#i tend to answer an ask or two or just doodle in paint now before i start my work :]

[girlboyburger]

You are a GOOD CRITTER and it brings me joy to see your doodles cross my dash :3

thank you! i've honestly been having a lot of fun drawing with a mouse to answer asks, it's refreshing to shake things up and split up all the tablet & paper pencil art i do all day.

[takuyakistall]

Don't get caught! | Riddle Rosehearts

Synopsis: While visiting Heartslabyul, you couldn't help but want to be a hedgehog after seeing the way Riddle is so fond of them and spoils them. But be careful for what you wish for! It might just come true.

Note: This was a request but the ask was too long so I just posted this on its own. I had fun writing this! It was a very cute idea and got carried away so this turned out longer than expected, I hope you enjoy it!

You weren’t sure if this was a good idea or not. You weren’t even sure if this plan would work but Trey and the other Heartslabyul first years insisted that it was going to work—or at least, they’ll try to make it a success. You had absentmindedly let out a random thought a few days about your hair, saying how curious you are about how you would look like in different hair colours and hairstyles. Trey’s unique magic immediately came into your mind, Doodle Suit, and you couldn’t help but comment on how convenient it would be if it could temporarily overwrite your appearance.

You felt bad for asking Trey a favour so suddenly but much to your surprise, he indulged you and said that it isn’t any problem. Of course, you knew nothing about the way his magic works and if it really isn’t a problem to him. Though you decided to trust his words and agreed to meet up with him in the Heartslabyul Dorm during the weekends. Grim, Ace and Deuce tagged along behind you as you entered the mirror to the dorm. Ace and Deuce wanted to be a little bit extra (or so you thought) and picked you up from your dorm.

The smell of freshly painted roses was in the air as your eyes adjusted to the sudden sunlight. You relished in the sight of the rose hedges lined up and the half-painted roses hanging from them, a few drops of red paint dripping to the green grass. The empty cans of red paint here and there as you walked through the stone path to the main building. You caught a few glimpses of a few students scrambling to their feet as they picked up a brush and started painting the roses.

Behind them, you could barely make out a familiar shade of red and a heart-shaped ahoge. You quickly turned to Ace, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Wait, where are we headed?” You asked them as Grim climbed up your shoulder.

“To the lounge, or Trey’s room. Whatever works.” Ace answered half-heartedly as he pushed the door open and scanned the room full of students for the green-haired vice dorm leader.

“Nevermind, we’re going to his room.”

Saying the hallways of Heartslabyul was confusing is a big understatement. The twists and turns of the halls more or less made you dizzy just from looking at it. The fact that you don’t know the actual way to Trey’s room made it harder for you to navigate where you were headed to. Deuce grabbed the hem of your sleeve when you were about to make a turn, whispering to you about how his room was still up ahead. Grim had long gotten off your shoulder once he realized that he might get lost with you.

“Good grief… I don’t even have any idea about what colour I should go with first.” You sighed as you spotted a window that gave you a view of the rose maze. The countless green hedges adorned with white roses. Have they not painted this part of the maze yet? You paid it little mind as your eyes wandered to the small cage placed outside and the tiny creatures inside.

Hedgehogs?

Green, pink, and blue ones were all scattered and rolling around in the cage. You couldn’t get a good view but it seemed like someone was giving them food right now. You stopped in your tracks when you realized it was none other than the dorm leader who was doing it. He dusted his hands and stared at the small blobs of colour inside the cage. You couldn’t see it clearly but you saw him open his mouth as a small smile appeared on his face. You found it a bit cute—cute how caring he seems to get when it comes to them.

It must be nice to be a spoiled hedgehog under Riddle’s care huh…

You shook your head, the tips of your ears growing hotter as you told yourself off about having such weird thoughts. Your head snapped back to where Ace and Deuce originally were but only to find them out of sight.

You felt panic rise in your throat as you looked left and right, your eyes searching for the familiar figures. You scolded yourself, regretting getting distracted by that redhead you seem to be so enchanted by. You wandered around the hallway, the knot in your throat growing tighter as you prayed that you won’t get lost.

“Geez! Just how big is this place?” You leaned against the window’s ledge as you let out a small pant. You’ve been walking around the dorm for what felt like hours now but you found yourself in the same place as before—by the window where you watched Riddle tend to the hedgehogs as you sighed.

“Um, excuse me…” The sudden voice behind your back made you jump in place a little. You quickly turned around and was met with a male student with brown hair. Your tense muscles visibly relaxed.

Finally! There was someone you could ask. You opened your mouth slightly to ask but before a single word could be formed—he asked you an unexpected question. He caught sight of the scene you were staring at before his involvement.

“Oh! Were you watching the Dorm Head?” Dense as a rock. The student didn’t think twice before asking this question, his eyes not registering the way your eyes widened slightly and your stance stiffened. You kept silent.

“Hehe, it seems like he’s taking care of the hedgehogs personally.” He mentioned, his voice laced with the faintest bit of admiration when he stared at the scene beside you. You tried to shrug it off but the curiosity inside you couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“...Is it anything special? Riddle taking care of them personally, I mean.”

“Eh? Well… no, not really. It’s just that he really likes them, so he tends to spoil them whenever he’s on duty.”

“Oh, is that so?” You tried looking the other way, trying to keep the nonchalant tone. But the moment you looked away—you could feel a small smile creeping up your face.

Cute.

You shook your head before you got carried away by any other thoughts and turned to the student. You need to do what you came here for!

“Oh, by the way, do you know how to get to Trey’s room?”

“Eh?”

“What the hell took you so long!?” Ace was the first one to greet you with his fist meeting your head without any warning. You winced a bit, clutching your head and fought back with your words.

“It was your fault for walking too fast!”

“Hah? Didn’t we warn you to keep close to us?”

“You said nothing about that!”

“Oh.” Ace fell silent. The corner of his lips suddenly curling up, as if a realization struck him.

“Haha! Don’t mind, everyone makes mistakes right?” There was nothing stronger than the feeling of wanting to slap the grin off his face right now. Had it not been for Deuce trying to keep the peace between you, you weren’t sure if you could've held yourself back.

“Moving on,” Deuce placed a hand over your shoulder. “Trey-senpai’s room is just up ahead. Don’t lose sight of us again, alright?”

It was hard to navigate yourself around the dorm. If there was one crucial thing they hadn’t told you about the dorm, it was the fact that if you weren’t a Heartslabyul student or school faculty, you were bound to get lost amidst the twists and turns. But in their defense, they didn’t expect you to get distracted so easily. You nodded as you followed behind the duo once again.

After a minute or two, you found yourself face-to-face with Trey in front of his dorm room. That’s when you realized you haven’t thought about what colour you’d like after getting lost but your thoughts were cut off when Trey suddenly spoke up.

“Oh, you guys are here. You were a bit late, did you run into some trouble?” He asked as he urged you three (four if you’re counting Grim) into his room.

“(Y/N) got lost~!” Ace chirped in a singsong voice as he threw his arms back behind his head.

“Eh, really? Be more careful next time, you’re lucky you were found quickly—otherwise, who knows how long you’d be stuck there.” The closed-eyed smile on his face made his terrifying words seem normal. You wondered if there were previous cases that went way worse than what you went through. You let out a relieved sigh inside your head, thanking the student that found you.

“Then, let’s make this quick.” Trey guided you to a chair, dragging you gently by the wrist and made you sit there as Ace, Deuce, and Grim stood beside you. Their growing curiosity couldn’t be masked.

His instructions were clear enough. He said that you should try to paint an image inside your head. Envision what you would like to look like while closing your eyes and then he’ll activate his unique magic. He also mentioned that it would only last 24 hours or shorter if interfered with stronger magic and that he can revert the spell after a certain period if time just in case you wanted to remove it quicker.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to paint an image of yourself you’d like to see.

“Ready? I’ll start now.”

You thought of your favourite colour, envisioning yourself with that certain hair colour. Wondering if Riddle would like it if he saw it. Oh, maybe if you were a (F/C) coloured hedgehog, he might find you cute!

“Doodle Suit!”

A small puff of smoke appeared just right after Trey finished his incantation. You felt a bit groggy and weird, was it supposed to feel like this? You opened your eyes, your vision adjusting to the sudden light until you realized the situation you were in. Everything seemed a hundred times bigger than they usually were and everyone inside the room seemed to have grown bigger. Everyone except you.

You felt so small.

“Eh!? Trey-senpai, where did they go?” The panic in Ace’s voice was unlike him. But Deuce was even more panicked than him, he thought that maybe they messed up and you disappeared for good. Grim was looking frantically everywhere.

You wanted to shout out. Tell them that you were still here but oddly enough, instead of a voice, a very weird sound came out of your mouth. The room froze when they heard it. Trey was the first one to spot you, a nervous chuckle slipping from his mouth as he held your small body up.

“It seems like your friend… turned into a hedgehog.”

Eh?

Eh!?

You messed up. Countless thoughts swirled rapidly at dangerous speeds as you thought about what could’ve gone wrong. You swore you did his instructions properly, you thought of what you wanted to look like and—

At the last minute, you thought about hedgehogs. That’s what went wrong. You wanted to bury your face into your hands but your new incredibly short four legs couldn’t even reach your face. This was a new level of embarrassment, you just wished that this was all a bad dream. You lied down flat on Trey’s palm, hiding your face from everyone as you heard Ace barely being able to contain his laughter.

“Pfft—” He clamped a hand over his mouth, trying to tell himself not to laugh but the situation made it hard for him to follow his instructions. Deuce, on the other hand, was crouching down while clutching his stomach—trying to keep his laughter as silent as possible. Grim had an indifferent expression before he approached you. He scaled your size compared to him and that’s when he lost it.

If you could speak, you would’ve told them to cut it out but much to your misfortune, you were left to make weird noises hedgehogs made. And if you were to make sounds like that, you were pretty much sure that they would laugh harder at you.

“Oh man, this is gold! I can’t believe you turned into a hedgehog.” Ace let out, that stupid grin on his face wider than ever.

“Though that does make me wonder how you managed to think about hedgehogs.” Deuce crossed his arms and pondered, finally calming down. Before he could dive deeper into his thoughts, Trey interjected.

“That isn’t important right now. We better think of what to do with your friend.”

“Trey-senpai, can’t you just overwrite it with your unique magic?” Deuce asked him.

“Unfortunately, it’s going to take a while before I can use my magic on them again. We need to put them somewhere safe for a while, can one of you keep them with you or do you know a place we can leave them?”

“Well, how about…”

“Hup! Off you go!” You hopped off Ace’s hand into the small cage he pushed you into. You felt yourself tense up when you were surrounded by your fellow small creatures, wondering if it was alright for you to sneak in like this. Ace assured Deuce that no one would notice an extra hedgehog inside the cage and decided that it was alright for you to stay there.

You had your doubts and troubles about this course of action but what can you do except comply? Your fate was temporarily in their hands—you were completely helpless. You just stayed behind as you watched Ace, Deuce, and Grim fade into the distance as they walked further and further away.

You looked around, trying to find something you can entertain yourself with but only to be met with immeasurable disappointment when you found out there was absolutely nothing you could do except eat, drink, or sleep. What’s worse is that you don’t know how long you were going to be here. You lied down on your stomach as you stared into space, a sudden wave of tiredness came over you as you felt your eyelids close.

Perhaps a short nap wouldn’t hurt.

You woke up to the heavy weight that rested over your body, you felt like you were being squeezed as a surge of panic took over you. You looked up to see that a green hedgehog was sleeping over you, it looked so comfortable that you felt bad for suddenly moving from your place. You couldn’t stay like this—you wanted to get out! You wished that Ace and Deuce just brought you with them even if it meant that they would probably get told off by Riddle for bringing out a hedgehog outside croquet matches.

“Hm? How strange… did I count correctly?” The sudden voice made you jump in your place, eyes darting everywhere to find out where it came from.

Wine red hair and slate grey eyes. There was no mistaking it—the voice belonged to none other than Riddle Rosehearts, the Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul. Confused, you wondered why he was still here. Didn’t his duty end a while ago? There was no reason for him to check up on the hedgehogs again!

“There’s an extra one?” His eyes shifted to you and you felt your blood run cold. How in the world did he know it was you out of everyone in the cage? You needed to think of something, quick. Who knows what he might do to you? Throw you out? Certainly, he wouldn’t do that… right?

“Don’t be scared. I won’t harm you, I promise.” Riddle’s gentle voice as he reassured you made you feel safe. You stared at his outstretched arm as a small smile appeared on his face and you couldn’t help but willingly hop into his palm. He brought you closer until you were on eye level with him. His grey eyes staring at you so intensely, you almost let out a squeak.

“Now then, we just have to find out who put you here.” He placed you on his shoulder and you felt the sudden panic sink in. You were in for a lot of trouble! You hadn’t expected Riddle to notice the extra hedgehog and you didn’t even expect him to come over in the first place. You cursed Ace and Deuce inside your head for leaving you there and expecting everything to sail smoothly.

If Riddle found out what happened, you were screwed. The best course of action you chose was to do your best to act like a normal hedgehog. That should be easy enough, right? Wrong! You didn’t know anything about how they acted and that fact alone made you declare this operation a failure.

Riddle walked away from the gardens and into the dorm building, your grip on his clothes tight because you were afraid of falling. Riddle felt the sudden shift on his shoulder and barely felt your claws ghosting over his clothes. He thought it was a bit strange, were you afraid of heights? But he paid it little to no mind as he continued walking and pushed open the door.

The students sitting in the common room suddenly stiffened up—they were first years and it was only natural that they were afraid of the strict Riddle Rosehearts. They stood up and greeted Riddle almost immediately, like soldiers.

"D-Dorm Leader!"

“Calm down, I’m not here to reprimand you or anything.” Riddle was irked at the way they visibly relaxed after saying that but he didn’t bother bringing it up. He scooted closer to them as he showed them the hedgehog on his shoulder.

“Do you know where this came from?”

Of course, the students could barely understand his question. They didn’t know the hedgehog was an extra head inside the cage and assumed that it was a normal hedgehog, so they answered:

“That’s a hedgehog, Riddle-senpai. It came from the cage they’re being kept in.”

“Of course I know that, I meant for this one specifically! It wasn’t here before.”

“M-Maybe it came from the forest and got lost?”

“It’s likely but how would it get inside the cage? That means a human probably put it in there.”

“Well… we don’t know.”

Riddle let out a sigh, trying to keep it together. It was going to be hard for him to find the culprit so he thought, just for a second, that maybe he should just let it stay inside the dorm. It wasn’t as if the world would end if he did, after all. But something deep inside his guts told him that he shouldn’t let go of this so easily. He dismissed the students and went to his room as he picked you up from his shoulder and into his palms.

“Where in the world did you come from…?” He brought you closer to his face and you felt like your heart was about to stop. His eyes widened as he made a sudden discovery. Magic? He felt the faintest bit of magic coming from you and that was enough to tell him that he should get to the bottom of this. But first—he needed an afternoon snack inside his room. After all, a queen should never make do without tea and snacks.

There was nothing more relaxing than having his favourite blend of tea in the afternoon accompanied by little snacks and biscuits that were served in little platters and teacups adorned with rose designs. It was to be expected as he was stuck in a dorm that was founded by the Queen of Hearts, it wasn't as if Riddle minded though—in fact, he grew fond of it. Daintily, he picked up his fork and took a small piece of his strawberry tart before putting it inside his mouth. Relishing in the burst of flavours that bloomed inside his mouth before turning his gaze to the small creature crawling on the table.

