarō was a surprisingly flexible boss. Unlike the jobs Yoo-mi had had at 7eleven or with the delivery runs from the fish market, he could choose his own hours at Blackbird and actually got scolded already for overdoing it with the number of shifts per week.

And it's not like Kotarō didn't want to pay for it, he was just genuinely worried about Yoo-mi working himself to an early grave, as he had put it more than once. Which is why they made an agreement he'd never be working Sundays, to give each new school week a fresh, well-rested start.

But what could you do when it was not only the money that was great on the job. It was the music part of the business that he enjoyed the most.

Every other week, Yoo-mi had met new musicians going through Blackbird. He'd helped them set up before gigs, learning the ropes firsthand from technicians or just the guys playing, if theirs was a small indie band. He played music together on sound checks and practice sessions. He learned new tricks from old seasoned bluesmen. Somehow, it didn't matter to anyone where he had come from or who he was, how many years he'd been playing and how he'd first started -- as long as their common language was music, there was no misunderstanding. They treated him like an equal.

Last week, Kate had even asked Yoo-mi to join her band on a demo. After the visit in a studio, he couldn't sleep all night from the excitement. And so five thirty in the morning he'd actually called Kobayashi to thank him for being so stubborn and insisting to meet Mika in Tokyo in the first place.

"I owe you this life." There wasn't a different way to put it.

"You owe it to yourself," came the reply from the old man.

A feeling of relief had washed over Yoo-mi then at the words, like a wave. For the first time he thought that maybe, just maybe, it was true. He deserved to decide on his own terms that this was what he wanted to do with his life.

They kept silent over the line for a while, early morning seagulls singing their song against the wind and waves, and Yoo-mi realised how much he'd actually missed the sound of the sea. He booked a bus ticket for the following Sunday shortly after.

He needed to feel the sand in his toes on the cold empty beach again; to hear the roar of the ice-cold ocean and the ticking of the clock in the warm kitchen. He needed the right people to brace for June ahead.

At this very precise moment, however, he needed to hurry.

Just as he dug out a compact black umbrella from his bag, he noticed Hikaru at the end of the corridor by the door, black gig bag on his back. He shuffled in place, switching the gaze between the phone and the view outside.

Life had a habit of throwing them in each other's way since that not exactly first but definitely more personal encounter in the music room. Yoo-mi wasn't exactly sure what to make of it but to his own surprise, here was another person in his life that he wasn't annoyed by. Maybe because Hikaru wasn't pushy or loud but he still had some nerve.

Like on that Monday after the music room meeting, when Yoo-mi ran into class at the last minute. Hikaru was still busy chatting with the class rep, and that other friend from their group. The clock rang nine and the teacher arrived soon after, and only then Yoo-mi noticed a small packet in a paper envelope on the desk. A handwritten note said "Welcome to Tokyo". There was also a doodle of an angry Godzilla holding a guitar. Inside the envelope was a set of new Gibson strings. The set Hikaru later refused to take back when confronted about it.

Or some days later, when Yoo-mi left the class to, again, eat lunch alone on a bench in the corridor, trying to avoid the unfriendly crowd and finally read the latest YG. He could hear Hikaru's group of friends joke loudly about his mom's stress cooking, and enjoy their time together over food. Then suddenly the fun stopped with loud gasps. At that moment Hikaru walked out of the classroom and handed Yoo-mi a tier of those traditional looking bento boxes filled with food.

"Mom made these to share," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Earth, and sat down by Yoo-mi with a magazine of his own to read. His smile, kind and radiant, voice genuine, even the way he said "mom" not "my mom", made it feel inclusive. Yoo-mi immediately recalled the feeling of home he'd had the first time he sat down at the table in the beach house.

"You grab some too," he offered his own lunch in return. And so they kept the ritual going once a week at least -- a surprising ray of sunlight peeking through otherwise dark clouds of Yoo-mi's class life.

These things took courage, Yoo-mi knew, judging by the sheer number of jaws dropping open and heads peering out the classroom at their sight every time. While he was used to people staring for most of his life, it was admirable for Hikaru to put himself into that weird spotlight willingly. Yet somehow, Yoo-mi had a feeling he actually enjoyed this small rebellion against their class.

"It's not gonna stop anytime soon," he said, finally catching him by the door. Hikaru startled.

"Man, why did I think riding was a great idea today," he groaned hugging his bright purple and orange longboard closer.

Yoo-mi smiled, then handed him the umbrella. "Keep it. Go home. See you tomorrow." The cold and damp air hit him in the face as he opened the door to leave.

"What? Wait!"

He could hear quick steps on the wet gravel and soon Hikaru bumped into him with the umbrella.

"I can't let you walk back in the rain," he protested, juggling the helmet, longboard, bag, and umbrella in his arms. "I live close by, I'll be fine."

"But you're gonna ruin the guitar."

He grimaced at the thought and trod closer to get the gig bag under the umbrella too, almost prodding Yoo-mi in the eye in the process. "It really makes more sense for you to hold it," he grinned apologetically, handing the umbrella back.

Yoo-mi sighed, then checked the time on his phone. "Guess I'm walking you home then."

"Guess you are."

They walked swiftly side by side, two pairs of chucks -- black and red -- peeking from under the umbrella and getting wetter by the minute.

"How's business?" Hikaru asked with the Osaka phrase and a shy smile, and he almost got it right with the pitch.

"So, so," was the standard answer, of course, and Yoo-mi thought how surprisingly accurate it was at this time of his life.

"I should have taken the hard case, I know, never thought it's going to rain that much. And it's just easier to ride with the gig bag. It's lighter," he said.

"It's a bad idea altogether."

"It's fine, I've got good reflexes. And I don't bruise easily," he laughed, "Do you skate?"

"No." Hikaru looked disappointed with the answer. "I used to surf, though."

"That's pretty neat," Hikaru beamed. "Hajima surfs too, he started last summer. But then he broke an arm in August," he glanced sideways biting slightly the right corner of his lower lip.

"Happens to the best," Yoo-mi shrugged, recalling his own bruises and bumps on the steep learning curve.

Maybe he should rebook the bus ticket for Saturday night, he thought suddenly, and then surf straight at dawn. It was May, sure, the ocean's gonna be fucking cold but he could catch some good waves already. Who knows, maybe even beat Murasaki to the first heavies before the season. He smiled at the thought.

Then he caught Hikaru staring at him with a grin. "You really enjoy surfing. Just thinking about it, right?"

He had a keen eye for observing people, Yoo-mi had to give him that.

"Is it better than guitar?"

"Please," Yoo-mi shot him a look, one eyebrow arched. "It's just a different kind of rush."

They walked in silence for a while, then Hikaru drummed fingers against the longboard. "Can I ask you a private question?"

Yoo-mi tightened the grip on the umbrella.

"And you don't have to answer," he added with a gentle smile.

"Fine." But would it be?

"Were you supposed to be a senior this year?"

Ha, so that's what this was about.

"I just thought I'd ask, everyone's dying to know," Hikaru rolled his eyes.

"What's the stakes pot right now for that one?" Yoo-mi asked and, though surprised at first, Hikaru grinned back.

"Almost 2,500 yen."

"Let it rise to 3,000, you bet on mid year, we split the cash."

Hikaru didn't even try to hide the chortle that got out of his mouth.

"I'm serious," Yoo-mi shrugged, grin on his face, "It's easy money."

"Well, tough luck, I'm not betting on any of these," he shook his head with a smile. "So what happened? Did you drop out?"

Yoo-mi ran a hand through his hair and, though the evening was quite cold, he felt a sudden hot flush crawl up his ears. He cleared his throat. "Never really started."

Hikaru's blue eyes widened. "Oh. A ronin year, huh?"

The irony of the term didn't escape him. Waif. Wanderer. Walkout. Exactly who he was. He looked away. "Something like that."

"Must've been nice, less stress with the entry exam."

Not the first one, Yoo-mi thought bitter, and felt a shiver up his right arm. He shook the umbrella to get rid of the feeling.

Hikaru paused in his steps for just a second, then aligned again with Yoo-mi. "Why didn't you attend the opening ceremony?" he asked, dropping the previous subject completely.

This was only slightly less of a mess to talk about. "They didn't let me," Yoo-mi grumbled in reply, shoving a hand into his pocket.

Hikaru titled his head. "The school? Why?"

"Didn't think I'd be a good fit."

He thought of the rejection letter full of niceties, which stated there was more applicants than the school could admit, that some candidates had "stronger personal traits" and "extracurricular credentials", and that a "particular school the student attends is less important than what the student does to develop his strengths" -- all in all, good luck and good riddance.

It was shitload of crap as far as he could tell. His score was good, he knew it. Only his social background wasn't really a picture painted as nicely as they'd like to.

If it weren't for the Black Thunder that was Mika and her quick intervention; the way she openly threatened the school board to send investigative journalists to expose the issue of denying education to someone in a "vulnerable social standing", he wouldn't be able to attend at all. Although he didn't really appreciate her calling him vulnerable, in any sense of the word.

"That's harsh."

"It is what it is," Yoo-mi shrugged. "Someone I know helped out, so, here I am."

"And why at this time? Did you finally join a club?"

Yoo-mi shook his head. "Homework. Needed a change of scenery. And a dictionary." A computer too but that was kind of harder to admit.

"Language barrier?"

"No," Yoo-mi made a face, eyes narrowed, scanning him for mockery. But there was none, his blue eyes open wide with interest at what he was going to say. "I was born in Japan. I just suck at writing. Words in general."

Hikaru smiled. "You're good at guitar, that's just a different medium to say things."

Yoo-mi couldn't agree more.

"You still in the music club, huh?" he pointed with the head to Hikaru's guitar.

"Yea, don't really have anyone else to play with," he chuckled, hugging the longboard closer again.

The tone wasn't calling Yoo-mi out but he felt a strong knot tighten inside his chest. "Shit. Sorry, busy month."

"It's OK," he smiled a weary smile back.

"No, it's not. It's just that...I'm getting a guitar." Why did he even feel the need to explain? "Needed the cash so worked a lot of extra shifts."

Hikaru perked up on the spot. "Electric?"

"Saito 622."

His mouth fell half open. "So modern. That's unusual."

Yoo-mi raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just thought you more of a Jazzmaster or Mustang type of guy," he shrugged.

"Is that what you wanna get yourself?"

"I'm still looking for one I'd like. I may get it for my birthday in October."

"Yours is a Hummingbird, right? You might wanna get another Epiphone for starters."

"We'll see how I'm with money. There's all that stuff you want to buy with it, pedal boards and custom pickups, amps. Never used one of these before so don't even know what I'm looking for. Man, when gear acquisition syndrome hits like that, I envy you having a real job."

"I can ask if they need more help."

"Maybe over the summer. I'm usually so beat after school I can't get my thoughts together, not to mention remembering someone's orders. I don't know how you do it, to be honest, school and work, and pretty okay grades so far."

Yoo-mi sighed, "Not much of a choice really," then looked away.

Hikaru paused for a while. "Why'd you go for a Saito?" he asked, again with a gentle smile.

Why did he?

It was a fucking grey day when he first played it, after the exams at Bad Boss Guitars. The label on its display said "colourful sound". That's what it was like, really. Sparkly and vivid. The strings drew him close with every strum.

"I liked the way it sounded. Couldn't stop thinking about it since," he turned away, suddenly embarrassed with his own words.

"Love at first sight then," Hikaru snickered in reply.

As soon as they reached the third house on the quiet street, he stopped. Yoo-mi looked at the small white building with a red Mitsubishi Colt on the driveway and maple trees along the fence. For a second he wondered if he's going to catch a glimpse of Shanyao at this house, though she and Hikaru didn't look remotely related. Maybe the name was a coincidence after all.

"Do you want to come in?"

With a nervous swallow, Yoo-mi shook his head. "I have work." And shitload of trust issues, he didn't add.

"Right. And mom would't let you out until after dinner. She'd want to adopt you straight away looking like that," he chuckled at Yoo-mi's hair damp with rain, and fixed his own curl clinging to the rim of the glasses, "Got terribly overprotective since I started high school."

Before he could notice Yoo-mi's brows gathering in at the statement, he peeked behind Yoo-mi's back, and groaned. "Oh, Ants! How'd you get outside the fence again."

Yoo-mi turned his back to notice a red and white corgi run towards them, and before he could do anything, muddy paws landed first on Hikaru's then on his own shins in an excited greeting.

Hikaru whined a "Sorry," but Yoo-mi just waved it off, handing him the umbrella, and crouched down to greet the dog too.

"You're a clever boy, aren't you," he patted the completely wet triangle head and the fluffy ears, "Yes you are." The dog yapped, delighted. "He probably dug a hole somewhere along the fence."

Hikaru tilted his head with eyes wide open, "Do you have a dog?"

"Used to live with one for a while. She kept digging her way out to go to the beach," he snickered. "Now there's just this stray cat that keeps coming back to my place."

"I have two."

"Busy house."

"Always is." He pushed the dog through a gate. "Let me know when the guitar's there. Maybe we'll catch up then," he added with a small wave goodbye.

"You should come over," Yoo-mi blurted out before Hikaru stepped out from under the umbrella. He stopped immediately. "I'm not one to break a deal. I'll teach you how to use an amp, if you want."

"Yeah?" Yoo-mi had never seen a smile that big.

"Yea," he smiled too.

And one so contagious.

It took Yoo-mi 45 minutes to walk back home, by which time he felt like he was wading ankle deep in water. He changed quickly, tossed the shoes and the blazer on the radiator in the bathroom, and was down in Blackbird 20 min before his shift to warm himself with a cup of coffee.

Monday evenings were always slow, so Sado appreciated his earlier arrival and some last bit of company before finishing his shift. But then Yoo-mi was left alone in the warm outpost among the storm that was Blackbird with a hot mug and a book for the rest of the day.

Week later, during a Wednesday lunch break, just as Yoo-mi was getting up from his seat to leave the class, he was stopped by Hikaru's whine.

"God I need something sweet, help me out you guys."

It wasn't precisely directed at him as Hikaru's eyes darted from Yoo-mi to Hajima to Motoki, from over a can of cherry Coke that he chugged probably half of in one go as soon as the teacher left the room.

"And the Coke's somehow not enough?" Hajima gave him a disbelieving look, and he whined again.

"Physics drains my brain so hard I could drink a tanker of Coke and still fall from lowered sugar level."

"More likely into a coma," Yoo-mi interrupted him, hovering a 7eleven Dorayaki over his head.

"O, thank God, a chocolate one," he tried grabbing it but Yoo-mi moved it out of reach.

"Lunch first," he replied, making a pause between the words.

Hikaru groaned, looking around for support.

"Don't look at me, I agree completely," Hajima shrugged.

"And I'm not looking for trouble," Motoki laughed, raising both hands up.

"Fine, if you stay," Hikaru looked up at Yoo-mi with a grin, then moved the chair to make space for him.

Yoo-mi looked at the other guys. Hajima smiled and took out his bento box from the bag, while Motoki was clearly trying not to grin himself.

Was this a bet too, Yoo-mi wondered for a second, trying to make him join them for lunch. He sighed.

All four of them sat down comfortably with food. Well, all three of them. Yoo-mi bounced his foot against the floor, and felt his throat dry out in a second.

Where was this going? What do you say? What should you say? Thoughts raced through his head, chased by a wave of unpleasant memories, as eyes darted to the door.

"How's the guitar?"

Hikaru's calm voice from over a magazine he was browsing grounded Yoo-mi firm in present again. His blue eyes smiled with reassurance.

Guitar. That he knew well. That he could talk about. "Good." Yoo-mi let out a quiet exhale. "It's gonna be there in the next two weeks."

"Did you get a new one?"

It felt strange when Hajima asked something other than the usual school related stuff. He held strong eye contact and looked genuinely interested.

"Yes."

"Guitars are expensive, right?" he addressed Hikaru, who simply replied with a theatrical sigh, "Same with baseball gear. Pay and cry, every single time."

"But it must feel good to get a bag of cash like that in hand," Motoki laughed in reply.

Yoo-mi was getting the guitar in installments, nevertheless, he couldn't help but snort at the bag-full-of-cash image. "If you've earned it, yeah."

"Did you learn at school?" Hajima asked. "Ten-chan learned all by himself," he grinned.

Hikaru hid his face behind the magazine but Yoo-mi noticed a blush on his neck.

"I'm self-taught too."

"See? It's nothing special," he appeared back, rolling his eyes.

Hajima just shook his head. "Do you miss Osaka?" he asked Yoo-mi.

"No." And it wasn't a lie. Nothing good ever came out of there.

"Not even the takoyaki?"

"OK, maybe that."

"Yea, they don't make it here that good," Hajima snickered, "I've been once. We had a weekend family trip when I was 12, went to see the Tigers play. Have you ever been?"

Yoo-mi shook his head with a grimace. "Not really a baseball fan."

"I forgot you've been to Koshien already," Motoki addressed Hajima with a mouthful of katsu, and he beamed, clearly happy with the memory of visiting the stadium. "I only ever been to Kansai to visit my great aunt in Amagasaki, and that was frigging dull. Do you know where that is?"

Yoo-mi hesitated for a second, foot tapping in place. "I was born there."

"Really?"

"Haven't been since I was four."

"And I thought you moved a lot," Hajima pointed at Motoki, who simply nodded.

"Born in Iwata, then moved to Saitama, then finally to Tokyo three years ago," he counted on the fingers, "Did you also move because of your dad's job?"

Yoo-mi's expression tightened at the mention of that stereotypical family setup.

"Oh my God, will you look at that!" At exactly that moment, Hikaru choked loudly on a sip of Coke and threw the magazine on the desk towards Motoki, pointing over the text a bit too enthusiastically.

As the guys leaned over it and tried to work out what he meant, Hikaru sent Yoo-mi a small smile.

"What is it?" Motoki finally asked him, fed up with looking for clues.

"There's going to be another Trinity Ruin season."

Motoki rolled eyes at his friend. "Duh, we've known that for 2 months, genius."

Yoo-mi looked at Hikaru who had this innocent smile on his face now. "So...he always so overjoyed about these things?" he asked the guys, playing along, and saw Hikaru nod just ever so slightly, eyes smiling in approval.

"Yea, he's such a geek sometimes, get used to it," Motoki snorted.

"You can't blame me, it's a great series," Hikaru shrugged with a smile.

"Did you watch that special released lately online. I feel like it was just a filler."

"Didn't have Genma in it, it's not the same. I think he's the best addition to the cast really since Maki."

The conversation then moved to some other series, and they were all surprised by Yoo-mi's lack of knowledge of these things. Sure, he's known about Pokemon, Mario or Gundam, mostly from all the crap sold at Donki in Dotombori, but he'd never had a chance to enjoy it and so didn't really care. Guys here, on the other hand, seemed like they could dwell on it for hours, and they completely forgot what they were asking Yoo-mi in the first place.