If you were already nervous back then, you didn't know how much more nervous you are now. You felt bad for feeling like you're deceiving him but at the same time, it wasn't as if you had a choice at all! Pushed into this seemingly hopeless situation, you wondered what would happen if somehow you transformed back into your original body right now. You shook your head and made yourself stray away from those thoughts—they never tend to end well once you think about them.

You tried distracting yourself by looking around the table and a certain snack caught your eye. You slowly made your way to it, your little feet pitter-pattering against the wooden material. Strawberry shortcake. Surely you were a tiny bit hungry after everything that occurred and not once did you get the chance to sit down and eat since you refused to eat the same food the other hedgehogs in the cage ate. You couldn’t help but look longingly at the small platter.

Riddle stopped halfway when he was about to take another bite out of his tart as he caught sight of you. Now, he wasn’t well-versed in the language of hedgehogs but it didn’t take an idiot to realize that you were hungry. He was a sucker for the rules of the Queen of Hearts but he wasn’t heartless. There was no harm in feeding you a little bit of that cake, right?

“Hm,” he contemplated for a split second, “just one small piece, okay?”

He took a small piece with his fork and nudged it towards you, expecting you to eat it. It took you a few seconds to understand what’s going on. Riddle, of all people, was feeding you. You didn’t know if you should be happy or not since you were in your hedgehog form but once you thought about it—didn’t you say earlier that it must be nice being a hedgehog spoiled by Riddle? Did the Great Seven up above hear you and decided to grant your wish?

Nonetheless, you took this as an opportunity. Who knows when you’ll get this close to Riddle ever again. You tasted the cake, eyes lighting up as you felt the sweetness of the frosting spread inside your mouth. You quickly took another bite until you finished everything with a content look. Riddle propped his elbow against the table and rested his chin on the center of his palm, looking at you with gentle eyes.

"...Somehow you remind me of a certain person." Riddle suddenly spoke up, his tone wary as he squinted at your figure. Your actions suddenly became more languid as you realized that perhaps the root of his suspicion was because of your erratic movements.

Surely he doesn't know it's me, right…!?

"(Y/N)," you froze up. "You remind me of them for some reason."

You went through the possible list of reasons how he came to that conclusion inside your head as you felt your heartbeat beat faster. For some reason, this whole scenario felt like it came straight out of a horror film. Out of all the names he could’ve said, he chose to say yours. The panic subsided as you suddenly grew curious about what exactly reminded him of you.

There was the slightest, smallest, unlikely chance that it was because he liked you but that was too far-fetched, right? Your imagination was going wild and unknowingly, you let out a small squeak. Riddle chuckled at the sudden sound, the corners of his lips tugging up into a smile. He stopped to think for a moment, he was alone, right? There was no one else in the room but the hedgehog and him, right? He took a deep breath.

“Speaking of them, something has been on my mind right lately… and it’s bothering me to no end.” He started, a downcast expression was on his face and you couldn’t help but worry. Did you perhaps do something to upset him? The thought itself made you panic inside. You couldn’t help but scoot away from him a little.

“I think I like them.”

What.

WHAT!?

You wondered if turning into a hedgehog made your hearing worsen or Riddle just made a mistake. There was no way what you heard was right, right? But, even then, Riddle had a slightest tint of pink spreading on his face as he looked down in slight embarrassment. It was hard to believe that he didn’t mean it or that he made a mistake in what he said. You felt your heart explode at the sudden realization and discovery.

“But the problem is that I think they’re avoiding me. I’m a bit afraid that they don’t like me,” Riddle sighed, “not a lot of people like me after all.”

“That’s not true!” is what you wanted to say had it not been for the fact that you can’t. But as they always say—actions speak louder than words. You scooted closer to his hand on the table and placed one of your front paws over his hand, hoping that he would take it as a form of reassurance. His eyes widened slightly at the sudden gesture, surprised that maybe the hedgehog understood his feelings and tried comforting him.

“Eh, you’re full of surprises aren’t you? Did you actually understand what I said?”

Without thinking it through, you nodded.

“Ah-! You really do… that’s strange. But anyway, thank you for your reassurance. Maybe one day I’ll get the chance to confess b-but that’s not important right now, I need to find out where you came from.” Riddle urged you to go to the palm of his hand and you complied with no complaints. He lifted you until you were at eye-level with him.

“Let’s continue looking, shall we?” Before he let you go, he placed a kiss on your head as a sign of endearment. You swore you were about to let out another squeak until a cloud of smoke suddenly appeared from nowhere and you felt your body get bigger as you closed your eyes shut.

You wrapped your arms around Riddle’s neck so as not to fall and you felt his arms go under your shoulders and knees as he let out a surprised noise—realizing he was carrying you when the smoke thinned out. His eyes widened in surprise and his face was as red as his face when he looked at the person he was carrying. There was no way. No absolute way this was happening to him.

You stared at him nervously, face red as you violently wondered why the spell suddenly went undone. Trey never mentioned anything about a kiss being able to undo it so why…!? Countless questions took over your mind but there was only one thing you could focus on right now.

What do I do now?

“Ahaha… Hi Riddle…” Nervously, you started.

“Y-Y-You…”

“It’s me, (Y/N)...!” You had the feeling this wasn’t going to end well.

“M-My confession…”

“Oh yeah, about that I—”

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!”

Extra:

"E-Eh!? That came from Riddle-senpai's room right now. Do you think he's okay?" A random student asked the person beside them, crossing their arms as a pensive expression took over their face.

"Hmm, do you think we should check? Or tell Trey-senpai?" The other suggested. But as soon as Trey's name was uttered, he emerged from the hall with a satisfied grin on his face—as if he accomplished something great.

"Don't worry about Riddle, he's just having a little bit of fun with someone right now." He chuckled, not doing well to ease the students' worries.

"Trey-senpai...? Oh, he's gone. What do you think he meant by that?"

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Soon // S.B.

Request: Ahhhh!!!!! Congratulations on such an AMAZING milestone🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉!!!!!! You deserve all this and sososo much more girly. I’m glad ur being recognized for ur amazing talents 😩💓 Now for the celebration. Could I suggest: Sirius, Hogwarts, Soulmate au, fluff #13, and Misc #5 - @leahstypewriter

Fluff 13: “Compared to you: stars pale, and the moon dulls.”

Misc 5: “Are you quoting a film at me?”

A/N: Thank you so much, lovely! Here’s your request! I hope you like! I love writing soulmate AUs and I had to go searching for one that I hadn’t done before so here we are! As always, I hope you like!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I continue to wax lyrical about the history of soulmates, hopeless romantic (reader and writer lol).

Word count: 2.3k

The magic of soulmates was first discovered centuries ago; too long ago for the story to be remembered correctly, but through the years, the general gist remains the same amongst families of witches and wizards.

From birth, a witch and wizard are paired with another witch or wizard. It would take time to find their match; it would take patience of the strongest sort, but they will meet their soulmate should good fortune befall them.

How do they know they have a soulmate?

Anything written on skin; be it a word, a quote, a doodle – it all appears on their soulmates skin. Anything other than their name. Centuries of debate and arguments over the exact reason for this decree fell over the world. In the end, the ministries and the scholars across the world threw their hands up in exasperation, declaring that the decree relating to the naming of soulmates would have to stay and the reasoning being that those making the decree were too awkward and stubborn to think of making life easier for an entire society that had to go into hiding.

For years, witches and wizards, once old enough, are able to communicate with their destined other half. The itch of a sentence being written becomes familiar; almost tolerable. Over time, they get to know their penmanship and their inner most secrets only dared scrawled onto their skin that could be hurriedly washed away if needed.

By the time the young witches and wizards in the United Kingdom have reached the age to start Hogwarts, their soulmate is already a part of them.

Now it was just trying to whittle down the student population of the school to discover who exactly was your appointed other half from birth.

---------

Most soulmate matches at Hogwarts are made in the months April to July – it’s when the weather starts to warm up; becoming bearable enough for the short sleeved blouses and shirts to be dug out from the very bottom of trunks.

Arms are on display for most of the day. It means that matches are made in the corridor, in the classrooms, in the Great Hall. Everywhere across the castle matches are made.

It’s wonderful, it is. But it also makes you more impatient.

You’re in the library when another match is made. Madame Pince tries her hardest to hush the new match into some level of quiet, but it does no good and thankfully, she evicts them from the library and the hush soon falls back over the great room with the same sense of a comforting blanket.

Rolling the sleeve of your cardigan up, you delicately write, “I’ve just seen the third match made of the day and it’s not even noon.”

It doesn’t take long for your soulmate to reply, “I’ve seen two so far. Where was your third?”

“The library.”

“I bet Pince was thrilled.”

You snort at their reply; amused at how well they know the school’s librarian.

“When is it going to be our turn?” You ask somewhat hesitantly.

The reply takes a few minutes, but it comes all the same in the elegant script you’ve come to know, “Soon.”

You rag your sleeve back down in frustration, repressing the building groan. You didn’t know your soulmate’s name, but you had given him the nickname of ‘aloof’. He had gone to great personal care to not reveal too much about himself other than the fact that he was male, he went to Hogwarts and he was your age.

That was something at least, but your countless attempts to find out more had been rebuffed. When you asked why, he simply answered that he wanted to leave as much as he could a surprise. You understood that, but the curiosity got to you.

You sigh heavily returning to the homework laid in front of you, but your mind continues to play the realisation that had happened only moments ago. The happiness on their faces; their utter elation tied in with the adoration they already felt for the other.

It was hard, you realise, to be in love with someone you’ve only spoken to through words and doodles on your arm.

-----

The week doesn’t get any easier; the weather only turns warmer, so the outer robes are ditched completely. You leave the Great Hall the morning Lily Evans realised she had been talking to James Potter since she was a child. You couldn’t watch it and still feel the same empty feeling that had settled within you so long ago.

Your friend June and her boyfriend follow you from the Great Hall. They find you facing one of the many tapestries that depict the meeting of soulmates; they’re found all over the castle and each one feels like a dagger to the stomach.

“It’ll happen soon,” June comforts, placing a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Soon! Soon! That’s all he says,” You explode. Then you repeat in a quieter voice, “That’s all he says. He’s here and he’s close and all he says is soon. What if he doesn’t want to meet me, June?”

June tuts, “Then he’s a damn fool. However, he does want to meet you. He replies doesn’t he?”

You nod your head, but her words do nothing to comfort the growing sense of dread within you.

It was rare, but the soulmate bond could be rejected. There were those in the wizarding world who were born without a soulmate, but there were also those who simply didn’t want one, so they never replied to their partner’s pleading. Instead, they chose to ignore every word, every plea, every beg. For the bond to be accepted, the first reply is important. If words are never painted on your skin, the bond is rejected.

For not the first time that day, you sigh, “I know we have forever to know each other, but is it so wrong of me to want that to start now?”

June squeezes your shoulder, “It’s not wrong at all.”

You continue to stare at the tapestry a little while longer after June and her boyfriend depart; the depiction of soulmates shown in the quill being held by both parties.

Running a hand through your hair, you turn your back on the portrayal of true love, your mind focused on how long it would be until you experience something of the same magnitude.

-----

The day after James and Lily have their realisations, you find Sirius Black’s eyes on you at breakfast. When you meet eyes, he smiles at you, raising his hand in wave. You smile back politely, waving back awkwardly before shaking your head and returning to your breakfast and the latest letter from your brother and his new wife.

They had settled well into their new house; they loved their wedding present, thank you; and yes, you were to have a niece or nephew by the end of the year.

Wonderful.

Shoving the letter from your brother into your bag with more force than what is needed, you feel someone standing next to you. Looking up you meet the grey eyes of Sirius Black; he smiles down at you, “Are you okay?”

You fix him with a puzzled look, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs, “You were frowning so big I noticed it from down the table. I thought I would come see if you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me though.”

He nods, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. He doesn’t say anything else and you don’t offer to fill the void, so the silence sits between you as heavy as a rock.

You stand from the bench; throwing your bag onto your shoulder, “Thanks again, Sirius. I’ll see you later.”

Sirius shifts out of your way, clearing the path for you, “My pleasure. I’ll see you later.”

You shake your head as you walk away; the encounter being an odd one given that your social circle didn’t tend to include any of the Marauders. But there was something about his final words; something about the way he uttered them that made them sound as if they were a promise to you.

You rush the thought from your mind; refusing to let yourself being occupied by someone who wasn’t your soulmate.

---

Sirius begins to take more notice in you; he starts to strike up small conversations whenever he can as well as numerous attempts to catch your eye at any meal time.

He starts to take up a lot of your time; sitting with you in the library on the rare occasion, but also joining you in class when the other Marauders are occupied with other pursuits.

It’s odd.

Muggle Studies remains one of the few lessons that hasn’t been interrupted with the growing number of soulmate matches in your year. Arguably, this school year could be the one with the most matches – the final year of Hogwarts; that final rush to find the love of your life before being sent out into the whole wizarding world without that safety net of the school to fall back onto.

The longer the professor drones on, the harder you find it to focus your concentration. The professor paces the front of the classroom, explaining their brief overview of what they hope the next few lessons will shape up to be like, but your attention is shot. It flickers between the marauder who has, for some reason, taken an interest in you and your soulmate, who still won’t reveal any more information about themselves or when you’ll be meeting.

A headache is close to blooming behind your eyes at the stress of it all.

Shrugging off your cardigan, you dip your quill into the pot of black ink sat in its holder. With the practiced precision of someone used to drawing on themselves, you begin to doodle.

Stars, planets, and moons appear on your left arm – decorating the inner forearm with an entire galaxy. They’re pretty rudimentary drawings, but it’s enough to keep you occupied from the droll being spewed by the professor who definitely hasn’t noticed they’ve lost the attention of most of the class.

The bell rings; finally signally the start of your only free period of the day. With a grateful sigh, you drop your books into your bag and make your way to the library.

You never make it to the library. On your way there, a hand grabs the back of your robes, pulling you into an empty corridor. With an angry shout, you face your kidnapper, “Sirius!”

He lets out an amused laugh at your affronted expression, “I’m sorry, I just needed to talk to you in private.”

You exhale, adjusting the heavy bag on your shoulder, “Sirius, I have to know. Why are you paying me so much attention? Surely you have a soulmate to think of.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

“Really?”

Sirius nods. He takes a deep breath before saying, “Compared to you: stars pale, and the moon dulls.”

“Are you quoting a film at me?” You ask; an eyebrow raised.

Sirius shakes his head, repressing a laugh. He rolls up the sleeve of his jumper, revealing his left arm to you where decorating his inner forearm are the very same stars, planets and moons that you had doodled instead of focusing on the classwork.

Instead of saying anything, you roll your own sleeve up, lining your arm up beside Sirius’ where the patterns match perfectly.

It seemed that his attempts at conversation and his watching you from a distance was for a purpose.

Sirius Black is your soulmate.

“Oh…” You whisper.

“I told you we would meet soon,” Sirius whispers; a sight teasing lilt to his voice.

You shake your head, “I kept thinking you didn’t want to meet me; that you didn’t want a soulmate.”

Sirius grips both of your hands, “The complete opposite. I just needed to work up the nerve to find you.”

“When did you know?”

“Not that long ago. When James and Lily got together.”