The diversion wasn't maybe subtle but it worked, and he was genuinely grateful he didn't have to explain himself the first time he'd ever tried to make friends or whatever it was he was doing here.

Not that he ever really could.

"Nice act there," he addressed Hikaru as they were going through the empty classroom during cleaning duty, and he curtsied to Yoo-mi's amusement. "How did you know?"

He pulled at his collar. "I googled how'd you have an official Korean name if you were born here. Sorry."

Yoo-mi crossed arms over the chest and frowned. He never knew anyone who cared so much to be this curious. Tapping foot in place, he decided it wasn't maybe too big of a deal.

"Whatever, don't worry about it," he said, though made a note to search for his own name to see what results come up, just in case.

Hikaru shuffled in place, then made that face of his again, biting the right corner of the lower lip. "I'm sorry he's...gone."

Yoo-mi shot him a look, both eyebrows raised. "Why? Not my fault dad was a dick who bailed."

To his surprise, Hikaru snorted at the words, albeit rather joylessly.

"Sorry," he said again, checking himself, hand scraping over the face. "Jesus, I'm going to make that into a t-shirt. Mine's gone too," he added, as if to apologize for his behaviour, and tried to be casual about it, but the tremble in his voice gave him away, and there was a ghost of pain in his smile. He immediately took the dustpan to empty it to the bin of nothing.

Yoo-mi took in his slouched posture and the empty stare, and felt a painful lump in his throat. Loss, whatever the kind, was never easy to deal with. "Thanks for sticking up for me," he said after a while, and Hikaru just nodded. "You still free Saturday?"

His face immediately relaxed. "Should I bring anything?"

Yoo-mi smiled. "Well tuned strings and attitude."

"Are you two princesses done? 'Cause some of us have a life outside cleaning duty," Suzuki slid into the classroom with a mop. "Set up your lousy date like normal people, on the phone."

Yoo-mi gave her a cold stare.

He also saw Hikaru move a step away from him with a nervous swallow.

"Man, right, I don't have your number," the blue eyes widened and he reached to his pocket for a phone.

Suzuki groaned, and went back to the corridor to drag in a bucket full of water, not waiting for them anymore.

"I'll help," Hikaru rushed to lift it for her, sticking his phone into Yoo-mi's hand.

It was one of these newer smartphones, set in a vinyl phone case in what Yoo-mi thought probably all colours of the rainbow. There were multiple characters from an anime called Hyper Foolish something something, judging by the logo, and a lucky cat phone strap attached to it.

Yoo-mi looked at the new contact page on the screen. It wasn't the first time he's exchanged numbers but there was usually a very clear utilitarian purpose to it. Something you do so your boss can call you or your landlord.

It was the first time he'd had a chance to share his number with...a friend?

He was surprised that out of all words possible his brain so easily fed him exactly that one first to describe what it thought this was between him and that geeky kid over there. Then again, there was accord between them, some unspoken agreement. Like rhythm they both were comfortable playing.

It was probably the closest thing to friendship he'd ever experienced. For most of his life, people were either indifferent or simply hostile towards him. But the longer he stayed in Tokyo, the more people in his life seemed to like him, although he still wasn't used to the feeling of being liked.

Did K. ever really like him?

The question flashed in his mind for a fraction of a second, like that one flickering green neon in Dotonbori. An unwelcome cold shiver followed, Yoo-mi automatically touched the back of the neck, and froze in place.

But then a chime on Hikaru's phone brought him back to life, and the feeling was gone as fast as the memory that had caused it. He wrote down his last name and the digits, then clicked Save.

"Gotta go, before she kills me," he threw a look at Suzuki crossing the floor with a mop and an angry face, then returned the phone. In a couple of seconds, he moved out of her way and out of the classroom without a goodbye.

"Why do you still hang out with him? He's a bad influence," she huffed.

"Please, tell me, what exactly it is that he did wrong? Other than calling everyone out on their bullshit," Tennoko crossed arms over the chest, and she grimaced. "It's not his fault people like to gossip. And he's actually really cool."

"Oh he's soooo cool, he's so great," she mocked.

Tennoko felt his chest tighten as his breath hitched for a second. He braced for a hurtful slur to drop, even if jokingly.

"You sound like such a hopeless younger brother right now, seriously," she threw her head back rolling her eyes.

Tennoko sighed with relief.

"Well, you'd know," he teased back, "Suzuki Natsumi's your sister, right?"

She straightened up and tensed on the spot. "How'd you even..."

"Anyone remotely interested in music knows her. Rumour is, a successful interview with her is a deal maker for any indie band that wants to get out there. She predicts trends with absurd accuracy," he grinned.

"Yes, she's famous for that," Suzuki rolled her eyes again.

"She finished this same school."

"And never even got to university, yet everyone's talking only about her," she pressed her lips into a tight line. "Or of him. Why is it always about the weird things. Why is it that no one ever cares about--"

"Professionalism? Hard work?"

She let out a long, low sigh. "No one is talking about that."

Tennoko smiled at her. "Hello? Best entry score of the year? Captain of the winning mid school team in the prefecture Ekiden championships?"

Suzuki blinked rapidly, and a small blush crawled on her cheeks. "You heard."

"They are talking. You're just tuned to the wrong buzz," he grinned. "What do you say? Give him a chance? You didn't think I was cool, when we met."

"I still don't," she stuck out a tongue in jest, and Tennoko made a face. "Okay, Tomomi likes you so you're not all bad. And you've got good taste in music," she elbowed him to the side.

"So does he. Well, at least I think so."

"Yeah, surf rock and metal, not my style."

Tennoko grinned. "I'm thinking more indie and electronica for some reason."

[roraewrites]

twenty two

[ sakura’s secret ] rating: m

// hello precious people. sorry it took awhile to get this out, needed to figure out something out to kind of add a kick and this was the best i could come up with. next chapter will be out next week. also; i’m writing for the ship kacchako on my other blog @katsuchako! thanks for the support :)

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Throughout the week, Sakura got little to no sleep,  she had absolutely no appetite and suffered from constant paranoia. It was like Sakura could feel her skin crawling on her body while her eyes remained wide and alert, refusing to look away from someone for fear that they’d figure out all of her secrets.

“Hey, Forehead--” Sakura’s head whipped around at her voice. “Woah, chill!”

Sakura was met by Ino’s icy eyes and concerned facial expression. As much as she wanted to relax, Sakura didn’t like the look on her friend’s face or the way she held her hands up. Instead of turning and walking away, she swallowed hard and looked back down at her work.

“You left so quickly and without a word, I followed you here.” Ino was now frowning as she took her seat across from Sakura in her booth. The pinkette simply cupped her belongings with her arm and scooted it over for Ino and her drink of choice.

“I have a lot of work,” she muttered beneath her breath before looking up. “Anything else?”

Ino remained quiet for a moment longer than Sakura had liked, but before she spoke, she placed a cold hand on top of Sakura’s.

“Look,” she started with a low voice, “I’m not sure what’s really going on inside that head of yours, but you’re really concerning me. First, we were all good and chill like best friends should be. Then you started acting weird and cold towards Naruto and I out of nowhere. On top of all of that? You befriend Karin and become great friends with her -- I have nothing against her, I like her now -- but you’re just not you anymore. What’s going on?”

Ino stopped and stared at Sakura, her blue eyes set in a way Sakura had never seen before. It hurt Sakura, pained her to see her best look at her like that. Sakura pulled her hand away from Ino’s grasp and intertwined her fingers. Her mind was now caught in a trance, unsure of what to do, what to say.

She finally inhaled deeply before letting her gaze drop to the table in between them. Her papers for scholarships were scattered everywhere in front of her, little notes jotted down on a scratch piece of paper, and along with it, Sasuke’s name doodled in messy handwriting.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on. Ino, I swear though, this stays between us.” Sakura’s tone was firm, her eyes hard while her brows furrowed. She was dead serious, she would never talk to Ino again if this got out. Sakura could hardly comprehend what was going on in her mind now. Her fingers were trembling, her arms and knees shaking. She felt like she could fall over sideways out of the booth and clash against the wooden floors in a heartbeat, but Ino’s reassuring grasp on her hand once more anchored her down.

“You have my word.”

Sakura closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “The guy I’ve been seeing--” she paused, thinking about going back and changing her mind, but she couldn’t. Her stomach was twisted in tiny little knots, taught and aching. Ino’s brows lifted slightly, concern coating her face. “Is Uchiha-sensei.”

.

.

.

“What are you going to do, Sakura?”

Ino had to literally drag Sakura from the coffee shop and to her house. Sakura felt her body weigh down with so much regret and she could only feel the vomit sit in the base of her throat. She felt absolutely nauseous and anxious, and she could hardly even stand anymore. When they reached Ino’s home, they waved their hello to Inoichi and went straight to Ino’s room.

Sakura’s eyes stared at her feet as she brought her knees to her chest and hugged her legs.

“I don’t know, Ino.” She hissed with anger. “That’s what I’ve been trying to fucking figure out and I’m so lost and scared. I have these feelings for him and I’m scared. I don’t want him to get in trouble, but I feel so many feelings for him that it sometimes physically hurts me when I can’t see him.

“I cry almost every night. I struggle with even looking at my parents, school is awkward, and I just want to leave. I’m so done with everything, I feel like my life is crashing down all around me and I don’t know what to do.”

Finally, she fell apart in front of Ino. Her chest heaved as she inhaled quickly and finally let tears stream down her face. She could hardly breathe after she began to sob, and while her hands came to cover her face, Ino’s arms came to embrace Sakura.