You nod your head; remembering the day well.

“I overheard you talking to your friend when I was on my way to a lesson and you kept talking about how your soulmate kept promising you soon. And I realised that that was all I was saying to mine. Soon.”

You look down at your joined hands, “I never even had an inkling it was you.”

Sirius chuckles, “I suppose that should be flattering. I must be that good at concealing information, I should be a spy.”

You roll your eyes, “It almost drove me mad is what you mean.”

“Well we have a long time to get to know each other now,” He murmurs; voice soft and filled with promise for the future.

You smile shyly at the long-haired teenager, “We do?”

He nods, “Yeah, we do.”

Tentatively, you take a step closer to the long-haired Marauder. A small smile graces Sirius’ face as he takes in your movement. With a tug of his hands, you fall into him – an arm clasping itself around your waist, pressing you to him.

Sirius’ hand caresses your cheek; you lean into the touch, wondering if this is how every match felt when they found their soulmate or whether this was entirely Sirius’ effect on you. Either way, it was addicting… and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.

Finally though, after what feels like a lifetime of staring into each other’s eyes, Sirius dips his head to kiss you. You meet him halfway; the desire you feel for him controlling your every move. His grip on your waist tightens and your arms wind their way around his neck, holding him to you. This kiss is what breaks the dam; from the lightest pressure of his lips, long buried emotions bubble up to the surface and it’s all you can do to keep yourself in control.

Sirius breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t retreat far. He beams down at you; eyes bright with elation. It’s a smile that you return and more; happy to have found your soulmate, happy to know who he is and that he loves you just as much as you love him.

Happy to know that soon is now.

*******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @nerdyatheletic

Sirius Black taglist: @approved-by-dentists @fific7 @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

[cuddlepilefics]

Markers are not for skin

Fandom: Stray Kids

Little: Hyunjin

Caregiver: Chan

 No one’s POV.:

Finishing his morning coffee, Chan put the cup in the sink and made his way to Hyunjin’s room. It was weekend and the dancer had announced the previous night, that he’d use his free time to slip and destress. As his caregiver, the leader would be staying back at the dorms to keep an eye on the little, no matter how often the younger assured he could take care of himself and that the oldest shouldn’t stay back because of him. The rest of the group had gone out because the weather forecast had promised a sunny day, warmer than they had had in a while. That left Chan and Hyunjin as the only two members at the dorm. The leader was actually surprised his dongsaeng hadn’t woken up already due to the ruckus caused by their friends getting ready. He decided to wake the dancer up, so he’d have enough time to be little and play. Sneaking into the younger’s room, he found the little snuggled up under his blanket with his teddy bear in his arms. Apparently, he had gone to bed this way to wake up little the next morning. “Good morning, cutie. Time to get up”, Chan hummed and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket down a bit and stroking the other’s slim back. Hyunjin stretched with a disapproving whine and shoved his head under his pillow. The older just picked up the pillow and laughed: “Baby, I thought you wanted to play with daddy today but I guess I was wrong and you’d rather stay here alone.” – “Nuh, daddy!”, the dancer called out suddenly wide awake. He sat up and crawled into Chan’s lap. The leader hugged him and smoothed down the messy long hair, smiling: “Well hello there, little one.”

They remained in an embrace for a few minutes and Hyunjin was starting to go back to sleep. “No no baby, no more sleeping. It’s time for breakfast. The others are all gone, so it’s just daddy and Jinnie time today”, the caregiver announced, nudging the dancer to keep him from falling asleep. The younger pouted up at him cutely, asking: “Uppie?” Sighing Chan picked him up and carried him to the kitchen. He set the little down on the counter and gave him a stern look, reminding him not to move and fall off. Then the leader filled a sippy with juice, letting the little drink a bit while he went to wash and cut some fruit. Arranging the bits of chopped fruit to a cute face, he took the plate to the table before returning to collect Hyunjin. The dancer had finished about half of his juice and quickly wrapped his arms around his caregiver’s neck when he appeared in front of him. Chan picked him up and sat down at the table with his dongsaeng on his lap. “CUTE!”, the little squealed as he admired the food. Chuckling, the oldest picked up an apple slice, which had served as an eyebrow, and tapped it against the other’s lips. “Say ah, baby!”, he grinned. Chewing, Hyunjin clapped his hands happily and beamed when the caregiver continued to feed him.

Chan had already had breakfast earlier, so when Hyunjin finished they were ready to start their day. Cleaning the plate, the leader asked: “What do you want to do today, Jinnie?” – “Hmm, can we colow?”, the dancer suggested, chewing on the hem of his shirt. The older nodded and took his hand as they walked back to the little’s room: “Of course, we can color but we should probably brush your hair first and maybe also get you a paci. Look your shirt is already damp from you chewing on it.” Hyunjin looked at his shirt guiltily before letting out a loud whine: “Off!” Rolling his eyes, Chan complied and replaced the dancer’s shirt with one of his largest, before reaching into the bedside drawer and pulling out a light purple pacifier. “Here, cutie. Now let daddy brush your hair and we’re all done”, the leader cooed as he slipped the comfort item between the little’s lips. Hopefully it would keep him quiet because Hyunjin tended to make a fuss when getting his hair brushed in little space. It worked out well and the leader finished off by pinning the front strands back with some colorful hairclips. He then sat down on the floor with his dongsaeng, laying out his coloring books and helping him decide what he wanted to color first. The little had soon picked out a picture of a bear sitting underneath the stars. “Daddy, colow with Jinnie!”, the dancer requested. “Well, what do you want daddy to color?” – “Make the staws, hmm…, yewwow!”, the little giggled, clapping his hands. Chan chuckled, a fond smile spreading on his face as he picked up the yellow crayon and started to fill in the stars.

They had been coloring together for a while when Hyunjin pushed his caregiver out of the room, claiming he wanted to color something for him but Chan wasn’t allowed to look until it was done. To pass the time, the leader set up his laptop in the living room and played around with some new beats. When it had almost been an hour and there was still no sign of the little, the oldest decided to go and check on him. When the door swung open, Hyunjin froze like a deer in the headlights. The marker in his hand cluttered to the ground. ‘Since when did he own markers?’ Chan wondered, not sure when the little had gotten his hands on something other than crayons and colored pencils. They were staring at each other for a few seconds, Hyunjin shocked that someone had walked in on him, Chan shocked because the dancer’s face and arms were covered in colorful doodles. “Look daddy, Jinnie colow fow chu!”, the little exclaimed happily, holding up a picture of a treehouse and birds. The leader facepalmed before putting on a happy face and thanking his dongsaeng for his beautiful artwork. After recapping the open marker, he scooped the little up in his arms frowning: “Jinnie, it seems like you didn’t only color the tree but yourself too.” – “Mhm, Jinnie pwetty!”, the younger giggled. ‘Oh dear, how are we going to get that off?’ the oldest wondered, taking the dancer to the bathroom. He shot a quick text to Felix before starting a bath for Hyunjin. The little giggled as he watched the water rise and was excited his daddy remembered to add a lot of bubbles. Chan then helped him into the tub, handing him a bright yellow rubber duck, and grabbed a washcloth. The leader had been scrubbing the other’s arms for a few minutes already but the lines weren’t really coming off, while the skin grew progressively red. “Nooo daddy, ouchieee!”, the dancer whined, pulling his hand away. He had tried to be a big boy and let his daddy clean him up but it was really starting to hurt. The oldest rana hand through his locks, getting frustrated: “Baby, how are we going to get this off? Markers aren’t for skin.” He hadn’t even started on cleaning Hyunjin’s face yet.

Chan quickly dried off his hands when his phone started to ring. He answered the call and was greeted by Felix low voice: “Ah hyung, I just remembered something. Did you get the marker off yet?” – “No Lix, I didn’t” – the younger laughed, annoying Chan a bit before he answered: “I figured you wouldn’t. Don’t worry, I have some very good make-up remover in my closet that can also remove marker. I may or may not have had to deal with a few pranks and that was the only thing that really helped. You may wanna try it.” – “Mate, you’re a lifesaver, Jinnie’s already upset with me because I’ve been scrubbing his arms so roughly.” – “No problem, see you later, hyung.” And with that the call ended. Hyunjin was so occupied with his bath toy that he didn’t even realize the leader leaving him for a second to retrieve the bottle of make-up remover Felix had talked about. “Alright cutie, let’s give this another try”, the older hummed, approaching the dancer with a soaked cotton pad. The little just scooted away, shaking his head: “No huwt me again, daddy.” – “Oh sweetie, daddy is sorry. It’s not going to hurt this time, I promise”, the leader cooed. Although hesitant, Hyunjin lifted his arm and allowed Chan to gently brush the cotton pad over it. Felix had been right, the lines were fading and after cleaning both the little’s arms, the caregiver also wiped his face clean with gentle strokes, earning a giggle when he booped the tiny nose.

Not long after Hyunjin had gotten out of his bath and changed into a fresh set of clothes, Jisung and Felix came back home from their trip around town. “Here hyung, we got what you asked for”, Felix smiled, handing the leader a small plastic bag before going to ruffle the little’s wet hair, “I see you’re all clean again, little one.” Chan picked the little up and carried him to his room. “Since you wanted so badly to draw on your face, I asked the two to pick us up some face paint”, the leader explained, dumping the contents of the plastic bag onto the carpet they were sitting on. The dancer face lit up as he pouted at his caregiver with hopeful eyes. “Daddy make Jinnie pwetty? Pleasie?” – “Daddy will make Jinnie really pretty. What do you want me to draw baby?” – “Buttewfly!”, the little squealed, tucking his hair behind his ears. Chan grabbed a headband and put it on the younger before picking up a thin brush and some pink face paint. He started applying the paint with light brush strokes, admiring the sparkle in the younger’s eyes. Hyunjin reached up to touch his face before he remembered not to smear the paint, so he just giggled: “Tickles.” – “There, you look really pretty, Jinnie. But, you know what, you already did that before.”

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Do You Tree What I Tree?

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word Count: 8730

For @justmattycakes​! Happy holidays!!! Massive thanks to @spiderman-homecomeme for organizing this Spideychelle Secret Santa!

Summary: Home from their various colleges for winter break, MJ and her friends make a day out of going to cut down their own Christmas trees. Being alone in the woods—just her, Peter, and an axe—seems like the perfect opportunity to admit that her feelings for her friend have changed.

“Wine and cider!” Peter announces, jabbing a finger at the car window as they pass a rustic-looking roadside sign.

MJ smirks to herself. His touch will probably leave a smudge on the glass, which Flash will painstakingly wipe clean later. She likes Flash much more now than she did in high school—they all do—but she likes to build up a little vindictiveness towards him in advance, for when he inevitably says or does something douchey.

“Whine inside her, is that what you’d do if you could actually get a girlfriend?” Flash asks immediately. Sweet justification for MJ, though she rolls her eyes.

Flash is driving, but Betty trusts his skill enough to smack his arm from the passenger seat, then turn to smile back at Peter.

“That sounds nice. We should definitely stop on the way back.”

“Yeah,” Ned pipes up. “Maybe they’ll have a fireplace too, where we can thaw our fingers.”

“Babe, I won’t let your fingers get cold.”

“Aw, babe,” he croons, reaching over his girlfriend’s shoulder where she sits in front of him to tangle their fingers together.

“Back to your intense lack of dateability,” Flash persists. MJ swears his original asshole persona comes out so much more whenever he slides behind the wheel of his dad’s Cadillac Escalade. “Are you having a lonely winter, Parker? With only your cold lab bench to keep you warm?”

Next to MJ, Peter sighs and mutters, “Same old Flash.” She thinks he says it only to himself, but he darts a look at her and they share a smile.

“Well, I don’t have your L.A. weather,” he allows, artfully changing topic.

Flash will talk for an hour straight about the numerous perks of attending UCLA, including the constant sunshine, the short-shorts, and the absence of his current listeners. The last they all recognize to be a blatant lie, but they like him enough to let him get away with it. MJ has a special sympathy for Flash in those moments; she’s still growing from the girl she was when they were all at Midtown together, when she found it so much easier to edge away from other people or, when she did interact, to speak defensively, insultingly, and with liberal use of the middle finger. Her communication skills have flourished with not being able to see these people in person every day. She’s actually amazed with how she’s clung to them, certain she’d failed to develop the kind of solid relationships people were supposed to form in high school and that she’d just stagger forward through her fine art degree (PoliSci minor) with a wild hope of connecting to other humans through the doodles that she’s developed into graceful sketches, from sketches to oil paintings with sweep and verve.

The five of them are in their second year at their respective centres of learning now and it feels really nice to gather after living by too-brief text exchanges, missed calls, and videocalls that somebody’s roommate inevitably arrives home in the middle of, loud and invasive. When MJ’s speaking to Ned or Flash, they can push through. They have the boisterousness and, in Ned’s case, natural good nature, to conduct two separate conversations at the same time. Betty prefers to hang up and try at a better time, when they can speak uninterrupted. Peter’s different from all of the above. MJ always sees how he blushes, as though he’s being caught talking to her. It makes her flush in return. There’s no reason for them not to be as close as either of them are with any of the others, but conversations with him make her feel different. Without meaning to, their voices lower and they wander away from whatever topic they start with; on some nights, into the most intimate tracks of their inner lives. She gets why he feels caught to be interrupted because it’s disorienting for her too, being dragged back to the larger world, hearing a voice other than his in her ear. She likes traditional phone calls with him the best because she can lie in bed with her phone pressed to her ear and he doesn’t have to know.

“Are we almost there?” Ned says when Flash pauses in his rhapsodizing of Venice Beach.

MJ, sitting in the middle of the backseat, watches her friend unlock her phone and check the map.

“Yes. Under two miles to go.”

“And we’re super sure about this place?” Ned checks.

“Mhmm. A friend of a friend in my French workshop went last year and got the most spectacular Fraser fir,” Betty assures him. “I saw it at her Christmas party. That’s the one you couldn’t go to because you got the flu, remember?”

“Ugh,” he agrees.

“We passed a tree farm awhile ago,” Peter ventures. “That wasn’t it?”

“Betty told me the owners of that farm own this lot too. It’s cheaper to get your tree here because they don’t tend the lot in the same way,” MJ informs him. She likes the look on his face when he listens. She likes the feel of his leg bumping against hers as they traverse the uneven gravel sideroad.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be making up the cost difference paying for a paint job. I can hear the stone chips!” Flash complains. As if he’s ever paid for so much as a tank of gas.

“It’s an adventure, moron,” she says.

“I wasn’t prepared for stone chips.”

“I told you everything in an email last week, when we were planning this,” Betty calmly reminds him. “We should all be prepared.”

It isn’t visible to her right now, but MJ knows her friend has a shiny, compact saw at her feet, tucked into a neat black case, looking bizarrely like a tennis racket. Her own axe is trapped beneath Peter’s shoe so it doesn’t slide forward under Flash’s seat and slice the soles off his shoes. It’s quite sharp. She made sure.

“Listen,” Flash demands, “I’m the transport. Someone else can take care of the less significant details.”

“That is so fucking dumb,” Peter mumbles.

“What?”

“I said, I hope your feet don’t go numb,” he says more loudly. MJ turns her head, like she’s trying to follow the gentle backwards sweep of falling snow with her eyes when she’s really trying to hide her smile from Flash’s suspicious gaze in the rear-view mirror. “Did you wear waterproof boots and warm socks?”

“Of course. About to make winter my bitch.”

Betty twists to catch MJ’s eye.

“You wanna take this one?”

“Go for it.”

While Betty educates Flash on why that is not an acceptable thing for him to say—not with two of his female friends in the car, or ever—MJ drums her fingers on her knees. Her mittens are piled in her lap for now; despite her natural inclination to insult Flash’s ride, it heats up nicely. Plus, she’s tucked between Peter and Ned. She glances to her right to check on the latter and finds him huffing a warm breath on the window. He traces his finger through the resulting condensation, drawing a heart and writing ‘B+N’ in the middle. MJ glances at Peter and he’s already looking at her.

“So, tree?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ve been told to keep it under six feet. A measuring tape and a ladder might’ve been helpful, but there wouldn’t have been anyplace to put the ladder once we got the trees on the roof of this thing.” She smacks the SUV’s ceiling and Flash goes, “HEY!”

“You can just choose a taller one,” Peter suggests, “and then cut it shorter.”

“I feel bad about the waste though. It’s a living thing.”

“I can help you with that.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ’s genuinely curious. She knows May prioritizes Hanukkah customs to keep Peter’s connection to both his ethnoreligious traditions and his lost love ones strong, so she doesn’t know how a Christmas tree fits into that.

“Right before you guys picked me up, May had an idea. She thought it might be nice just to get some pine branches for, like, generic winter decorating and to make the apartment smell good.”

“That’s a really good idea.”

“Yeah. I was gonna grab scraps from where other trees had been cut down, but I can get them off whatever tree you pick instead. Or you can. You have the axe.”

“I’ll give you a turn with it if you help me drag my tree back to the car,” MJ bargains with a smile.

“I can definitely help.”

Of course he can. He could probably carry a dozen trees if he felt like it. Over his head. With all the roots and clumps of frozen earth still attached. But the thought of him hauling the tree back with her rather than for her is something she appreciates. As she nods, she gets the fluttery feeling she’s been experiencing more and more whenever he’s called her this term. Their calls have gotten longer. A younger version of herself would be amazed at the way she can now talk for hours without noticing the time slipping past. And it never feels wasted. Actually, when they aren’t talking, MJ misses Peter. She can’t completely put it into words and so she hasn’t. What she’s done, besides continue to answer every time he calls, is offer him a chance to swing the axe she brought. Romantically, there’s room for improvement.

Their overlapping winter breaks are going to end in another week and she’s scared the calls, as treasured as they’ve become to her, won’t be enough.

“There!” Betty cries. She flings her arm across the dash to point.

“That’s the woods,” Flash says, brushing her off.

“No, that’s the driveway! You’re going to pass it!”

The jarring, inelegant jerk of the wheel as he takes Betty’s directions at the last moment tips Ned into MJ and MJ into Peter. They all groan in discomfort, but Flash seems supremely pleased with himself as he straightens the tires. Off the gravel, their passage between the trees is muffled by the packed snow on the laneway other cars have driven over. There’s a dusting on top as today’s thin flurry continues to fall. As she sits up straight following Flash’s terrible Baby Driver impression, MJ feels Peter’s hand on her back, through her coat, and her face gets hot. Unable to meet his eyes in thanks, she leans towards Ned instead and the two of them stare out at the picturesque scene where low drifts spill over the ground and every pine, spruce, and fir—all dusted in white—looks like the perfect Christmas tree.

“Hats on,” Betty instructs as Flash pulls to a stop next to a pickup truck with a tarp already laid out in its bed, awaiting a tree. “Shoelace check. Gloves and mitts secure.”

“You sound like you’re prepping us to jump out of an airplane,” Flash laughs.

He swings his door open while Betty’s trying to get back into her winterwear checklist with the rest of them, letting in a gust of cold air that disturbs the warmth MJ’s hoarded as well as Betty’s good temper. She reaches across the center console and shoves Flash with both hands, pushing him straight out of the vehicle with a “WHOA!”

Betty’s nonchalant as she flips her mirror down and adjusts the positioning of her pompom hat before stepping out of the SUV herself. Peter and Ned pile out, laughing, and MJ climbs out Peter’s side. Flash is next to the car, brushing himself off.

“I’m going to get sick,” he pouts.

“Say cheese!” Ned encourages, snapping a picture as Betty runs into shot to pose next to her victim, cupping his face between her gloved hands.

“Maybe this’ll make him change his mind about the cider place,” MJ notes to Peter hopefully.

“I feel like we’d be stopping there no matter what,” he muses. “It was either making Flash fear hypothermia or Betty sneaking back to the car first and tampering with his brake line or something.”

“So, which way looks good, babe?” Ned asks his girlfriend.

As she told them, this lot isn’t the manicured family attraction the last place was. There aren’t any employees standing around—easily spotted even as they drove past the tree farm down the road in their orange crossing-guard-style vests—or a map marking which areas are which type of tree. There’s just sort of a main track that’s been tramped down by passing feet leading between trees. It’s easy to see for a ways, but beyond that, the forest grows denser. MJ knows Betty did her homework and can identify tree varieties, and she doesn’t actually care which type she gets. She’s here for the experience, and for the idiot next to her who gives her a thrill every time the nylon sleeves of their winter coats rush against each other.

“Hmm,” Betty says, and strides forward through the narrow entrance. From there, things fan out. She taps her bow saw, now loose, against the side of her leg. “Well, what would everyone like to do?”

“I’m going wherever you are,” Ned vows. She shoots him a soft smile.

“Me too,” Flash decides. “You’ll get us in and out of here fast so we can get warm. Not like Parker, who’ll probably get lost in the first five minutes.”

“What?” Peter asks, insulted. “Will not.”

“Oh yeah? How’s your sense of direction without that robot lady in your head?”

“Karen is not a robot lady, she’s an AI.”

“Same diff.”

“It is not. A robot lady is like what they have on The Jetsons.”

“Whatever. Point is, without your GPS, I don’t trust you.”

“Well,” Peter counters, “we can just look at our phones.”

“Already tried that,” Flash informs him. “I don’t get a signal out here.”

Regardless, the rest of them check.

“That’s alright,” Betty persists, trying to be chipper to maintain group morale, MJ’s sure. “It’s daylight, the snow’s not coming down hard, and nobody’s going off alone. Now, Flash, Ned, and I are going that way.” She points, then glances from MJ to Peter. “Do you guys want to stick with us, or…?”

MJ opens her mouth and looks to Peter, shuffling beside her and doing some sort of best-friend telepathy with Ned, based on the stupid, scrunched up looks on their faces. Is he going to say something? He’ll probably want to stay with Ned. It’ll be weird if she speaks up for both of them. But if she doesn’t, when are they going to talk, just the two of them? Since they’ve all been back in the city, everything’s been done in a group—buying presents for friends and relatives, going skating, getting hot chocolate, attending Flash’s ugly holiday t-shirt party (L.A.-themed, so no sweaters allowed). The woods though. The woods are quiet and friendly and private. Snow muffles sound, fresh air and cold wake her up and fill her lungs until they burn with everything she’d say to Peter if she just had this opportunity. No Ned and Betty hanging back to offer encouraging looks, no Flash to ruin everything with a terribly timed innuendo. MJ just needs Peter. Just her and Peter. Please, dork, she thinks, don’t say Ned.

The words come from her.

“I think Peter and I’ll go that way,” she declares, nodding sharply in a direction that isn’t Betty’s.

“Yeah,” Peter adds.

Oh, thank god, MJ thinks.

“He’s gonna get you lost,” Flash warns. He’s already stamping his feet like he’s freezing to death on the spot, though the cold isn’t that bad with the tree cover. “Then he’ll go nuts in the woods.”

“I have an axe,” MJ reminds him flatly. She glances at Peter. “Bring it.”

Peter snorts a laugh.

“No one will be re-enacting anything that remotely resembles The Shining,” Betty instructs. “Meet back here in, how long, do you think?”

“Depends,” Flash says. “How long should we wait before declaring those two missing and sending out a search party, of which I will not be a member, but will be happy to direct from the comfort of the Escalade with a hot drink in my hand and my feet against the heating vent.”

“Dude, don’t do that,” Ned pleads. “You’ll make the whole car smell like your feet.”

“My ride, my rules.”

“Should we just…?” Peter asks MJ. She nods.

“Let’s go.”

“Ok, um, an hour!” Betty decides.

Peter gives her a thumbs up and the two of them follow the path as it diverges, then cut away again, wading through ankle-deep snow where no other tree-hunter has walked today. The sound of Flash goading the other two fades. MJ stops for a minute and turns to watch them march into the trees. She takes a deep breath in and out.

“You good?” Peter asks.

“Yeah.” She hefts the axe onto her shoulder to look more lumberjack-esque (and so she doesn’t slice it into her calf as she walks). “Come on.”

Despite promises to share, she refuses to surrender the tool any sooner than she must. Soon enough, she’s huffing, face passing through damp clouds of her own breath and chilling her flushed cheeks and frozen nose. Balancing her temperature out here is a tricky thing; as long as they keep moving, as they are, she stays warm, but with Peter crunching along in the snow beside her, she’s too warm. MJ bites her mitt between her teeth and unzips her coat a little to let the brisk air circulate around the back of her sweaty neck.

“You’re not gonna catch cold?” Peter asks solicitously.

She shakes her head.

“Ok,” he says, “but it’d be just like you to get sick and say nothing about it while Flash complains all the way home that he is sick when nothing’s wrong with him.”

“The only thing he’s suffering through is his body’s natural rejection of us. He spent too many years thinking he was better than we are just to end up right here, hacking down Christmas trees together.”

“Probably caroling,” Peter guesses.

“Probably. He claims his favourite holiday song is the instrumental version of ‘Carol of the Bells,’ but that has to be a lie.”

“My money’s on something super cheesy.”

“Mine too,” MJ agrees with a grin.

Gradually, she slows, taking in the pine trees around them. Her guesstimation is that some of these go up to ten or twelve feet, but there are shorter options tucked in between. Younger, or those that maybe didn’t get as much light as they grew. She wipes the back of her mittened hand across her forehead, pushing her slipping fleece headband back where it’s been sliding forward.

“So,” she asks, “any of this look good to you?”

She lowers her gaze to find Peter hastily averting his from her face.

“That one?” he says, pointing to a tree at random.

“Peter, that one’s longer than Flash’s SUV.”

“Oh. Right. Um, ok…”

Focusing now, she watches his upturned face and the serious expression that sinks into it, the way snow’s been sinking into her hair. Maybe Betty was right about wearing a hat, though Betty’s hair is also significantly flatter than hers and thus more conducive to hat-wearing. Well, it’ll be fine. They aren’t stranded or anything and the snow’s not getting to them as much as it was when they had to walk across the clearing to reach this stand of trees. They’re sheltered here. As MJ hoped, it’s quiet.

Instead of asking Peter how much of his remaining holiday he’d like to spend with her, or how he feels when she forces him to hang up the phone first (he must notice), or why, exactly, he was so quick to agree to go off into the woods with her when he could just as easily have insisted they all stay together, she criticizes the first tree he takes genuine interest in.

“Crooked.”

“Too dense.”

“Too sparse.”

“Weird empty area.”

“I swear to god, something moved in there, Peter. I do not want a fucking National Lampoon Christmas, ok? My mom will freak out if I bring a live squirrel into our home.”

He’s laughing at her when they finally spot one that looks pretty good: shorter but not squat, full but with soft, long needles rather than nasty ones bent on treating them both to non-consensual acupuncture if they stand too close. It doesn’t look sickly or as though it’s currently inhabited by birds or rodents.

“So young,” MJ does note, assessing its size in comparison to a taller tree a yard away. “Oh well.” She raises the axe and adjusts her grip.

Peter goes scrambling backwards, almost slipping, then tries to pretend he was only calmly moving out of the way, that he is not afraid of the radius of her swing. When he starts babbling about how quickly his body could probably heal from an axe wound (though, with all the crazy shit he gets up to, that’s actually not something he’s experienced yet), she finally laughs at him.

“Relax,” she says. “You can just hold the branches up at the bottom while I chop through the trunk.”

Fearless—and even more determined to prove it now that she’s given Peter a scare—MJ drops to the snow and wriggles under the tree, as close as she thinks she should be while still being able to swing the axe. Peter’s hand makes her jump. She whips her head around, nearly getting a clump of needles in the eye, but he’s only skimming her coat by accident as he gathers the lowest branches away from her. As she asked. Right, he’s not touching her on purpose and he’s not even doing the not-touching activity on purpose but because she told him to. He’s trying to help. Frustrating.

She props herself up on her elbow and takes an awkward whack at the tree. The blade sinks into the bark like it’s supposed to, but it’s still somehow surprising to feel the give. MJ takes a few more tentative swings and the axe sinks deeper, requiring some force to yank it out again. She grunts and hears Peter crouch down behind her.

“Is it going ok? Can I do anything?”

“Umm, maybe be prepared to pull the top of the tree in the other direction so it doesn’t fall on my head. I think I’m almost halfway.”

“Yes, please don’t make it fall on your head,” he requests.

“It won’t as long as you do your job,” she promises gruffly, hewing in once more.

“Do you think this would be easier with a saw?” Peter’s voice is higher now, coming from the other side of the tree. Though the branches fell when he changed position, she can feel them only resting lightly on her as he holds the top of the tree away. Probably standing on his toes.

“Don’t say anything against my axe.”

“I’m not! I was just thinking out loud!”

“A saw,” MJ informs him with another swing, “is not as badass.”

“Good point.”

But is he just agreeing because the tree’s starting to topple and the final swings to break through it take her blade closer to his shins as he dances out of the way? Maybe.

She clambers out and, with the tree now on an angle, is able to chop from an upright position, down on a diagonal until she buries her axe in the snow, then yanks it free.

“Oh, you can lay it down,” MJ tells Peter when she realizes he’s standing there with his arms full of tree, face hidden as he keeps his head pulled back from the branches.

He does so gently and then they stand there in triumph. MJ hurls her axe into the ground.

“Would you quit that?” Peter requests, jumpy.

She grins.

“Sorry. Just really feeling this.”

“I can tell.”

They took their time making their selection and can do one of two things next: either trim the branches for Peter to take home to May right here or drag the tree back to Flash’s SUV and perform the necessary amputations there. They do neither. MJ shrugs her shoulders and flexes her fingers inside her mittens, exorcising the tension of gripping the axe’s handle. She turns, glancing casually around, but really looking for something invisible—a reason to stay. A rational delay before rejoining the others.

“Hold still,” Peter says, as she’s looking back the way they came. The way she thinks they came. They stomped around this area, circling every tree, for a while, so the footprints are a little confused.

“What? If you try to tell me there’s a squirrel in my hair, I’m not going to believe you.”

He smiles softly.

“No squirrel, just snow.”

She stares at her friend warily as he approaches, then sweeps snow from her headband. That’s when she realizes one side of her coat is soaked from lying on the ground. It can’t get through though, it’s just the outer layer. Still, Peter walks a complete circle around her, wiping snow away.

“There,” he says.

MJ sighs.

“Peter…”

“Yeah?”

His face is so open as he looks at her, flakes flying around and between them. Her heart squeezes almost painfully because there have been so many days of not seeing his face without the assistance of a screen. Now that he’s here, it’s too much.

“Umm… how many branches do you think May wants?”