She leaned into her best friend’s comforting hug, crying against her chest as she continued to cry, letting all of her emotions flood through her body that had been stored up since September. Ino’s hands rubbed her back, her head coming to rest against Sakura’s pink hair, but she didn’t say a word. Sakura needed this quiet comfort, needed someone to hug her, to hold her, let her spill all this built up anger and sadness that she felt.

After moments of silence, Sakura felt Ino inhale and then the vibrations of her talkeing rumbled against Sakura’s head.

“It’s not appropriate,” she started. Ino’s words stung, but Sakura didn’t feel like talking, so she only listened to what Ino had to say. “But I can tell how much you like him just by the way you talk. I never would’ve guess, although you’ve been acting very weird. I’m not sure what to say, Sakura, but I can reassure you that I won’t tell anyone.”

“I want to graduate already.” Sakura mumbled.

“Soon.” Ino responded shortly. The atmosphere around them changed drastically, causing Sakura’s face to heat up with a blush as she thought about what had just happened. She had confided in Ino, told her her deepest and most darkest secret and now it was out.

“Are you going to keep seeing him after you graduate?” Ino asked softly, her fingers stroking Sakura’s back still.

“If he still wants anything with me. I don’t even know what he sees in me. Is this weird?” Sakura laughed. “He’s fucking twenty-two and decides that he likes me, of all the fucking people in the world.”

The short thump on Sakura’s head caused her to pull out of Ino’s embrace and glare at her blonde friend. “What the--”

“Don’t belittle yourself like that, Forehead,” Ino reprimanded with a scowl. “You’re beautiful, you’re smart, funny, outgoing, kind. Fuck, if I had all that going for me, I’m sure I could hook up with someone older.”

Sakura chewed on her lip before smiling lightly. She felt like shit for holding this secret from Ino for as long as she had. She still wasn’t sure if Ino either supported or disapproved of her decision, but she knew that her best friend would be there for her and stand up for her if she had to. Hell, she was even making Sakura feel slightly better.

“Does Naruto know?” Ino asked.

“No. You’re the only one,” Sakura spoke softly as she played with her hands. Rubbed mascara painted her ivory skin in black. Soon the back of her hand came to rub what remaining mascara and eyeliner she had on her cheeks.

After telling Ino and getting all the bottled up words out from her system, Sakura inhaled deeply before falling back onto Ino’s bed. “The parent-teacher conferences are next week.”

“Oh, fuck. How awkward--”

“And my dad has seen me around with Sasuke,” Sakura threw her arms over her face and groaned. “We’re going to get caught.”

“Oh, fuck.” Was the only thing Ino could say. It made Sakura’s stomach curl in disgust and anxiety. What a great fucking night for a chat with her best friend. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Sakura answered bluntly. “I haven’t thought of anything, and nothing comes to mind. At this point I’m just kind of regretting ever falling for him.” She groaned once more.

“Well, can’t your mom just go? Why is your dad even here still? Shouldn’t he be back traveling by now?”

“He got a job in Old Konoha.” Sakura was beginning to grow annoyed with this conversation. Nothing helped the unsettling feeling in her stomach, or stopped the lump in her throat from growing. Breathing was becoming too hard.

“We’ll figure something out,” Ino tried comforting her again, but Sakura brushed her words off. She knew that it was about time they got caught -- it was bound to happen eventually.

“I’ll try to think of something,” Sakura spoke as she sat up. She fished her phone out of the pocket of her sweatshirt and began to type a message to Sasuke. “I need to go see Sasuke anyways. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, alright?”

Ino nodded before smiling slyly. “Sasuke, huh?”

Sakura scoffed before shaking her head. “Shut up, Pig.”

.

.

.

His scent enveloped her almost immediately when she hopped in the front seat of his car. The heated leather seats felt good against her aching back and legs and as his car began to move forward, she noticed that he hadn’t spoke a word.

“You were awfully quiet in class today,” he finally chimed in with that bored and monotone voice. It concerned her to hear him talk that way, but instead of arguing with him, she sighed heavily.

“What are we going to do about the parent-teacher conference? I’m freaking the fuck out because my dad has seen us together and I don’t think that there’s anything I can say to convince him that we don’t have something going on--”

“Chill.” He commanded. The hum of his engine came to stop as he pulled his keys from the ignition. Dark, concerned eyes glanced in her direction the moment they parked. The two of them were already at his condo, his body coming around to her side of the car and before she knew it, her door opened and the cold bite of winter air seeped in. “Are you going to stay tonight?”

Sakura shrugged before glancing up at him, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’ve been away from home a lot and I think my parents are starting to get a little worried.”

“Whatever works, I’m not going to force you,” Sasuke offered a smirk before his hand came to meet hers. He pulled her from the passenger side and scooped her up in his arms.

“Hey!--”

His smirk never faded as he walked her to the condo doors, through the main lobby and to the elevator. His hard chest felt good from under her body, and instead of fighting him and insisting that he put her down, she simply leaned her head against his chest and breathed his masculine scent in.

“You always smell good,” she spoke into his sweatshirt.

“Hn,” was the only thing he grunted out before a red shade dusted his cheeks. The ding of the elevator sounded as the doors opened. He walked her inside, and aimed her feet towards the buttons. Sakura tapped the floor that his home resided on, and within seconds, the doors closed and they began to climb floors.

“Sasuke?” Sasuke’s head tilted down in her direction. His thick lashes hooded soot colored eyes as he stared at her with a raised eyebrow. “Why are you still holding me?”

“Because I don’t want to let go,” he retorted with a smirk. Sakura could only sigh and release a light giggle. This would probably be the last time she’d ever have alone time with him, considering the conference was in a week and she wouldn’t be able to break free from her parents all week.

Instead of arguing with him, she let her fingers reach up and run down his jawline. Soon, her thumb pressed against the corner of his lips, and finally, she pressed on his bottom lip with the padding of her thumb. It was instant, his head dipped and he pressed one, soft but heartwarming and gut wrenching kiss to her lips. Sakura felt the emotions in her chest stir, her throat becoming dry as she leaned into his chest once more.

Sasuke didn’t only kiss her lips that night, but her soul as well -- she just knew that this was the last time she’d ever experience that type of passionate feeling with Sasuke.

[spencerxreiders]

Piece By Piece (Reid x Reader)