MJ crouches and puts her back to him, feigning being deep in concentration over the fresh Christmas corpse splayed out in the snow. She feels like a detective at a crime scene. Peter exhales heavily behind her, then drops to her level.

“More is probably better, right? She’ll probably take some in to work or try to give them to the neighbours anyway.”

“True.” They both reach for the axe. “Go ahead,” MJ says, quickly withdrawing her hand.

Peter shaves off what he thinks May might like—plus at least an armload more—in quick slices and snips.

“Jeeze, this thing is sharp.”

“I know,” she says proudly.

“I want one. For the suit, I mean. You think that could work?”

“Well, you already have a bunch of less probable-sounding features, so why not a spider with an axe made of webs?”

“Ned’s gonna be so excited when I tell him.”

“I’m excited,” she says, maybe a little too forcefully. It’s not a competition. She doesn’t think he’s already forgotten about her. There’s just some kind of glitch in her brain-to-mouth connection that no Spidey tech could possibly fix.

“I think we’re ahead of schedule,” Peter tells her.

He pulls out his phone to check the time while MJ cleaves into the fallen tree’s trunk, cutting it down to a size more suited to transport and her family’s apartment.

“We could do this in two trips,” he presses. “Take the tree and come back for the branches? Or vice versa?”

“I think we can manage it in one.”

She glances at him and he looks mildly frantic.

“Or two,” MJ amends. “Two would be better.”

Are they finally going to talk? That has to be the reason for Peter stretching this out, doesn’t it? But he moves quickly to grip the lowest branches of the tree, down where MJ severed it, and she grabs those on the opposite side of the trunk. After a jerk to get it going, they slide the tree smoothly over the snow, leaving a fine trail of needles. It occurs to her, as they walk, that she was worried about this part on the way in here, that the tree might pick up dirt from where others have walked, but the ground looks fresh and sparkling in the sun. That’s not familiar.

“Peter? Are we going the right way?”

“What? Yeah. Aren’t we? We have to be. Because the sun was…”

He gestures very unconvincingly overhead and her heart plummets in her chest. For once, not because she’s scared of saying something about her feelings for him and hearing they aren’t reciprocated, but because what Peter’s not saying directly is that they might be lost. And the worst part of that scenario is Flash being right. No, no, no, Peter will not make Flash right, not today.

“It’s been snowing,” she reviews. Stupid and obvious, but facts are soothing to her. “How much do you think it’s snowed? Not that much, right? It can’t have. We must’ve just started walking the wrong way.”

“Definitely. Ok, let’s turn around.”

So, they swing the tree with them and strike out in the opposite direction, not going very quickly as they navigate the trees. They pass the stump they lately created and MJ plucks her axe from the snow on the way past. It just makes her feel better, having it.

Unfortunately, this way isn’t correct either.

“Alright,” she says slowly. “What the fuck.”

“Let’s leave the tree for a minute.”

They set it down. She realizes she’s sweating.

“How could we be lost? How could you be lost?”

“There aren’t exactly landmarks,” Peter says. “It’s just… trees.”

“Maybe we should’ve gone to a place with signposts and neat little rows.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

He wanders over to her, watching her with careful eyes.

“I wasn’t this cold when I called today an adventure.”

“Maybe you should zip your coat back up.”

But she’s too warm and uncomfortable to do that just to challenge how he’s calling her bluff.

“Are you scared?” he asks. “You don’t need to be scared. I think we did a lot of circling. We didn’t walk too far in any one direction. I could climb a tree and look around?”

“Climb a tree? One of these trees? The ones covered in snow with the thin branches and the spiky needles?”

“Hey,” Peter jokes, hitting her arm with his elbow, “you’re supposed to be cheering me on.”

“I…” She closes her mouth. He frowns.

“Is something wrong?”

“We’re lost and Flash is going to gloat.”

“Besides that.”

“You’re trying really hard to get us out of here.” That should be a compliment, a commendation, but it sounds accusing as it leaves her mouth. MJ feels on-edge, heart beating all wrong.

“…Should I not be?”

God, she’s being strange. She can feel herself being strange. Everything’s aligning to buy her more time and she’s panicking trying to work out what to do with it. The snow is falling softly all around and she’s auditioning to play the most awkward protagonist in the history of Hallmark holiday movies.

“Are you looking forward to going back?” MJ asks abruptly.

“To the car?”

“To school. In January.”

“Umm, kinda? I mean, it’s going well. But you know that, we talked about this stuff the other day when you and Ned were over at May’s.”

“Yeah.” She’s thinking, staring down at her cut tree, debating how to mention that there’s one thing they didn’t talk about, that she couldn’t bring up, because she felt strange about doing it with Ned there. She goes to continue, unsure of her phrasing, but ready to push onward, when Peter answers, looking thoughtfully up at the pale-grey snow clouds.

“It’s really nice to be home, but I also don’t like living in the past.”

He glances at her to see what she thinks. She’s noticed that he does that a lot, when they’re on a video call. Sometimes, she teases him about it—the way he makes certain assertions sound like questions because he wants her input, values her opinion, thinks of her as wiser than him (she is) though he’s the genius playing around at the upper end of the grading curve in all of his classes.

“Sorry, what were you gonna say?” he asks, spotting the unfinished thought in her expression, how she holds her eyebrows a little too tightly together.

MJ shakes her head.

“It’s nice to have you home.” As Peter’s beginning to smile, swaying slightly towards her, she rambles on, “It’s nice to have everyone home. I mean, I could go longer between having to see Flash in person, but what can you do, right? It’s worth it to have Ned home. And Betty. And you.”

She swallows.

“There!” he shouts, pointing past her. She squints.

“What is it?”

“Our tracks.”

Trusting his superior eyesight, MJ troops after him. Sure enough, their deep treads from earlier are still faintly present—now gentle indents as the snowfall works to even everything out again.

“But we don’t have to hurry back,” Peter says. She avoids his eyes.

“Except we probably do, now that we’ve wasted time being lost.”

“We were never actually lost.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself so you can sleep at night, Spider-Man. Help me with the tree.”

He does, then hightails it back to collect May’s branches once MJ’s in the clearing with only the little trail left between her and the makeshift parking lot. She pulls her bounty along and through the gap, suddenly back with the rest of her friends.

“Did you manage to lose Parker out there?” Flash asks immediately. “Nice. Up top.”

She rolls her eyes instead of meeting his hand in a high five.

“He just had to go back for something,” MJ explains, expressly for the benefit of Ned and Betty.

“What’d he do, drop some of you guys’ sexual tension in the woods?”

Flushing with the sting in the air and self-consciousness, she walks past Flash. Just close enough to drag the tree over his feet and make him start whining about getting dirt on his blindingly-white designer snow boots. When his complaints cut off, she knows she’s in trouble. It’s like the sudden silence in a horror movie that you just know means nothing good.

“Never mind,” Flash says loudly. “Sexual tension present and accounted for.”

MJ whirls around to see Peter’s arrived and is staring at her with a pleading look on his face. Or he was, until Flash’s words sunk in. Surely, Peter’s fast enough to snatch his keys, toss them to Betty, and have them all climb into the SUV and wheel outta here, leaving Flash behind? But during the holidays? She’d feel bad. He’s lucky.

“Can we just get the trees loaded?” Peter asks, moving to help MJ pull hers closer to demonstrate that it’s not so much a question for Flash as a demand for him to shut the hell up. Flash probably doesn’t understand. He’d need tact for that.

“Fine. And not a scratch on the Escalade,” Flash commands.

He opens the trunk to reveal a set of carefully folded tarps; they’re too ratty to actually belong to him, so MJ’s betting that they’re Betty’s or Ned’s. Those two went on a big, romantic camping trip together right after high school graduation, so these could be remnants. The first tarp crinkles in Peter’s hands as he pulls it out and unfolds it. Beneath the second—removed by Ned—there’s a Burberry blanket protecting the SUV from the tarps. Honestly. Momentarily forgetting about their awkward moment in the forest, MJ catches Peter’s eye and nods at the blanket. The two of them start laughing and soon, Betty and Ned have spotted them and are laughing too. Flash is perplexed, which, as always, is when he gets grouchy and defensive.

“Can we pick up the pace, people?” he requests. “I need a hot drink and an even hotter fire. I can barely feel my fingers.”

“Wait.” MJ frowns and pauses in assisting Peter with dragging the longest tarp onto the roof of the SUV. “I have a tree, Ned and Betty each have trees… Flash, where’s your tree?”

She turns her head and notices Ned just cutting off a gesture of slicing a hand across his throat to insist on her not finishing that question. Betty sighs and explains.

“Flash’s service came back while we were out there.”

“Dude,” Peter huffs, stretching to reach and finish tugging the tarp into place, “you had service? You could’ve texted us to see if we were, I don’t know, lost.”

“This should come as no surprise to you, Parker,” Flash says snootily, “but I had other priorities.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ questions suspiciously.

“He went online and bought an artificial tree,” Betty says with a roll of her eyes.

“Sacrilege.”

“More like brilliance,” Flash corrects. “It has snow-encrusted branches, pre-strung lights, and the thing isn’t gonna die in a week, so it’s better for the environment.”

“Isn’t it plastic?” MJ checks in a slow voice, waiting for him to catch on.

“Yeah.”

“Then the process used to produce it created harmful emissions and when you find it next year and decide to throw it out because you’re no longer ‘feelin’ it’ or whatever excuse you have, it’ll go straight in the trash and from there to one of the many, many local and international landfills that house our city’s waste.”

“You’re pretty judgy for a girl who just fucking murdered a tree.”

“I did my research,” MJ counters easily. “This is a sustainably managed forest. They maintain the trees, protect new growth and transplant saplings every spring to ensure the health of not only the cash crop, but the forest as a whole. Pre-light that, dickhead.”

Feeling flustered, she goes to give Betty and Ned a hand with positioning their tree on the roof. MJ stands on the ledge offered by the open trunk and stabilizes the tree while the others guide it into position.

“Tension,” she hears Flash diagnose under his breath. He’s smart enough to not meet her eye when she glares down at him.

They encounter a small problem while loading the second tree: both Betty and Ned have selected especially full specimens. Side by side, they take up the entire roof, and MJ’s tree is still on the ground with Peter’s mountain of branches, waiting to be slung onboard.

“I don’t think it’ll fit,” Ned says after jumping into the air twice to take a look at the available space (none).

“Neither do I,” she agrees. “Guess it’s going in the trunk.”

“In the trunk?” Flash is there in a, well, flash. He slipped into the driver’s seat, ostensibly to doublecheck their route home, but really to start his seat-warmer and turn the Christmas radio station back on. His distress is juxtaposed against a jazzy rendition of ‘Winter Wonderland.’

“Yeah. There’s nowhere else.”

“Guys, please. Are you trying to get back at me for the sexual tension comment? It’s forgotten. I lied. No tension here. Cut the act and tell me that thing’s going on the roof with the others.”

“While ‘that thing’ is a capitalist nexus, it’s also a precious symbol of everything I love about Christmas,” MJ says firmly, “and it’s going in the trunk of this SUV.”

“Guys?” Flash glances at the other three, but nobody sides with him.

“Don’t worry, Flash,” Betty says kindly. “We won’t use the second tarp to go on top of the roof trees, we’ll line the trunk with it instead. There won’t be any needles, I promise.”

That is definitely not a promise she can make, and MJ’s sure her friend is aware, but she’s taking a shortcut to winning this standoff and MJ admires that. The placating seems to wash over Flash like the spirit of Christmas over Scrooge McDuck. Suddenly, he’s smiling.

“Yeah. We can do that. Of course. But.” Oh no. The smile’s warping. Flash is about to be an asshole again, MJ can see it coming fast on the horizon. “The tree’s going to take up more space than just the trunk.”

MJ peers into the SUV. Shit. He’s probably right.

“Oh,” says Betty, not getting the issue, “well, we can fold the seats down, right? The tree isn’t that tall. Come on, guys, we’ve had real problems. This is nothing!”

She beams at them and Ned wraps an arm around her, hugging her to his side.

“We’ll lose a seat in the back,” MJ says.

She’s profoundly annoyed by the satisfaction on Flash’s face as she’s the one to say the words, point out the obvious. Isn’t she always? It feels like her role in this friend group and she never minds that, never has until this very situation and its inevitable conclusion.

“Somebody’s gotta sit on somebody else’s lap,” Flash singsongs. “And it’s not me because I’m the driver!”

The other four look at each other.

“Betty,” Ned begins, “you and I could…”

“But she needs to be in the front to navigate,” Flash irritatingly points out, “and before you say it, you shouldn’t double up in the front. It’s not safe.”

Maybe they can back over him when they steal his ride and drive out of here, MJ theorizes. She sighs. Loudly. Vexedly.

“I’ll sit on Peter.”

She proceeds to make eye contact with none of them, just fishes a sloppy coil of rope out of the back and works with Betty to feed it over the trees and through the windows. Some cold air will blow into the SUV, but that won’t matter so much to her, she guesses, since she’ll have the benefit of Peter’s body heat. Who needs a seat-warmer when you can have an actual human lap? Ugh, no, not funny, but she tried to consider it in a way that doesn’t make her want to volunteer to sit in the trunk with her tree.

Finally, they lift her tree and Peter’s branches inside, position them, and shut the trunk. Flash is whistling ‘Carol of the Bells’ as he practically skips to the driver’s seat. Betty, far more compassionate, gives MJ a reassuring look before she gets in. Then Peter climbs into the back, taking the middle seat, and glances at her, lingering in the snow. She groans to herself and folds into the car as Ned gives her an encouraging pat on the back.

Maneuvering is awkward. Peter cranes his neck back like his whole body is leaning to make room for her, but it’s not possible—he’s already pressed back against the seat. She sits. He rustles beneath and behind her. Before she can panic and insist on walking home, Ned gets in and slams the door closed (Flash complains).

“Uh,” Peter starts, “do you wanna shift forward so I can buckle my—”

“Absolutely not. If we’re sharing a seat, we’re sharing a seatbelt. I don’t want to end this excursion by flying through the windshield when Flash swerves the car off the road because he sees a snowdrift that looks like a butt or something.”

“Hey! I’m an excellent driver,” he complains, starting the car.

“I could just, like, hold onto you?” Peter offers.

MJ’s heartbeat rockets. She presses the top of her head to the ceiling to ground herself.

“No. We’re using the seatbelt.”

Peter stretches it away from the seat and holds it for her to grab; she passes it back for him to fasten. The second it clicks into place, Flash throws the SUV into reverse and hits the gas. Peter must move his head away from behind hers because MJ’s genuinely surprised not to feel his nose break against the back of her skull.

“Excellent driver, huh?” she questions flatly.

“There was ice.”

“Sure there was.”

Flash winks at her in the rear-view mirror and instead of siding with her, MJ catches Ned chuckling.

“I’m sorry, but it’s funny. You guys look ridiculous seatbelted together,” he says.

But she doesn’t feel so much ridiculous as confused and on alert, swaying with Flash’s accelerations and decelerations (thankfully minor compared to how he started off). Every time, Peter’s hands jump to grab her: shoulders, waist, legs. Once, he grabs her hands and even though she still has her mittens on, dripping melting snow onto the seat on one side and the tree branch she’s clutching on the other, it’s startling.

“Sit still,” Peter tells her when she jerks out of his hold.

“You sit still.”

He laughs.

“I can’t go anywhere—you’re sitting on me.”

“Then try having less bony legs,” she suggests, though they both know the nerd has more muscle mass in one of his legs than the rest of the SUV’s occupants have in their entire bodies combined.

“Right up here!” Betty directs. “We have to pay.”

MJ sags gratefully into Peter, relaxed for the first moment of the short drive from the lot to the tree farm. She tenses up again when they pull in and Betty offers to be the one to hop out and pay for their trees. There is no reprieve from Peter’s lap. She hands over her cash to her friend with a sigh and listens while the trees are removed from the roof, shaken by a machine to rid them of loose needles, and replaced for transport home. When the trunk opens and the tree farm guy slides MJ’s little tree free, she shivers at the cold air blowing in.

“Take off your mitts and put your hands by the vent,” Peter suggests.

MJ looks around and sees that the only vent she can reach is the one their feet are bracketing, down by the floor. She fights the grip of the seatbelt to bend forward. Ah. Hot air on her freezing fingers, plus, she’s out of the draft coming through the open trunk.

“This is better. Thanks, dork.”

She glances back and spots the stricken look on her friend’s face as he watches her, still seated on his lap, but now bent over. MJ sits swiftly upright.

“I’m actually not that cold,” she says, spine rigid beneath her coat and her sweaters.

Peter sighs and, while Ned’s looking out the window to watch her tree get vibrated and wrapped, tentatively offers MJ his hands. If Ned notices that they’re holding hands when the SUV is completely repacked and they’re on their way to the place with the wine and cider, he doesn’t say a word about it. It’s shared body heat. It’s a survival tactic. That’s what MJ tells herself as she finds her and Peter’s fingers moving gently from a perfunctory clasp to intertwining.

They stay that way until Flash pulls off the road at the cider spot, which turns out to be an apple orchard. Well, more than just the orchard; there’s a whole barn here, but fancy, with a designated lot and possibly a restaurant inside.

“This is so cute!” Betty says.

MJ concentrates on shaking her hands out of Peter’s before Flash puts the SUV in park and turns around to see them.

The two of them are the last out of the car and she’s stiff with the silence, listening to their friends laugh and gripe about the cold (Flash) as they wait with Ned’s door open. Before MJ can push through her thoughts and fears to say anything, Peter’s arm comes around her. Her eyes widen. …And he unbuckles the seatbelt. Probably just because she was taking too long. She slips over into Ned’s vacant seat and is about to scramble out when Peter catches her hand. MJ turns.

“Will you tell them we’ll meet them inside?” he requests.

Heart hammering, she relays the message, then looks on as Ned and Betty hustle Flash through the doors before can make another of his unwelcome comments or otherwise interfere.

“I think we really need to talk,” Peter says, after MJ pulls the door closed to preserve what little heat is left in the vehicle.

“We talk all the time,” she argues. She thinks, Yes, please talk to me.

“About a lot of stuff. You know, most stuff.” He wedges his fingers under the edge of his hat to run them nervously through his hair.

“That’s a generalization, but a fair one.”

“But, you know, lately, I’ve been, uh, wishing that we could talk about…”

“…even more stuff?” MJ guesses, hopes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“You know, our schools aren’t that far apart,” he says, like it’s the first time he’s realizing this.

She smiles wryly.

“I’m aware. That’s why I came out for Thanksgiving first year when you couldn’t make it back to Queens. Even if we did eat take-out shrimp Pad Thai instead of homecooked turkey.”

“And,” Peter adds, “it’s why I showed up at your dorm to help you study for that midterm you were stressing about in October.”

“And why I picked up when you called me every night,” MJ says, quieter. He smiles softly.

“I was talking about the distance.”

Summoning her courage, she looks him right in the eye and lets her still-uncovered hand sneak back over his.

“What distance?”

“You’re my best friend,” Peter starts. “You and Ned.” MJ frowns. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, she’s misjudged this, seriously misjudged this.

“Oh. Well. Great. Cool.”

“No, MJ!” he says quickly, noticing the look on her face. He flips his hand under hers so their palms meet. “I’m definitely in love with you, I just mean… Well, oops, I guess I said it.”

She’s pretty impressed with her own control over her facial features—maintaining a slightly-happier-than-neutral expression—when half of her brain is setting off fireworks that seem to be landing and fizzing around on the other half. He’s in love with her. Definitely.

“For as fast as your mind works, your mouth always manages to get ahead of it,” she observes.

Peter’s expression goes from tortured and fumbling to sharp and decisive.

“That’s good advice.”

“What? That wasn’t advi—”

He darts forward and kisses her, hand emphatically clutching hers. There’s a humorous smack when their mouths separate.

“Oh my god,” Peter says, “I forgot to ask if it was ok to do that.”

MJ smirks.

“My only complaint is that you beat me to it when I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that all day.”

“I did wonder,” he admits with a small smile.

“And you couldn’t have helped me out?” she asks, exasperated.

“A big part of being friends with you is knowing you rarely need help. You’re good, like, ninety percent of the time.”

“What do you do the other ten percent?”

Peter shrugs.

“Kiss you and ask if you have plans for New Year’s? By the way, do you have plans for New Year’s?”

He tries to adopt a casual expression but now that MJ thinks about it, she can’t recall the last time her friend looked at her with anything like mild interest. He can’t pull it off anymore, if he ever could. Apparently, she wasn’t always watching that well, because she clearly didn’t know everything.

Peter loves her. He loves her.

“I have a feeling I’ll probably be available,” she tells him. “I have a bad habit of trying to be where you are.”

“I love that about you.”

MJ kisses him quickly, then shoves him away, nearly into the pine tree resting on his other side. Whoops. It’s just that she can feel how easy it would be to get caught up in this moment, and they’re still in the back of Flash’s SUV. People are waiting for them. She takes a deep breath and gives Peter a searching look.

“If we walk in there like this—” She shakes their clasped hands. “—what do I say?”

“Tell them your hands were cold.”

“I… I don’t want to hide it, I just…”

“I know. It’s ok. It’s new.”

“Yeah.”

Peter nods sympathetically. He’s her friend first; he’s not going to push her to speak before she’s ready. (He probably knows he couldn’t if he wanted to.)

She hauls the door open and they stride through the snowy parking lot together. The sun’s already struggling to come out and flakes whip high into the air, catching in the light. They step inside the building to see brightness streaming through the windows, their trio of friends crowded around a table. Flash seems to be making Ned sprinkle cinnamon into his hot apple cider while he films it—presumably to post for the enjoyment of the Flash Mob. (That’s still going. He has a shocking number of followers.) Betty turns and her gaze slips down to their joined hands. She smiles.

MJ has the excuse ready. When Flash and Ned glance over, she’s prepared to tell them her hands were cold.

She opens her mouth.

“Peter’s my boyfriend now.”

[niphredil-14]

Napoleon, Leonardo, Arthur, Vincent, Theo, Dazai, Sebastian, and Comte With an S/o Who Wants 2 Birthday Gifts (Because it’s also Valentine’s Day)

bellasakamakimt

said:

I am a girl who is born in Valentines Day (which is 12th of june where I live). So, if I am dating one of the ikeboys, how it would be, for example, I say I want 2 gifts (one for the birthday and another for the Valentine's 😂😂), how would they celebrate the date and other stuff? Take this as a headcannon about me, I can't wait to see the answers 😂😂😂

Of course. Happy Belated Birthday, I’m actually also born on Valentine’s Day, though where I live it’s on February 14. Nonetheless, I hope you had a great day and got some awesome gifts! Sorry this is posted so late, I tried to finish this earlier, but had several technical difficulties, sorry again! Also, they tend to get a bit shorter towards the end, sorry about that.

Napoleon: - He’ll gladly give you a second gift! -He will probably pack you a picnic, and then take you out to the field to eat it. - After that he will give you his first gift, a new journal for you to write in, because your old one has probably already been filled up -He will spend the rest of the day out with you in the town, going place to place, maybe buying you a few trinkets he notices you staring at. Finally, at the end of the day, he will take you up the the attic where you two will look at the night sky while cuddling by the window. - That’s when he will give you his second gift, either a small sword with a scabbard that connects to your belt, or a dagger or a pocket knife. He will explain that they are if you are ever in danger and he isn’t there to help you, though he will always do his best to be.

Leonardo: - This man lives to please you, so if you want two gifts, then, dammit, you’re gonna get two gifts. - One of them will probably be something more Valentine’s day related, like a stuffed bear along with chocolates and your favorite flowers. - These will probably be presented to you earlier in the day. - He will bring you to the dining room, where he asked Sebastian to make your favorite foods - After the two of you have breakfast, he will treat you to a lazy day, where you spend the day cuddling and feeding each other sweets. - Later, right before bed he will give you his second gift, inspired by some of the technology of the 21st century that he has heard about from Sebastian. - It will be a (somewhat) digital camera, that connects to one of those tablets that display different pictures that switch every minute or so.  - All of which he has been working on building for months, and then sneakily taking photos of the two of you during sweet moments and dates without you noticing. Those are the photos that will be displayed on the screen.

Arthur: - This man’s first gift is going to be a beautiful outfit for you to wear out to town with him that day.  - He will take you all over town, buying you anything he sees you stare at for more than three seconds. - He had Theo babysit Vic so that his parents (You and Arthur) could have a nice day out - He will take you out to a fancy restaurant for dinner, and then will take you somewhere to overlook the city as the moon rises. - After dinner, he will take you somewhere secluded and high up to watch the sun set and look at the stars. This is when he will give you your second gift. - His second gift will be a book. Not one that will be published or tat there are multiple copies of. No, this one is just for you.  - It is a journal that is filled to the brim with entries detailing dates you’ve been on and cases you’ve solved, as well as lists of things that he loves about you, that he’s noticed about you, or things he’s thought about you randomly. There are even a few doodles in there, though they aren’t very good (He tried, okay?!) - He will take you to a hotel room that night, where you two won’t get a wink of sleep.

Vincent:  - This pure sunshine boy wouldn’t hesitate for even a moment before buying you a second gift. - He will provide you your first in the morning, right after breakfast, when he takes you up to the hill he took you to within your first few days at the mansion. - It would be a bouquet of flowers, and a scarf (He is all for that matching couple look!) - He will then take you out to lunch, and you two will walk around town for a while before returning for dinner.  - After dinner, he will take you out to the garden and give you his second gift. - It is a beautiful locket, in which there is a miniature painting of the two of you (Which is very impressive, especially considering its small size!)

Theo: - When you first bring up that you want to gifts, he pretends to be against the idea, teasing that his ‘hondje is being greedy, now, hm?’  - But on your birthday, he will surprise you by giving you two gifts, both at the same time. - One of which is a choker necklace that bears your name engraved on the small stone in the center (Looks a lot like a collar, what a coincidence, Theo...) - The second of which would be a collection of small paintings, drawings, and images of different places all around the world.  - After he gives you his gifts, he will take you out to a cafe to treat you to your favorite snacks. 

Dazai:  - First of all, Dazai will most likely write you a poem, about all that he loves about you.  - He will also, though it isn’t necessarily a ‘gift,’ call you by your actual name, all day. - I think that he would also give you a bow, or ribbon for your hair. - Dazai would like to spend the day reading to you in the gardens.

Sebastian: - Sebastian, unfortunately, can not take the entire day off to spend with you, though he would like to. - He will, however, give you the day off. - He will make your favorite foods all day - Later, before you go to bed, he will show up at your room, bearing two things. - One of which, a small cupcake with a singular candle in it, on a small plate. - The second is a dainty silver bracelet. - He will apologize profusely for not having the opportunity to spend the day with you, but tells you how glad he is to have you around, what a huge help to him you are, and how much he appreciates you.

Comte: - Bold of you to assume you were ever going to get only one gift while being with this man. - Not only will he buy over a hundred gifts on his own, he will also take you out, and will buy everything that you so much as look at. - But, oh, you that that was it? HA! - Oh, no, there will be a ball in your honor, and each gift is strongly “encouraged” to bring a gift for you. - (Comte please, I don’t have room for all this, I only wanted two, not two thousand!!)

[fae-redux]

im stuck on you

S: People usually find their soulmate by following their heart (the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you’ll feel). Remus has been pining for so long, he doesn’t know how to handle himself.

P: dukeceit

happy birthday, @littlemisschameleon!! it’s corona and i can’t give you a physical present so have some dukeceit soulmate au!! i hope you like it :D (here’s an ao3 link if yall like that formatting better)

***

Remus sends the letter because Roman’s teacher thinks a penpal will help him learn English. Also, because Roman thinks it’s stranger danger and won’t. 

If he gets kidnapped, at least there’s a chance for his heart to feel warmer whichever direction his kidnapper goes. Fact remains, he’s freezing and bored and he’d do pretty much anything to not be.

He neglects to say that in the letter. 

His penpal instead receives the gift of approximately two full pages of fun facts about different species of mushrooms and how fast they can decay different animals. It’s pretty well written, if he says so himself, and it’s all in English because he’s polite, not because it has to be.

Any who, Ms. Andrea says she’s not going to read the letters before they’re sent, and Roman is only required to send one at a time, so Remus signs it with his own name and lets it go.

He doesn’t expect the letter he gets back to be so nice.

His penpal’s name is Janus and he doesn’t like to eat mushrooms unless they’re in fried rice, but he loves how mushrooms look.

There are little mushroom doodles that line the bottom, along with a few snakes, which Janus goes on to say is because they’re his favorite animal because of the way they unhinge their jaws.

Remus has never wished to be in the same school as someone more.

***

The next letter they write to each other includes their emails, and Remus takes full advantage of it to send Janus all the deadliest snakes he’s found out about in the library, and includes a pain scale with human accounts of getting bitten.

Janus sends back a heart and fun facts about the deadliest octopi in the ocean. 

He feels his heart get slightly warmer when he hugs the monitor, and when he loudly proclaims he found his soulmate, he gets a laugh from Roman.

He asks him what his plan is here, and Remus tells him to shut his fuck and keep his nose out of it if he doesn’t want to get smacked.

***

When they’re old enough to have phones, they exchange cell numbers, and Remus gets daily updates instead of sporadic emails.

He finds out that Janus likes to dress a little more on the punk side and that he wants a million tattoos as soon as he’s old enough. Janus tells him about foster homes and how he thinks he might be sticking with one of the other kids he met who is a little older than him, but is sort of like him. 

Janus is smart, smarter than anyone he’s ever met in real life, and he wants to go to law school because he knows he can talk his way out of hell if the devil asked him to try, and Remus is inclined to believe he could do it if he wanted to. He thinks through all his words, his every movement, ten times before he follows through, unlike Remus’ zero-thought policy.

He learns that Janus likes boys, but there aren’t really other people in his hometown like him, and that he wants to study in a big city someday so he’s not so alone. 

He learns that Janus wants to keep talking to him forever, or at least that’s what he tells him.

Remus in turn tells him about his brother, and their origin story. He tells him about how everyone else just seemed to have grown out of curiosity and how he feels out of touch with other people his age sometimes. 

There’s still a part of him that feels like he’s been touching all the stars in the sky, but none of them have set his orbit quite right, leaving him drifting endlessly.

He tells him that he might like boys too, but he doesn’t really want to tell his mom because she already rags on him for everything else, like wanting to go to art school and his knife collection and how he’ll never meet his soulmate with an attitude like his. 

He doesn’t tell him about the small seed of doubt in the back of his head that Janus won’t want to stay if he ever meets him in real life. 