Title: Piece By Piece Rating: T Word Count: 1676 Warnings: mild torture, if clubs make you uncomfortable lol Summary: anon requested: "can you do one where the reader is a stripper and her boyfriend Spencer hates her job and tries to convince her to quit and move in with him so he can support her but she refuses and ends up being kidnapped by an unsub. you can decide how it ends. love you!!!!!!" A/N: so one, I decided to make the ending p fluffy,hope that's alright ^^ Also sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for the request (which I'm still taking, btw ;))! ••• "Y/N, please," your boyfriend Spencer pleaded for the umpteenth time. "Spencer, I love you, but I'm fine, really," you said in an exasperated tone. All your conversations seemed to end the same way these days. You worked as a stripper, which made him uncomfortable. He trusted you entirely, but the men who ogled at you? Not so much. Your style wasn't incredibly dirty, nothing too risque ever occurred, but the way you twirled around the pole was what caught everyone's attention. Spencer admitted you were good at what you did, he couldn't deny that. But he found it unsafe. How many unsubs, he wondered, went after strippers? He could remember two instantly, and if he racked that brain of his, he would surely remember more. He loved you more than anything in the world and he made sure you knew it. He couldn't bear to see you hurt. You loved him just as much. The last eighteen months had been the best of your life. Spencer's pleas were getting harder to ignore. Honestly, as he asked you to move in with him every few days, you smiled at the very thought. However, you were as stubborn as a mule. If you caved now, he may think it alright to control you in other aspects of your life. Should you have to give up your profession for the love of your life? "Spencer, I'm going to be late," you whined, standing up from your table at the local coffee shop. He rose just as quickly, taking your hands in his, which were still warm from the mug of coffee. "Please consider?" he asked once more. "Ok, ok.. I love you, string bean," you smiled before pulling him into a soft kiss. "I love you, too," he murmured. "I'll call you in the morning?" you asked. He nodded. "I look forward to it." You picked up your duffle bag containing your work things, blowing him a kiss before beginning the walk to the studio. •• The night progressed as usual. The music coursed through your veins, shaking your whole being. The club was alive with patrons. Multicolored lights cascaded over your body as you danced on the smallish stage, all eyes on you as you performed proudly. Your dark purple crop top clung to you like elastic and your thigh-length skirt complimented your skin tone. You jumped up to reach the top of the pole you were using, only to swing back down flawlessly. You continued to do simpler tricks, which still had the predominantly male audience captivated. You held on with both hands before kicking your legs over your head. You twirled back down the pole, grinding against it before strutting off stage. Your skin glistened as you finished your routine and made your way to the lockers. After taking a long swig from your water bottle, you changed clothes and gathered your things. "See you later!" you called to your friend, Rebecca. "Bye, Y/N!" she replied cheerily. Her vibrantly dyed red hair was slick with sweat against her bare shoulders, similar to your (h/c) locks. She was a more sensual dancer, often getting up close and personal with clients. You walked out of the building, shuddering at the cool night air. The city lights ceased to illuminate your way as you neared your apartment complex. Thoughts of Spencer filled your brain as you considered yet again moving in. You pulled out your phone to dial his number when a heavy weight struck the back of your head, knocking you unconscious. ••• Spencer was erratic as he stormed into Quantico the next day. He practically barged into Hotch's office. "Y/N's gone," he panted, resisting the urge to sink to his knees. "What do you mean?" the older man asked. "She didn't call me, and she never even made it home last night." "She does look like the victims from our unsub... and she shares the same profession.. Reid, tell everyone to gather at the round table. I'll be there shortly." Spencer charged into the bullpen. "Guys, round table. Now," he ordered despite the crack in his voice. The others shared questioning looks as they followed him to the meeting room. "What's going on?" Morgan asked. No one could answer before Hotch arrived. "Y/N is missing, and we think it's the same unsub." Gasps filled the area as tears welled up in Penelope's eyes. The team loved Y/N almost as much as Spencer and had grown accustomed to her bright and kind personality. "Garcia, any new information?" "No sir," she whispered, wiping away the tear tracks. "Remember, the unsub is on a schedule. We have three days to save her, or he'll most likely kill her. Let's continue," he said curtly. Reid jogged to his maps, JJ followed Morgan and Rossi to interrogations, Penelope headed for her batcave, and Hotch went out on the field with Emily. "We'll find you, Y/N. don't worry," Reid murmured to himself. •• 49 hours. That's how long you had been missing. The team had made some progress, but had yet to hit a serious breakthrough. "It'll be ok," Penelope whispered in an attempt to comfort Spencer, but it wasn't enough to calm his nerves. "I miss her," he wailed before sinking into her embrace. "C'mon, boy wonder. We can do this. You and me, buddy boy, we're gonna find girl genius," she said decidedly, pulling Spencer up with her. She began typing away at her keyboard, Venn Diagrams filling her screen. "I found something!"she practically screeched. Spencer's head shot up and he raced over to her side. "What? What?" "Did Y/N know anyone named Rebecca?" she asked, turning to look at him. "Yeah, I think so. Why?" "On the other victim's social medias, a Rebecca is listed at least once. So, I did some digging, and it's the same girl. Her name's Rebecca Valentini, and can you guess her job?" Penelope asked. "A stripper," Reid guessed in awe. "Right-e-o! I'm sending her address to everyone's phones." "Thank you Garcia!" Spencer grinned, hugging Penelope before running to the others. ••• "So, Y/N... did you ever do any private parties?" You glared at Rebecca, who had you tied up from the rafters. "Fuck off," you muttered. "What?" she shrieked before slapping your left cheek. "I said fuck off!" you screamed at her. "You are gonna pay, slut!" Rebecca growled before pulling out a small knife. She placed it on your stomach and began doodling, leaving thin trails of blood to drip down your body. You hissed at the pain. Your whole body was bruised or cut in some way and you were pretty sure you had a concussion from the brick to the head. "Freeze! FBI!" Morgan called out before busting down the door. "Spencer!" you cried as your boyfriend flew into the room. "Rebecca, put the knife down," he warned, aiming his gun squarely on her. "Or what? You'll shoot me? Do it, I don't care!" She pushed the cool metal further into your abdomen, causing you to cry out. There was a "boom!" before Rebecca's body dropped to the floor. Spencer hurriedly put his still smoking gun away in his holster before running to your dangling form. He untied you swiftly before bundling you up in his arms. His trembling hands smoothed hair away from your forehead before pressing his lips against the skin. "I love you so much, shh, it's ok now," he murmured while rocking you back and forth. You sobbed into his Kevlar vest. "Spencer!" You repeated his name like a mantra as they pried you out of his grasp to take you to the hospital. Tears slipped down his cheeks as he was rejected from riding along in the ambulance, however he shouted that he was right behind you. •• Two weeks had passed, all of which you spent at Spencer's apartment. He never left your side for the first week, not even when the team had a case. However, when he was needed, he almost never put his phone down. You had taken off from work as well, and honestly, weren't sure if you would go back. However, if you had learned anything in the week you'd spent with Spencer, it was that you wanted to spend your life with him then more than ever. He took care of you, but stepped back when you asked him to. Once he learned you hated to be babied, he relented in his care-taking, helping you only when you asked or obviously needed it. Somehow his bed felt better than your own, even when he wasn't in it. His scent coated the sheets and pillowcases, lulling you to sleep every night. His arms cradled you perfectly as he clutched you to his chest, swearing he would never let you go again. His long fingertips ignited a flame in you you couldn't quite place, but never tried to dull. So, one evening, when the topic of moving in came up, you couldn't contain a Cheshire grin. "Y/N, I know how you feel about people taking care of you, but I need you. I need you so much, I can't lose you again. Please let me take care of you, please. I love you so much. Would please move in with me?" he begged with glossy eyes. Tears filled your own eyes as you latched onto him, mumbling "yes!" repeatedly. Something told you that even with Spencer's protectiveness, he wouldn't try to stop you from doing what made you happy. "Thank you," you whispered close to his ear. "Anything for you, love," he gushed, pulling back to cup your face in his hands. He peppered kisses all over your face, finishing by pecking your lips. "Spencer, what if I want to be a stripper again?" you whispered like it was a dirty secret. He was quiet for a moment before smiling softly. "Then that is your decision to make, and I will support you," he responded honestly. How did this man exist? "I'm not going to clip your wings, Y/N. I don't own you." He kissed your lips softly and slowly, a preview of many days to come.

[themurphyzone]

All Time Travelers Go to Heaven Ch 6

Okay, okay, I know y’all are screaming for a certain someone but after several plot heavy chapters I gotta slow down a bit. Well this really isn’t filler but at the same time there’s less exposition. 

Ch 6- Road to Madness

Balthazar didn’t sleep well last night. He’d spent it tossing and turning, throwing off the thin blanket he and Vinnie shared, only to roll back under it in a few minutes. It was the watch. It had to be. It ticked loudly, overpowering the sound of the leaky kitchen faucet and Vinnie’s snores. 

It hadn’t been this loud when he was in the limo. Unless the voice inside counted....

That was ridiculous. Clocks don’t talk. It was a figment of his imagination. Yes, just a product of a paranoid mind. 

He was losing it. Vinnie stared at his partner in disbelief. “But you don’t even like coffee.”

“Now’s not the time to question me, Dakota. There are...extraordinary circumstances,” Balthazar said, stabbing a grape so harshly with a fork that it skidded across the table onto Vinnie’s plate. 

“I’ll say. There’s still plenty of jasmine tea packets if you change your mind.” Vinnie poured two cups of steaming hot coffee, setting them on the table. Balthazar immediately tried to take a drink, flinching when the scalding liquid spread bitterly across his tongue.

Balthazar glared at his mug, which mocked him with a child’s doodle of a sun and rainbow. “This mug is entirely too cheery,” Balthazar muttered, dumping the contents down the kitchen sink. 

“We can’t all be sourpusses,” Vinnie shrugged, still polishing off his scrambled eggs. “And I coulda drunk that for you if you didn’t want it.”

“The caffeine isn’t good for either of us,” Balthazar growled, opening the Jinx’s folder to a random page.

The Jinx is dangerous. His ancestors have caused many of history’s greatest calamities: the Great Fire of London, the Great Molasses Flood of 1919, and the Hindenburg Disaster to name a few. I theorize that if we track down the members of the Murphy family throughout the timestream and remove them, we can avert these tragedies. 

Balthazar flipped to a different page. That theory wouldn’t get off the ground. He doubted the Bureau had the resources to track down every person with the surname ‘Murphy’ throughout the time-space continuum. 

Experiment #65: Gauging Reactions to Disaster

For this experiment, we have selected the 14th century, specifically the year 1348. It is important to note that everybody from the Bureau of Time Travel involved, including the Jinx, have been vaccinated against the bubonic plague as a precaution. In addition, we are all wearing special full bodysuits that bacteria cannot penetrate. These will appear to be peasant clothing to outsiders in order to deflect attention.

We will be monitoring the Jinx’s reactions to the scene around him as the Black Death haunts a small Italian town. 

Hour 1: A plague doctor has dropped several flowers after making a house call. The Jinx wants to gather them, but we remind him that nothing is to be touched. He’s disappointed that the doctor doesn’t have his flowers. A gust of wind has blown the flowers out of his hand. A goat has scarfed them down in the middle of the street. A horse and his rider have passed by, and the goat spooks the horse, making the equine rear up and throw his rider to the ground. The man has a broken arm now.

Hour 2: We pass a woman in the beginning stages of the disease, clutching the corpse of a young child whose skin is blackened and blotched. She screams incoherently at the man who is trying to persuade her to add the child to a carriage full of many other corpses, and the Jinx is visibly uncomfortable. 

Hour 3: It appears that Murphy’s Law flares up when the Jinx experiences certain emotions. Further testing needed to determine if new theory is true. We will leave the time period shortly and return to HQ. 

Balthazar didn’t bother reading the conclusion of it. The experiment was complete rubbish anyway. By the standards of the 21st century, it was unethical to deliberately expose a test subject to distressing material. 

He closed the folder and set it in the middle of the table, moving to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink that had built up over the past few days. 

Perhaps busying himself with chores for the next two hours before they left would help keep him awake and occupy his mind. 

Turned out that even dusting the counter, doing laundry, and cleaning the shower wasn’t enough to stop the intrusive thoughts. He worried about the watch. He fretted about the mission. He wondered if Vinnie continued to blame himself. 

“Balthy! I’m ready to go!” Vinnie yelled. “I just-ow, my elbow, gotta get this shoe on. I’m shooing it on. Get it? Cause it’s a shoe, and I need to put it on and-” 

Balthazar sighed. Was Vinnie at least trying with his awful puns these days? He’d heard better jokes from amateur stand-up comedians at a cheap pub. 

“I’m coming!” he called. He was back in his regular outfit, freshly washed that morning. Though he would likely have to change his style later to avoid recognition from any agents that might be searching for him. 

He fingered the watch, debating if he should leave it in the room. A small voice in the back of his head warned him not to lose the watch. Not to let it leave his sight. The consequences would be dire. 

He left the watch on.

Vinnie had been waiting for him by the couch. He adjusted his collar and bow tie, frowning. Balthazar had explained to him that his tracksuit would draw attention from the locals of that time period, and they could possibly be tailed by the Bureau if they saw something out of place. 

“So explain how men in the early 20th century dealt with the heat in these things,” Vinnie complained. “Cause I haven’t worn something this fancy since my great-grandfather’s funeral.” 

Balthazar placed the derby hat over Vinnie’s head and smoothed out the wrinkles of the suit. “Why don’t you ask them?” he suggested, inputting the coordinates in the Transporter. 

A portal materialized, a long street lined with houses on the other side. They stepped through quickly, checking their surroundings to make sure nobody saw them. There were several young boys having a play fight with long sticks, but they were too engrossed in their game to pay attention to Balthazar and Vinnie. 

“Of course it wouldn’t drop us off directly in front of the building they’re at,” Balthazar muttered. “They’re conducting the experiment in this town’s abandoned asylum. Be prepared to ask the locals for directions, Dakota. We are not wandering around this place like a pair of hoodlums.” 

“Or we could just use that,” Vinnie pointed to a comically oversized billboard behind a row of houses. 

Balthazar gave him an unimpressed look. “An entirely too saccharine and sugarcoated advertisement for the American Dream. Really?” 

“No, below that! Directions to the asylum are below that ad,” Vinnie said. “As well as directions to a diner. Maybe we could go there before we return to the 21st century.”

“Head three miles straight down Cambridge, turn right on Windbrook and go straight one and a half miles, and the asylum will be at the top of Jules’ Hill,” Balthazar copied the directions onto a sheet of paper, folding it neatly and stuffing it in a lapel. “Seeing that we cannot walk that far and make it in time, we shall have to steal a car.”

Just as he was wondering how they could pull that off, a black buggy turned from the main road into the neighborhood, then parked on the left side of the street. Balthazar straightened his tie and walked up to the car as the driver’s door opened, a man in a business suit stepping out. Upon seeing Balthazar and Vinnie, he frowned. 

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you around before,” the man said. “Who are you?” 

“Ah yes, we are representatives from a car manufacturing plant,” Balthazar lied, tipping his hat and shaking the man’s hand, though he still didn’t look convinced. Balthazar coughed to get Vinnie to pick up the elaborate fabrication.

“Oh, oh, gotcha,” Vinnie winked. “That’s a nice car ya got, but we’re gonna have to do an inspection to make sure everything’s running smoothly. You know how corporates are. Don’t wanna lose money over a recall.”

“I just bought this car two weeks ago, it doesn’t need an inspection-”

Balthazar caught the driver’s door to peer inside before the man slammed it shut. The tank was full. Good. They wouldn’t have to waste time with the upkeep of the car. 

Vinnie walked around the buggy to the passenger’s side. “Nicest bumper I’ve ever seen. The workers did a good job with this one.”

“Get away from my buggy now!” the man demanded, shoving his face close to Balthazar’s. “Who the hell are you people?”

Balthazar grabbed his shoulders and twisted the man around, shoving one arm across his neck and pressing down against his throat. He could tell this man had likely never been in a fight in his entire life. In his surprise, he could only flail his legs helplessly as he was overpowered. “I shall let you go in a bit, but business first,” Balthazar whispered. 

The man gurgled pathetically, nodding. 

“Your keys.”

He offered no resistance, a trembling hand reaching inside his pocket and drawing out the keys. Balthazar grabbed it and released his hold. The man dropped to his knees, gasping for air. 

“Thank you for your time, sir,” Balthazar said pleasantly, hopping into the driver’s seat. He plugged the keys into the ignition and started the buggy, leaving the poor man eating dust within seconds.

“That’s strange,” Vinnie commented. “Usually the corporate cover story works.”

Balthazar pulled the directions and the Transporter out and tossed them into Vinnie’s lap. “Focus, Dakota,” he said. “Which direction is Windbrook in?”

“Three miles down Cambridge,” Vinnie replied. 

“I know it’s three miles down Cambridge,” Balthazar snapped. “Am I supposed to turn right or left on Cambridge? That blasted sign didn’t mention that part.”

Vinnie shrugged. “Just pick a direction. You got a fifty-fifty shot at picking the correct one.” 

“We will be wasting precious time if I pick the wrong one!” Balthazar complained. “And we need to get there as quickly as possible, because I don’t want to be tailed by any cops. I knew I should’ve knocked that gentleman unconscious. Isn’t there a GPS function on the Transporters?”

“Okay, okay, calm down. FYI, that feature doesn’t work,” Vinnie said, holding up the Transporter, which displayed an error screen. “Satellites haven’t been invented yet. And neither have cake pops, which I’ve been craving lately. It’s both a cake and a lollipop in one. Seriously, whoever invented those was a genius.” 

“Fortunately for you, we haven’t gone back far enough to avoid the American staple of hamburgers and fries,” Balthazar muttered. “Approaching Cambridge. I’m going right.” 

“Personally I would’ve used the maze approach and stuck to the left wall,” Vinnie said. “But, hey. Whatever floats your boat. Or car in this case.” 

“I’m sticking to the right lane,” Balthazar said. “Keep an eye out for Windbrook and the police.”

Vinnie nodded and rolled down the window, letting his arm hang out. Five minutes later, he tapped on Balthazar’s arm. “There’s a cop. But his light isn’t on.”

Balthazar checked the side mirror, and sure enough, there was a cop behind them. “Okay, so there’s a cop,” Balthazar nervously adjusted his collar. “No big deal. He’s probably just out on patrol. Not gonna arrest us for carjacking or anything.” 

He sped up slightly, though he was still within the speed limit. His foot was itching to push down on the pedal and try to lose the cop, but he had enough restraint. It wouldn’t last long. 

He was not going to be arrested again on a mission.

A car zoomed by on the left lane, startling Balthazar out of his thoughts. They were driving well over the speed limit. 

The police car’s lights flashed, a loud alarm piercing the air. 

“Uh, maybe you should hit the gas,” Vinnie suggested. “Getting kinda hot in here....”

Then the police car pulled into the left lane in pursuit of the speeding driver, leaving Balthazar and Vinnie behind. 

They breathed a sigh of relief. 

“So I’ve never seen such a huge cop out before,” Vinnie said, grinning. 

Balthazar groaned. “No bad puns when I’m driving, Dakota. I always feel the urge to let you walk to our destination afterwards.” 

Vinnie smirked, unapologetic for his pun. “Oh, we made it to Windbrook after all! Turn right here and it will be another-uh, let me check the paper real quick-one and a half miles to Jules’ Hill.”

Balthazar turned right. The road contained more dirt and gravel than the previous did, so the ride was more bumpy. The buggy held up rather well. Then again, they’d lucked out and managed to steal a car in brand new condition. 

“There’s Jules’ Hill!” Vinnie exclaimed. “And I can see the abandoned asylum from here. Oh wow. I can see all the broken building materials too.”

“They don’t call it abandoned without a good reason,” Balthazar said, his mind wandering to the horrible treatment of patients in asylums he’d read about. Where people like the Jinx were just another statistic. A relic of the past. 

Or perhaps, the technology had evolved. The methods had not. 

Balthazar parked the car next to the rusted, iron gate. They climbed out of the car, standing back to survey the massive, broken down building. A metal sign had been torn off the top, lying in a massive pile of dead leaves. 

Vinnie reached out to touch the gate, and the doors fell apart with a loud crash, now a broken heap. 

“The Charles Jules Asylum,” Balthazar murmured. “We’re here.”

[asflowersfade]

Scribble-Doodle: A Different Kind of Poison

Another teen parabatai story. But this one’s rather dark, with heavy themes. If you’re easily triggered by hints of non-con (nothing happens!) and mentioned victim blaming, then stay away. I mean it. You have been warned.

Alec kills a succubus. It has consequences.

The demon flaps its huge leathery wings but Jace’s too fast and he hacks the monster apart, turning it into a pile of ash. Without pausing, he runs on, down the hallway, looking for Alec.

They were separated shortly after entering the demons’ lair, the derelict warehouse that the creatures turned into a labyrinthine nest of small and large rooms and seemingly endless corridors. And now Jace can hear the rest of the squad fighting somewhere to his left, but he’s sure that Alec went further in, he doesn’t know how he knows, he just does, their newly formed bond pulling him forward like a leash.

Another room and another demon destroyed and - there!

Jace stops in the doorway of the vast storage space, open in the back, and his eyes widen as he sees Alec on his knees in a pile of still glowing embers, the remnants of a demonic being. Alec’s gasping hard, trying to pull up the sleeve of his leather jacket to draw a rune on his skin.

“Alec!” Jace exclaims, running towards his parabatai. “What--?” he asks as he drops to his knees by Alec’s side, reaching out but afraid to touch, not knowing what’s wrong.

Alec looks up at him. His pupils are blown, his face’s flushed and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His lips are bitten almost bloody and he can barely catch his breath. He fumbles and his stele slips out of his trembling hand.

“Suc-succubus,” Alec stammers, groaning loud. His eyes flutter shut and he bends over, one hand pressed to his stomach, forehead almost touching the ground.

Realizing what happened, Jace freezes and pulls back sharply. Alec killed a succubus and he must’ve been touching the thing when it happened because he caught a blast of its power when it died. Not an uncommon thing, but now, Alec’s body’s flooded with unnatural, alien lust, desire that’s not his and that he has no control over. And Jace desperately wants to help but he knows that the last thing his parabatai needs right now - that either of them needs right now - is someone touching him.