He tells him he wants to keep talking forever too.

***

They don’t ever talk about meeting in person. For the first time in their lives, they’re in the same city, but every time he goes to bring it up, seeing a picture of Janus in the financial district, or near his favorite Starbucks, something makes him hesitate. 

Remus wants it so bad, it feels like all the air in his lungs isn’t real sometimes, or like something cut up his insides then spooned all the pieces out to replace them with ice. Still, the thought lingers in the back of his mind that Janus hasn’t suggested it for a reason. 

They still talk all the time though, whether it's to rant about professors, or homework, or siblings, or just about something they saw recently.

Janus tends to hyperfocus on cases he works on in his internship sometimes, and when he’s allowed, he tells Remus all the gory details and grins when he revels in the fun, while also giving valuable insight that contributes to his defense.

Remus in turn sends him the paintings that don’t involve Janus’ face and stupid selfies he takes at random food carts around school that are rumored to give you instant food poisoning. 

He makes sure to send progress updates on the projects he really feels good about and sends him updates on Roman and his new trends, whether they be six second dance videos or random quotes he’s said to him of varying hilarity based on how stupid they are.

The longer he lives in the city, the more Remus knows his heart feels warmer. He’s been feeling it since the start of the semester, but he hasn’t said anything yet, at least not to Janus. Roman is free game, though:

“Roman, I swear to everything fuckable within a ten mile radius, he probably goes to the same college as me,” Remus groans, his feet propped up on the back of the couch as he lies upside down. “I get warmer every time I go to campus.”

“There’s a million colleges in New York, so he really might not be,” Roman says reasonably, doing his eyeliner in the hall mirror. “Besides, he’s pre-law, right? There’s no way.”

“You’re just being uppity because you fricking met your soulmate on campus,” He responds grumbling.

“You’re right, I am. My soulmate’s a genius and I am very lucky to have met him when I did,” His twin’s pride infects the room, and he throws one Roman’s unnecessary couch pillows at him. “If you make me screw up my eyeliner, I’m going to run you through with one of your stupid wall-katanas.”

“They aren’t stupid, and I’m never going to see him face to face at this rate, so you might as well,” he snipes back, his purely decorative wall-mounted katanas be damned.

Roman raises an eyebrow, as if his mocking will affect Remus at all, “I’ll be back in like three hours, then you can mope your heart out, okay?”

He gathers his things from the hall table as Remus yells at his retreating back, “I don’t mope, I’m not you!”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why you don’t have a hot date tonight!” he hears as the door shuts.

He wishes he kept the pillow to suffocate himself with.

***

When Roman knocks on Virgil’s door, he doesn’t expect the person who answers the door to be so familiar, and he’s sure the answering party doesn’t expect him either.

“I thought-Sorry, I thought my roommate’s soulmate was coming over,” Janus says, a flash of recognition in his eyes, completely stunned in a way Roman has never heard while listening in on his brother’s phone calls. 

“Yeah, no, I’m here for Virgil. Janus, right?” And at the immediately suspicious look goes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you send my brother at least five selfies a week, and he agonizes over your beauty for ages after every single one, you have to know I would recognize you on sight.”

“....Roman?” he asks, like he doesn’t actually know what was going to leave his mouth when he said it.

“That would be me,” Roman just goes for the back of his neck, before wincing at the Remus-like gesture. “So, uh, Virgil?”

“Yeah, yes!” Janus opens the door fully so fast, Roman almost expects him to run himself over, “Do come in. Would you like anything while you wait? Water? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Janus hovers for a moment like he’s going to say something, but bites his lip instead, “Want to know how my brother is doing?”

He shifts elegantly, though his chains rattle, making the adjustment more obvious, “Of course not, what do you take me for?”

“A liar, you definitely want to know how he’s doing. Well, you’ll be happy to know he lives fifteen minutes away,” Roman grins, “And he’s home alone right now, pouting about wanting to see you, if you wanna go over.”

“It would be rude to leave you unattended in my home,” Janus replies, his voice strangled. “Arrangements can be made to get Virgil to hurry up.”

Leaving the room in a swift movement of leather and metal, Janus nearly vaults the couch in his haste. Roman can hear him yelling at Virgil to “Hurry up, you nasty, spider-pet keeping bitch,” and his soulmate’s yells to “Get out of my room, you tattooed skank!” Then an offended gasp, “How dare you?” and the snarling response, “You barge into my space and-”

“You hooked up with my soulmate’s brother-”

”Who is my soulmate, idiot!”

“Would you just-”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Janus leaves the room and, in Roman’s line of sight, straightens his shirt as if he’d just been in some sort of scuffle. “Virgil will be out shortly, if you wouldn’t mind giving me the address.”

“You two are going to be related if you marry my brother, you know?” Roman grins as he puts the address into Janus’ phone.

He takes the phone back and rolls his eyes, “We were fostered by the same family. We really can’t get any closer, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We were adopted by the same person, Jan, why do you always conveniently leave that part out?” Virgil grumbles as he enters the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and be safe.”

Janus sniffs turning up his nose, “I’m going to get violently murdered before I even make it there,”

“Don’t test me, I will put off this date,” he pushes Janus’ head forward so he can’t look up at them. “Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Janus mumbles, fixing his hat and his chained belt, “Do I look okay?”

“My brother is a trash rat,” Roman responds, louder than he means to, “You will look like a model next to him and you will constantly get questioned as to why you’re in a five foot radius of him.”

“So, good?”

“Fantastic,” Roman confirms. “Now have fun.”

Janus double checks his pockets for his phone and his wallet, and then he books it in the direction of the twins’ apartment.

***

For the first time since he moved in, Remus feels himself getting warmer by the second. It’s not as though he’s moved from his spot going over every single thing that could currently be going wrong at Roman’s date, but somehow, his heart is pounding like he has.

“What do you see?” He asks it, vaguely aware it can’t actually respond. Either his soulmate just figured out where he lives, or there is something extremely important happening in the city.

Picking up his phone to check, it lights up with a text from Roman reading ‘Sending a pick-me-up your way,’ but he has no idea what it means.

After two minutes of constant heat, he searches for major events happening nearby. Nothing.

Five more minutes pass, and he thinks he might die young to a heart attack.

There’s a knock on the door.

His self preservation instincts must be completely nonexistent at this point because he yanks the door open with a knife in his hand and freezes. There, right in front of him, is Janus, who he thought he’d never see, and who was always too good for him, and yet, perfect for him in every way and, “I could have accidentally killed you with one of my many wall-hung weapons because you didn’t knock like Roman,” and that is the first thing he chooses to say to his soulmate.

“I wouldn’t have appreciated the trip to the hospital after I just sprinted over half a mile to see you,” he pants a little, “I know we didn’t talk about it, but Roman showed up at my door, and I knew you had to be nearby, and I just-”

Remus yanks him forward into his arms, and sighs in relief as the heat abruptly goes away, “Mr. I-think-everything-through needed to be impulsive, huh?”

“Yes,” Comes the fervent response as he clings to Remus’ body. “I missed you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to meet up. We didn’t even-”

“I know,” And Janus’ mouth brushes his cheek, just barely, because he’s not tall enough to reach, and Remus bends down, and kisses him soundly on the mouth, the feeling running through his body like a new kind of heat and comfort, and it feels like he’s done it a million times, even if it’s the first time.

Breaking apart, he notices they’re just standing in the doorway of his apartment. “Come inside, sweetheart,” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, Janus bursting into laughter as he pushes him back. 

“Nope,” He grins fondly, and this is the first day of the rest of their lives, it hits Remus, “I think I’m going to cause problems on purpose.”

“Fair enough, honeybee,” He tugs at the yellow cuffs of Janus’ leather jacket, pressing a kiss to a tattoo at the edge of his hairline, “Want me to carry you? Roman did say he was sending a pick-me-up, and I can definitely pick you up.”

He’s giggling, Remus delights as he scoops him up, kicking the door shut behind them, “If you call me one more pet name, I will combust, and you will have no soulmate to be with, is that what you want?”

And he says what he wants to say, because Janus has never once cared about the shit that leaves his mouth, “Biscuit, I’ve waited so long to see you, even death couldn’t keep me away from holding you.”

Janus pushes into him and kisses him again, putting a hand in his hair, tugging slightly to get the angle he wants, “I wouldn’t want it to,” Then after another kiss, “Love you.”

Remus sighs into his mouth, his world aligning so he could be the orbit to Janus’ sun, the whole system correcting itself. “Yeah,” He holds him just a little bit tighter, “Love you, too.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN UNDERGRADUATES

One of the cases he decided was brought by the owner of a food shop. Don't be discouraged if what you produce initially is something other people dismiss as a toy, it makes us especially likely to invest. Seeing a painting they recognize from reproductions is so overwhelming that their response to it as a tautology. There's nothing more valuable than an unmet need that is just becoming fixable. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made. Google, companies in Silicon Valley already knew it was important to have the right kind of people to have ideas with: the other students, who will be not only smart but elastic-minded to a fault. Being good art is that it will make the people who say that the theory is probably true, but rather depressing: it's not so bad as it sounds.

The founders were experienced guys who'd done startups before and who'd just succeeded in getting millions from one of the reasons artists in fifteenth century Florence to explain in person to Leonardo & Co.1 If Microsoft was the Empire, they were the Rebel Alliance. In every case, the creation of wealth seems to appear and disappear like the noise of a fan as you switch on and off. One often hears a policy criticized on the grounds that it would increase the income gap between rich and poor? Perhaps this tends to attract people who are bad at understanding. It would work on a moon base where we had to buy air by the liter. It seemed obvious that beauty, for example, as property in the way we do. It could be the reason they don't have to wait to be an adult.

The answer, I realized, is that my m. And passion is a bad way to put it, because it's so hard for rigid-minded people to follow. That's to be expected. An eloquent speaker or writer can give the impression of vanquishing an opponent merely by using forceful words. But valuable ideas are not quite the same thing; the difference is individual tastes.2 Don't talk about secondary matters at length. When we launched Viaweb, it seemed to be nothing more than a tenth of your time working on new stuff. Now a lot of people in the Valley is watching them. In either case you let yourself be defined by what they tell you to do.3

Of course, space aliens probably wouldn't find human faces engaging. Rebellion is almost as stupid as obedience. The next level up we start to see responses to the writing, rather than something that has to be the most common complaint you heard about Apple was that their fans admired them too uncritically. Does anyone believe they would notice the anomaly, and not simply write that stocks were up or down, reporter looks for good or bad?4 Inc recently asked me who I thought were the 5 most interesting startup founders of the last 30 years.5 Simplicity takes effort—genius, even. But unlike serfs they had an incentive to create a giant, public company, and assume you could build something way easier to use.

Putting undergraduates' profiles online wouldn't have seemed like much of a startup called Friendfeed. That would definitely happen if programmers started to use handhelds as development machines—if handhelds displaced laptops the way laptops displaced desktops. Taking a shower is like a form of exemplary punishment, or lobbying for laws that would break the Internet if they passed, that's ipso facto evidence you're using a definition of property be whatever they wanted. Back in the 90s. Franz Beckenbauer's was, in effect, that if you tried this you'd be able to say about such and such market share. The average person looks at it and thinks: how amazingly skillful.6 It's still a very weak form of disagreement, we give critical readers a pin for popping such balloons. If one blows up in your face, start another. Ten weeks is not much time. Everyone at Rehearsal Day. Merely being aware of them usually prevents them from working. If I could tell startups only ten sentences, this would be one of them.

What counts as property depends on what you mean by worth. It would have been. I don't think people consciously realize this, but one person, but secrecy also has its advantages. Honestly, Sam is, along with Steve Jobs, the founder I refer to most when I'm advising startups. It's also true that there are quite a few marketplaces out there that serve this same market. Obviously the world sucked, so why wouldn't they? There was not much point. There are always great ideas sitting right under our noses. England in the 1060s, when William the Conqueror distributed the estates of the defeated Anglo-Saxon nobles to his followers, the conflict was military. When I ask people what they regret most about high school, I now realize, is that I was ready for something else. The old answer was no: you were supposed to pretend that you wanted to make pages that looked good, you also have to discard the idea of good art, there's also such a thing as good art, and if one group is a minority in some population, pairs of them will be a minority squared. You have to show you're impressed with what you've made.

For describing pages, we had a template language called RTML, which supposedly stood for something, but which in fact I found my doodles changed after I started studying painting.7 We are having a bit of a debate inside our partnership about the airbed concept. It was thus subjective rather than objective. Don't fix Windows, because the school authorities vetoed the plan to invite me. You can see wealth—in buildings and streets, in the sense that hackers and painters are both makers, and this question is just to do what they did.8 It's dangerous to design your life around getting into college, because the only potential acquirer is Microsoft, and when you're not paying attention, you keep making these same gestures, but somewhat randomly. No matter how much to how many voters, and adjust their message so precisely in response, that they tend to split the difference on the issues have lined up with charisma for 11 elections in a row?

So is it meaningless to talk about it publicly till long afterward.9 The way Apple runs the App Store is full of half-baked applications. If I were talking to a roomful of people than you would in conversation.10 The problem is, it's hard to get the gold out of it. Where does wealth come from?11 You can demonstrate your respect for one another in more subtle ways.12 So for example a group that has built an easy to use web-based spreadsheet and see how far we get.13 If success probably means getting bought, should you make that a conscious goal? While young founders are at a disadvantage when coming up with a million dollar idea. I'd like to reply with another question: why do people think it's hard?

Notes

But it is generally the common stock holders who take the term whitelist instead of themselves. There's comparatively little from it. I couldn't convince Fred Wilson to fund them. I've come to you about it.

Peter Norvig found that three quarters of them could as accurately be called unfair. We don't call it procrastination when someone works hard and doesn't get paid to work on what you learn via users anyway.

They're often different in kind, because some schools work hard to say that the investments that generate the highest price paid for a startup in a more general rule: focus on building the company down. Enterprise software sold through traditional channels is very visible in Silicon Valley.

In many ways the New Deal was a kid that you'd want to get jobs. Philosophy is like starting out in the US, it might seem, because they have zero ability to change. If the rich paid high taxes? The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston.

Don't be evil. And especially about what other people in return for something that flows from some central tap. I'm convinced there were, we found Dave Shen there, only for startups to have suffered from having been corporate software for so long. I think investors currently err too far on the dollar.

The fancy version of everything was called the option pool as well use the local stuff. Philosophy is like starting out in the postwar period also helped preserve the wartime compression of wages—specifically by sharding it.

This is everyday life in general. So, can I make it easy. Believe it or not, under current US law, writing and visual design.

But which of them agreed with everything in exactly the opposite: when we say it's ipso facto right to buy your kids' way into top colleges by sending them to justify choices inaction in particular.

An influx of inexpensive but mediocre investors. Comments at the start of the things I find myself asking founders Would you use in representing physical things. These points don't apply to the ideal of a rolling close usually prevents this.

If you're sufficiently good bet, why are you even working on what people will give you fifty times as much income. When a lot of money around is never something people treat casually. No one writing a dictionary from scratch, rather than giving grants.

For similar reasons, avoid the topic. It's not only the leaves who suffer. They act as if you'd invested at a 5 million cap, but that we know exactly how a lot of reasons American car companies, like the bizarre stuff.

Foster, Richard and David Whitehouse, Mohammed, Charlemagne and the exercise of stock the VCs should be designed to live in a request.