Curling in on himself even further, Alec moans in lust that crossed the line into pain, whispering, “Please, Jace… put me… put me to sleep! I can’t… I tried to… do it myself… I can’t-can’t… please! Put me to sleep.”

To hell with it, Jace thinks, he can’t simply stand by and watch Alec suffer. He reaches out for Alec, trying not to touch his naked skin. Whimpering softly, Alec uncurls and leans against Jace, forehead pressed against Jace’s chest, and he allows Jace to take his hand to push up his sleeve, trusting Jace fully.

Even though Jace tries to brace himself, the moment he takes Alec’s hand in his, it feels as if he touched a live wire. In the blink of an eye, and catching the barest reflection of the demonic power coursing through Alec, Jace’s painfully aroused and so overwhelmed by desire that his mind turns foggy. And their bond flares up with lust so powerful that it takes his breath away. He’s never felt anything like that before. He’s frozen and gasping, but he needs to… he needs… what was it?

“Please,” Alec groans, eyes squeezed shut, “make it... make it stop. I don’t… I don’t want this, that’s not me… I don’t want to feel like… Put me to sleep, make it st-stop!”

Alec’s words are like a bucket of ice water, they help Jace clear his mind and clamp down on the feelings that he suddenly realizes aren’t his. He knows it! He grits his teeth hard and with a growl, he pushes Alec’s sleeve further up his forearm and with a few fast, focused strokes he draws the ‘sleep’ rune on his parabatai’s skin.

It’s as if someone flipped a switch. Alec slumps against with a long exhale, his body turning boneless, and the unnatural passion burning hot in Jace’s veins fizzles out to almost nothing. Almost. It’s still simmering inside him, deep under Jace’s skin, an echo of the storm of the alien magic raging through Alec’s body.

Jace’s shoulders drop and he wraps his arms around Alec so as to keep him from falling. “Raziel…” he mutters, suddenly exhausted. He’s breathless and aching all over - and still aroused! - but he finally feels like himself again, like the master of his own body.

He looks down at Alec, fast asleep but still flushed and breathing fast, and he touches Alec’s throat - there’s another zing of lust that kicks in at the touch but he clamps down hard on it - to check Alec’s pulse; it’s dangerously thready, but there’s nothing Jace or anyone else can do about it, Alec has to ride it out and wait for it to fade.

“Raziel,” Jace whispers again and closes his eyes. He feels so…

There’re quick footsteps in the corridor outside the room and Jace’s eyes fly open in alarm. But it’s just Izzy and he relaxes again.

“Alec!” she cries out the moment she sees them. She runs towards them with her eyes wide and face panicked. “What happened? Is he alright?”

Jace shakes his head and answers softly, “He killed a succubus, Iz.”

She blinks. And then she stares at him for a long moment as his words slowly sink in. “By the angel,” Isabelle mumbles in shock. 

Then she looks over her shoulder, towards to doorway, because there’re voice coming closer and shuffling footsteps headed their way.

Izzy turns back to Jace and tells him urgently, “Get him out. I’ll cover for you, don’t worry. Just” --she looks down at her brother, eyes worried; she wants to touch him so badly, it’s obvious, but she doesn’t dare to-- “don’t let them see him.”

And then she runs out, yelling something about escaping demons at the approaching squad members.

Quickly, Jace gathers their steles and blades, stowing them away. Then he picks Alec up - Alec’s head lolls against his shoulder limply and Jace looks down at him, wondering for a second how long he’ll still be able to do this, considering Alec’s recent growth spurt - and he leaves the room, too, but through the back.

Because Izzy’s right. There’s nothing all that unusual about a power backlash caused by the killing of a demon, it happens, especially with stronger beings, and yet - this, an unwanted, alien rush of lust caused by the power discharge of an incubus’ or a succubus’ death, is still considered shameful, somehow the victim’s fault, a proof of their weakness, of their inability to keep their own body under control…

As if it were a thing of choice, Jace thinks angrily because Alec’s pain and despair are still vivid in his mind. The succubus’ lust is no different than any other demonic poison, the fact that it attacks one’s libido, one’s sex drive, doesn’t make it any less unwanted, any less of an intrusion, damn it!

His anger helps Jace eradicate all remaining traces of the demon induced arousal; his anger and his worry for Alec. Because Alec would die of shame if anyone else found out about what happened here. He would never get rid of the stigma. 

And then there’s the fact that Alec’s already very... restrained when it comes to sex - as far as Jace knows, his parabatai’s still a virgin - and this… Jace has no idea what this will do to him.

But first thing first. He needs to get Alec out of here, unnoticed.

Pulling Alec closer to his chest, Jace disappears into one of the side rooms to hide from the members of their squad that rush by, searching the warehouse. Only after they’re safely gone does he dare to step back out and head for the side entrance again.

Yes, first, he’ll get Alec out of here and somewhere safe to let him recover in peace. And then… then they’ll deal with the fallout. Together.

[that-is-vexing]

Origin, part 8

Visiting James in hospital! Complications arise.

Alec drove Q to school. Everyone wanted to know who this new handsome stranger was, and all Q could say was “He’s a friend of a friend.”

The teachers seemed worried for some reason, and his friends seemed determined to distract him, but from what, he didn’t know. Well, he did know; he was worried about James, and nervous about visiting him. So his attention suffered, and he doodled more (a sure sign of his distress), and didn’t talk very much. He felt he was slipping back into the self he was when he was living with his parents.

“Tell us about the cats,” Jenny urged at lunch.

“Yeah, tell us about the cats,” Taylor agreed.

“Not much to tell,” Q answered, poking at his salad with his fork. “They’re just cats.”

“Tell us anyway.”

So Q told his friends, slowly, about the cats. He told them that his friend (he never gave James’ name, and no one ever asked for it) hadn’t named them, simply called them his murder-children because they kept the mouse-population down. He told them Tux liked to ride his shoulders, and Cali liked to groom his hair. He told them that Tiger ate parts of the mice he killed. He told them how all three liked to frisk around his feet and almost trip him when he came home. He told them that--

“Wait, “home”?”

“Yes.” Q looked at his four friends, surprised. “It’s home now.”

“What about your parents?” Ben asked, frowning worriedly.

Q’s jaw tightened. “They don’t want me back,” he replied curtly.

It was obvious they all wanted to ask more, but they held their questions. They were good friends.

The afternoon dragged on. Finally, the bell rang, and Q hurried out with the rest. Alec and his Bugatti waited patiently for him; Q broke into a run, and hurriedly climbed in, ignoring Alec’s burst of surprised laughter.

“That worried, hm?” he asked, as he drove away from the school.

Q just nodded.

Traffic was annoying, but soon they made it to the hospital. They parked, got their visitor’s passes, and went on up to James’ ward in a lift. Alec kept giving Q amused looks; Q kept shifting from foot to foot impatiently.

The halls were quiet and clean, and the nurses and doctors paid no attention to them. Alec walked briskly, and Q scampered to keep up. Finally, they reached a private room, which Alec entered without knocking.

A nurse was bending over a sleeping James, but she quickly straightened, turning slightly so her hand was hidden behind her leg. Q frowned. If she’d been doing something innocent, wouldn’t she have gotten on with it? Alec seemed to guess this as well, and perhaps something else, because he put his hand on Q’s chest and pushed him back. Q quietly backed up out of the room, and shut the door, leaving Alec and the nurse to have whatever showdown they wanted.

“Q?”

He froze, his face draining of blood. Then he turned, very slowly, to face his mother. 

She was looking at him with a look of such incredulity that he quailed a little, wishing James was well enough to hide behind. But there was no one to hide behind. No one to help him, as his mother stomped down the hall towards him, her face a thundercloud, and fear kept him rooted to the spot, even as he heard muffled sounds of fighting behind James’ door.

Mother grabbed Q’s arm tightly, so tightly her fingers dug in and hurt.

“You! You little brat! How dare you run away like that!” she hissed.

“You threw me out, remember?” Q retorted, while inside he screamed and tried to shut his stupid, stupid mouth. “What was I supposed to do?”

“You were supposed to wait, like a good boy, until we forgave you! No, you had to run away and ruin everything!”

“Let go of me.” He tried to pull away, but her grip was strong, had always been. “Let go of me!”

“Not until you apologise! And then we are going to see your father, and you’re going to apologise to him, too!”

“No! I don’t need to apologise for anything!”

“You’re selfish, that’s what you are, unnatural and selfish and a thief!”

“I am not!”

“Excuse me, but what the heck is going on here?” rumbled a voice like thunder. Q and his mother looked up. One of the doctors stood there, a tall, strong black woman with a truly magnificent scowl, her arms crossed over her chest and one finger tapping impatiently on her arm. She looked vaguely familiar...

“I am attempting to discipline my son,” mother snapped. “He’s--”

“Unnatural, selfish, and a thief, I got that,” the doctor interrupted. “What I also gathered was that you threw him out?”

“Three and a half weeks ago,” Q confirmed, and yelped as mother snarled and gripped his arm tighter. Mother was usually a doll-pretty woman, but anger made her ugly, twisted her pretty features and made her porcelain skin blotchy. It reminded Q of too many punishments for moving when she was brushing his hair, for not doing his chores fast enough, for spending too much time on homework and not enough time putting together puzzles with her. He froze, unable to form a coherent thought beyond please don’t yell at me please don’t yell at me please don’t yell at me--

Then the doctor put one hand on Q’s shoulder and twisted mother’s arm in such a way as to force her hand off Q and cause no damage. Mother hissed and drew back, her glare flickering between her son and the doctor.

“I suggest you leave,” the doctor ordered, her tone implacable.

Mother actually slunk away, glaring over her shoulder occasionally before she turned a corner and was gone. Q realized he was shaking. He wanted to hide. He wanted to hide with the cats and never go outside again, because apparently when he went outside, mother could find him.

The doctor turned him to face her and asked gently, “Are you alright?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Who are you visiting?”

“My friend. James.”

“Which room is he?”

“He’s--”

Suddenly James’ door smashed open and Alec came tumbling out, fetching up against the opposite wall, popping to his feet just in time stop the “nurse” from stabbing him with a scalpel. There were gasps, and screams, and people started running away; the doctor stepped quickly between Q and the fight, pushing him back, but he craned his neck to watch, terrified all over again, because Alec had quite a few cuts all over his face and slashes in his shirt, and while he was scarily fast, the “nurse” was faster.

And then somehow Alec had the scalpel, and the nurse was fighting him off, but he was winning, and grinning too, and she looked absolutely furious as she dodged and wove and tried to get under his guard. The doctor started backing up, and Q went willingly, his breath coming too fast and his heart beating too hard. He’d known James was dangerous, and he’d known that any friend of his would be dangerous too; but here was proof of the latter, and proof that there were dangerous people in the world who wanted James and Alec dead.

The nurse kicked out suddenly, her heel landing hard in Alec’s diaphragm; the scalpel dropped, the nurse stooped for it, and as she did, Alec tackled her to the ground, twisting her arms up behind her back, still grinning his daredevil grin.

“Anyone call security yet?” he asked cheerfully.

~

Q sat alone in James’ room, trembling.

Alec was talking to security, but the doctor had ordered the guards to let Q be for a time, until he was calmer and could think more clearly; he’d been on the verge of a panic attack. He felt better now, but like hell was he going out there until he was sure he was fine.

He was finally relaxing when James stirred, groaned, and woke up. “Alec?” he rasped, without opening his eyes.

“Guess again,” Q replied.

James’ eyes snapped open and he nearly sat up before hissing and laying back again. Q stood from the chair in the corner and hurried over, hands out to touch--but no one had told him what James’ injuries had been, so he had no idea what to touch. He went for putting both hands on James’ unbandaged bicep.

“You shouldn’t be here,” James growled, glaring at Q. “What if they find me?”

“They already did. Alec beat her up and security took her away.” Q bit his lip as James closed his eyes again, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Sh-should I not have told you?”

“Yes,” James whispered, “Yes, you should’ve. Fuck. Q--it’s not safe to be near me now. You’re going to have to leave--”

“Not this bollocks again,” Alec groaned from the doorway, startling them both. “You can’t just keep pushing people away every time something bad happens. And anyway, who are you going to send him to? That nice family down the hall? They don’t have the room for him. And you can’t send him back to his parents, because there will be lots of unpleasant questions that you will have to answer. The safest he’ll be is with you.”

“I’m out of commission, in case you haven’t noticed,” James growled.

“They think you’re dead, for now.” Alec grinned. “By the time you’re better they’ll know you’re alive, but you’ll be able to fight them off. And forewarned is forearmed.”

James glared at him. But then he deflated with a sigh, staring moodily at the ceiling. Q kept very quiet and still, hoping that if he were good, maybe James would let him stay.

Alec waited, then added slyly, “And the cats would pine.”

“And we don’t want that,” James muttered. Then he turned his head on the pillow to pierce Q with his cold gaze. But maybe it wasn’t as cold as it had been when they’d first met. “Alright. Fine,” he said shortly, and put his hand over Q’s. “You can stay.”

Q beamed at him.

[wishyourgirlfriend]

Attention

Tzuyu x Reader

(poorly written) Angst x Fluff

Requested

Word Count: 1236

Written by Admin LJ

“Can we talk?”

You never liked those three words, especially when they were coming from Tzuyu’s mouth. It always sounded like she was about to break up with you, or accuse you of something, or start an argument that was hardly necessary. Not that it happened often, of course- you and Tzuyu shared that relationship that most others dreamed about- nothing but flowers and rainbows for the entirety of your relationship together.

Those words were rare, basically nonexistent, but once in a blue moon they were spoken, but even then, it never lead to anything that caused a problem. Most times, Tzuyu only wanted to rant to you about school or work experiences, or sometimes she wanted to ask you a serious question. However, sometimes, even more rare than those three words themselves, “can we talk” did lead to something less than pleasant.

One of those times happened to be right now, when you had been nose deep into your homework for the fifth night in a row, after hours of class, followed by practice, with hardly any time to see your girlfriend. Tzuyu had texted you, asking to come over, and you were reluctant at first, telling her that you were too busy, but she had insisted, and with time you gave in, telling her to be over in ten minutes.

It was the first time you had seen Tzuyu in two weeks. Her constant invitations to hang out were frequently declined by you, your focus set solely on your own schedule. You had been busy, so utterly busy, that there was no time for hanging out, and you didn’t give a second thought to anything except your current tasks at hand- your finals that were approaching much too soon, your soccer championship that had been stressing you out for the past month, and the lack of sleep you had been getting from it all.

She arrived at your dorm shortly after you told her to, her blank expression matching yours perfectly. “Hey.” she whispered as you welcomed her into your room. Under most circumstances, you probably would have commented on her lack of expression, but your mind was elsewhere, as it had been for weeks.

“Hey.” You greeted in return, wandering back to your desk to continue with your work. You scribbled furiously all over your papers, with formulas, definitions, pointless material, doodles, anything and everything that came to your mind as you worked. “What’s up?”

Tzuyu took a seat at your small table in the corner of the room, eyes staring down at her hands as you paid no mind to her, feeling a sad sensation crawl through her chest that anyone else would have described as heartbreak. She was silent, and you didn’t even notice.

Your thoughts surrounded the books and notes in front of you, eyes darting back and forth between the colorful pages of your textbook, taking in any information you could possibly retain, and you had been on a roll until Tzuyu spoke up so suddenly.

“Can we talk?”

You paused from your writing just for a moment to respond. “Sure, what is it?” You questioned half heartedly as you picked up your pencil to continue with your studying.

Tzuyu sighed. “Are we.. are we okay?” She asked quietly, and you barely caught what she said. You turned to glance at her briefly, noticing her eyes staring into yours, but what you didn’t notice was the sad expression she wore.

“Of course we’re okay, Yoda.” You said, returning to your books once again. You didn’t give a second thought as to why she asked that, and figured it was just her feeling a bit vunerable and in need of a bit of reassurance.

Tzuyu leaned forward in her chair, trying to get you to look at her again, without any luck. “It doesn’t feel like we are.” She huffed after giving up on getting your attention. When you didn’t respond, Tzuyu could have sworn she felt her blood boiling. “Can you look at me, please?” She snapped angrily.

Tzuyu’s sudden outburst startled you, and you dropped your pencil as you jumped slightly in your seat, turning to meet your girlfriend’s eyes, all while looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“It doesn’t feel like we’re okay, (Y/N).” Tzuyu commented softly, greatly contrasting her anger just a moment ago. “I barely see you anymore. You always shoot me down when I ask to make plans. I know you have finals coming up, but is there really no room for your girlfriend? Or are you avoiding me?”

“What? No, Tzuyu, I’m not av-” Your voice caught in your throat as you noticed the tears that had fallen from Tzuyu’s eyes, and in that moment, you felt your heart sink. Tzuyu rarely cried, and on the rare occasions that she did, you reacted as if it were the end of the world. “Hey!” You yelped, springing up from your seat at your desk, nearly tripping on your own feet as you rushed to Tzuyu’s side. “Hey, don’t cry! I’m not avoiding you, I promise, I- I’ve just been so busy with studying and practice, and-”

Tzuyu sniffled and looked down at her lap as another tear fell from her eyes, her cheeks red and blotchy from crying. “You could have just told me that from the start,” she choked, shrugging away from your touch as you reached for her arm, “instead of blowing me off with no explanation. That’s not fair.”

You felt awful, knowing that Tzuyu was right and this was your fault. It was true that you had been blowing her off, but only because you were swarmed with so many different tasks with such a small time frame to complete them in, plus the soccer championships coming up right around the corner. You were overwhelmed, and you pushed Tzuyu away because of it.

“I know, I’m sorry, Yoda.” You sighed, reaching out for her again, which this time she neither rejected nor accepted. She just sat there, looking away while you rubbed her back gently, your eyes staring sadly at your girlfriend. “I’m under a lot of stress right now,” you began with another sigh, rubbing your forehead, “and I’ve been working nonstop. I should have told you that. That was stupid of me.”

Tzuyu nodded in agreement that yes, that was stupid of you. “I thought you were getting tired of me.” Tzuyu admitted sadly. “I thought you didn’t want to see me.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeated in a defeated tone, hanging your head in shame. “I suck.”

“You do.” Tzuyu huffed.

You planted a swift kiss on Tzuyu’s head that she tried to swat away, but you beat her to it. “I could never get tired of you, Yoda.” You reassured her with a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. “I promise you that. And I promise I’ll stop being a crap girlfriend and actually let you know what’s going on with me.”

“Good.”

You sat there with Tzuyu for a few more moments, constantly apologizing just about every two seconds, until you had a thought. “Tell you what,” You smiled, pulling her up from her chair, “how about I take a break from studying and we go get ice cream?”

As soon as Tzuyu nodded, you were pulling her out the door, more than happy to finally enjoy the break you deserved with your favorite girl.