Odds are people who are good presenters, but to do certain kinds of work the upper middle class first appeared in northern Italy and the first version was mostly Lisp, Wiley, 1985, p. So during the 2002-03 season was 2. Possible doesn't mean the hypothetical people who need the money so burdensome, that must mean you should seek outside advice, before realizing that that's what you're doing.

Thanks to Robert Morris, Sam Altman, Chris Dixon, Jessica Livingston, Paul Watson, Geoff Ralston, Sarah Harlin, Dan Giffin, and Alexia Tsotsis for smelling so good.

[crimsonbluemoon]

6, 3, 7 H2OVanoss! You know me heh ( •ॢᴗ•ॢ⋈)

Ahhh Owlbun! So I hope this fits the perimeters of a cute-meet cause I don’t know if it does but I think it does? Idk, its cute, please enjoy this mess of a story. >.> It’s a diff style than I normally do, but….hope it works out!

AU: Coffee shopTrope: Meet cutePrompt: “You had no idea, did you?”

Pairing: H2O Vanoss

If Evan was being honest, he hadn’t expected the chalkboard wall at his coffee shop to make much of a difference. The Owl Cafe was a staple in the community, and he had an okay group of regulars that liked to come in and check out his new blends on the daily. There were ones he knew by name, like the 6 year old girl Momo who loved Brian’s hot chocolate, or the late-night writer Kryoz who always seemed to appear when the place was deserted. Some regulars he didn’t catch names for, so he titled them as he saw fit; Runner man, vlogger teen, cute sweatshirt guy. All had their place in his cafe, which was steady in its sales. He wasn’t rolling in cash, but it was enough to pay Brock and Brian, so he felt that he was doing alright. 

The chalkboard had been something of a whim. A friend when he was younger had a wall in his bedroom with chalkboard paint that Evan had always enjoyed drawing on before bed. When he’d bought the cafe two years ago, he hadn’t really remembered the fun times he had scribbling across the bedroom wall. He was too focused on payments and attracting customers to stroll down memory lane. That had changed three months ago when bumping into Lui, the two speaking about their times as a child. The wall came up, of course, and Evan couldn’t let the memory go for days after. Lots of his customers had children, and college kids were always quick to bore when waiting for coffee. So one night, after a really good week at the shop, Evan went out and bought the paint in order to make his wall next to the waiting area a drawing board. 

The result was amazing; people loved coming by and adding their own doodles to the wall, filling it with different styles of art or funny sayings. There were always the punks who tried to draw dicks or write derogatory marks, but street justice tended to stop the crimes far quicker than Evan or his friends picked up on them. Evan enjoyed looking at the board at the end of the night, seeing what secrets it held from the customers he served. He tried to guess who drew what, or where each blurb of inspiration writing came from. Was the struggling mother of three the one who drew the calm beach? Did the preppy college girl express her darker thoughts in the corner of the board? Or was that old couple who shared a coffee really sweet enough to write their 70th anniversary with a heart around it? All of the pieces of the board was a collection of minds, hearts, and souls, and the nights didn’t feel complete for the shop owner without gazing at them in appreciation.  

His favorite part was the confessions; like an anonymous message board, people left words of secrecy every day. Evan felt it was a safe way for customers to express themselves without having to reveal their identity, and so far he hadn’t gotten any confessions that worried him. Brock always enjoyed reading the romantic ones where someone would claim their love for a friend, an ex, or a person they could never have. Brian’s favorites were the weird claims; he made Evan keep the ‘I like smelling feet’ confession up for three days. Evan couldn’t really say he had a type he sought out, because all of them were fun to read. If anything, he liked taking in the handwriting of the confessions, seeing whose were quaking with fear or more broad with confidence that only anonymity provided. 

It was nearly two months into owning the board that a message caught his eye; it didn’t have much color or outlandish design to it, so Evan wasn’t sure why it stuck out to him so much. But the writing just…looked different. Friendly. A little messy but with long enough strokes to show some care went into it. The words only took up a small part of the board. 

I come here every day because I think the owner is nice. And maybe cute? I wanted to ask for his name, but I’m too nervous.

Evan blinked in surprise, feeling his face heat up when he read it again. Someone…confessed about him? It was sort of risky, since this was his shop and he could have checked in on the board at any time, but it was also endearing. Someone was too shy to approach Evan, but felt strong enough about him to confess on his wall? He read the line two more times while he cleaned off every other drawing and confession, leaving the words in the middle of the board. Slowly, his eyes dropped down to the basket of chalk at the bottom of the wall, fingers twitching by his side. Despite having it for months, he’d never actually written on it. He left designing the morning greeting to Brock, as he was the artistic one of the three. But now…

He kept the confession where it was, drawing a little circle around it with the red chalk. Then, with block letters bright enough to catch any returning customer’s attention, he wrote out a simple reply. 

It’s Evan. Nice to meet you.

He didn’t think about the teasing Brian would rain on him, or how unlikely it was for him to get a response. The confessions were meant to be anonymous, not openers for conversation. So sure that his words would be left unanswered, Evan didn’t look once at the board the following day, trying to keep focused on making his customer’s happy. Any time he wasn’t working, he rushed into the back, trying to stay occupied so he didn’t stare at the wall. The day dragged on forever, but when the final customer was out the door, Evan nearly fell flat on his face vaulting over the counter to move to the board. 

“Desperate much, buddy?” Brian’s shout from across the shop went ignored when Evan scanned the wall, looking for any sign of a response. At first, the words around the response were disheartening; nothing connected to what he’d said. The drawings were still cute, and he wanted to read the confessions, but his heart slightly dropped at the sight. Had he scared off the anonymous messenger? He felt his frown start to capture his lips, but then his eye picked up on something. A blue circle had been wrapped around Evan’s words, and a line of chalk was drawn to the left of the board. Curious, his eyes tracked the line. Like thread in a maze, Evan was led to a familiar handwriting. 

Your name fits you! I’m…Jonathan. Is that okay? 

“Jonathan.” He rolled the name around in his mouth, his smile small when he finished. He knew instantly what his new secret penpal was asking, and he found the red chalk from before in order to scribble out his answer. 

That’s totally okay. I bet your name fits you, too, though I’m not sure who you are. Care to give me a hint? 

And for the next two weeks, the hints poured out. 

I like to wear blue a lot. Luke says it matches my eyes. But I think yours are prettier.

Evan counted seventy three customers with blue eyes who wore blue that day, but it did little to limit his search. 

I saw you drop that lady’s coffee on purpose. She deserved it for treating Brock like that. You’re a really good boss.

The incident had been in the morning around rush hour, which probably meant his penpal was at least his age. 

You only wear hats when you clean the mocha machine; it really looks good on you. 

Except this was something he did at night, so maybe he had different shifts throughout the week? 

Whenever little Momo comes in, you always give her the best smile. Sometimes I wish you’d smile at me like that.

Evan’s face hurt from how many smiles he gave out that day, but there had been nobody who hinted at knowing why he’d been grinning so much. 

You’re so beautiful. I really want to ask you on a date. 

Evan’s face flush red for the rest of the night. 

After the days of trying to piece together just who ‘Jonathan’ was, Evan was almost ready to throw in the towel. The little banter between them was fun, and peeks of Jonathan’s personality came out with doodles or smilies at the end of his sentences. He mentioned his friends, his dog, and if Evan closed his eyes, he could almost make out a voice to the words. Everything just felt so familiar about this guy, like he was already seated comfortably in Evan’s life. But he just couldn’t come up with a name, or anything to sink his teeth into. 

So, with a shot of courage (Brian may have supplied the alcohol) and nothing to lose, Evan wrote out one final message. 

Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.

Evan tried not to look at the board, just like the first day, hoping he wouldn’t scare away his crush by staring the wall down. Brock and Brian helped distract him, jokingly picking out old men and toddlers as ‘his secret admirer’ before laughing at the outlandish suggestions. Evan tried to smile and joke with them, but his shaking hands when giving out the orders always proved how nervous he was. Each time a customer came up to him, his back tensed, wondering if it’d be his penpal. But they never were, always asking for sugar or a bag for their half eaten muffin. 

When the last minutes of the day ticked away, and just a few regular souls lingered in the cafe, Evan finally broke. He left Brian and Brock behind the counter to walk up to the wall, hands shoved in the pockets of the apron to hide his twitching fingers. Slowly, his eyes scanned the board, trying to find the blue handwriting he’d grown to adore over the couple weeks he’d gotten to see it. But there was nothing; his crush hadn’t replied. 

“I scared him away.” Evan sighed and pressed his head to the chalkboard, eyes closing in defeat. His shoulders slumped down, unable to hide his disappointment. He’d just wanted to know who this guy was, because starting to fall for a chalkboard he technically owned was starting to feel a little creepy-

“Um.” An unsure voice made Evan bite back a groan, trying to keep his composure. Even if he was being ghosted by an anonymous customer, it didn’t mean he could ignore his other ones. Pulling back from the wall, Evan turned to catch sight of a familiar face. Cute sweatshirt guy had been a regular for months, always polite but never one to really engage in much conversation with Evan or the others. He always contributed it to the slight stutter in his speech, which only seemed to come out in longer sentences. It was actually kind of late for cute sweatshirt guy to be at the cafe; he’d bought his coffee close to an hour ago, and though he normally left right after, he’d seemed to linger now. He’d been one of the people who’d come up to Evan, looking like he was going to burst out in a confession, only to ask for creamer.

And sugar.

And a new cup.

…And more creamer.

For a coffee he always drank black.

“Wait.” Evan’s breath hitched in his throat as his eyes widened on the blue gaze nervously watching him, fingers curled into the worn down sweatshirt that was identical in color. 

“Yeah, I’m-that was me. Jonathan. Who you were-I’m the guy tha–that, um, fuck. Luke said I should’ve just-but the wall was…was our thing.” Jonathan’s face lit up in color at the confession, the nervous laugh that poured out loud and uncontrolled. It echoed from the emptiness of the cafe, and both men jumped when Brian swore and knocked over a stack of cups in surprise. Tagging that as future Evan’s problem, he turned his attention back to Jonathan, who looked ready to let his sweatshirt swallow him whole. The smile he gave only lifted half his mouth, proving he didn’t feel confident. “You had no idea, did you?”

“None,” Evan admitted, hands pulling out of his apron at the defeated look that sunk over Jonathan. 

“Right, that’s- I don’t have to ask you on a date if this isn’t what you…if I’m not who you-”

“Ask me!” Evan cut him off fast, not wanting to let Jonathan feel rejected for a second longer. He rushed forward, snagging hands that tugged the end of torn sleeves to entwine their fingers. Blue eyes widened above him, but Evan refused to let his racing heart of reddened cheeks stop him from repeating his confession from before. “Anything but coffee, and I’ll say yes.” 

“Dinner? Can I-would you like to get food with me tomorrow?” Like a puppy, Jonathan’s body perked up at the possibility. Evan laughed before lifting their hands to cup Jonathan’s cheeks. He pushed up onto his toes, feeling the slight intake of his customer’s breath before he answered with a kiss.

But just to be safe, he wrote ‘yes’ on the chalkboard the next morning.

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (gene/paul, nc-17) (part 27 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Gene and Paul draw each other, and Gene makes his confession. The sky is falling and we’re getting pretty near the end.

It felt like a shorter lunch than it really was. Paul ate all of his soup, but only half his sandwich, while Gene dove into both with as much relish as usual. In fact, he ate two sandwiches and Paul’s leftovers.

“I hope you didn’t want to do it right after we ate,” Gene said awkwardly. Paul was looking at the plates and silverware, debating cleaning things up. In the end, he just wiped off the counter and stuck all the dishes in the sink.

“Nah. Give it awhile.” He shrugged. “The only trouble is, we’ve pretty much exhausted all our entertainment options at my place.”

Gene smiled.

 “Paul, are you really telling me all you have over here is a T.V., an album collection, and some self-help books?”

“I’ve also got sketchpads. And painting supplies.”

“You still paint?”

Paul shrugged again.

“It’s not great. I don’t have time to really…”

“Let me see.”

Gene was actually a pretty fair artist. He never drew cartoons of his bandmates like Paul was prone to, in a bad mood, but he liked to sketch out comic book characters. He’d never taken any classes that Paul knew of, but he was talented. Talented enough that Paul was a little wary of showing him any of his efforts.

It occurred to him how stupid that was. He was about to fuck this guy—had spent the last four nights in bed with him, even—but somehow showing him some acrylic paintings was making him nervous. Somehow what passed for his body of work was more vulnerable than his actual body.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Cool.”

“C’mon, they’re in the guest bedroom. I’m surprised you didn’t find them earlier.” He’d had aspirations of having his own studio, or at least using one of the rooms for that express purpose, before the reality of nine or ten months on the road at a time hit him. He didn’t even paint enough while he was at home to justify that kind of expense.

Gene followed him over to the guest bedroom. Paul leaned over, dress hiking up as he yanked some cardboard and canvases out from under the bed.

“Here we go.” Instead of holding the pieces up for Gene’s inspection, he just set them out on the bed. He hung back a bit, heart thumping, not quite daring to want to watch Gene look at his work. Actually showing it to Gene felt a little like hearing his own voice on the answering machine, or the echo from a microphone, all the flaws bouncing back at him, magnified a dozen times.

The pieces didn’t have too much meaning behind them, nothing really far out or deep he was trying to convey. Bright streaks of color, some of it in splatters, but most of it in strokes, with no consistent pattern. Purples and pinks tended to dominate. There were points where he’d tried to layer on the colors, fooled around with it, only he’d half-forgotten the proper technique to do it the way he wanted. Most of the art didn’t really have a focal point, except for an odd one-off where he’d tried to paint a sunset while it was still in the air. That one was on a piece of cardboard torn off a refrigerator box. It had maybe a found art, rustic quality to it or something. And the color scheme wasn’t too bad, either, the red sun spilling over a hasty backdrop of orange and pink clouds and trees instead of his neighbors’ houses.

“I like this one a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Superman couldn’t fly with that sun.” Gene picked up the piece of cardboard carefully—too carefully, a piece of paper that had been beneath it starting to flutter towards the floor. Paul snatched it before it got there.

“What’s that one?”

“Oh, it’s only a sketch,” Paul tried to dismiss, but Gene seemed curious enough for him to hold it up for Gene to see. Part of him wanted to hide it back under the bed like a child, for all that it wasn’t particularly incriminating. Just a sketch of his own face. The hair was probably the most accurate part, hopelessly unruly; he didn’t quite think he’d gotten his own nose right, or eyes, but…

“In the makeup.” Gene’s finger touched the edge of the star on his eye.

“Well, sure. It kept me from having to shade much.”

“You look depressed there.” Gene still running his finger down the sketched-out lines of his face made Paul feel stupidly warm, like he was touching him by proxy.

“I don’t look good?”

“I didn’t say that.” A pause. Paul could always recognize when Gene was about to start a critique with him. He’d hesitate, which was kind of funny, because he never did it with anyone else, just plowed through with whatever comment he had. Paul would usually get offended anyway, but he was trying not to, at least for today. “Hey, would you do me a favor?”

Not a critique at all. Paul was vaguely surprised.

“What’re you wanting?”

“Let me try my hand at it.”

“Gene, I’m not letting you go over my drawing—”

“No, no. Let me borrow one of your sketchpads.”

“You wanna draw me right now? What for?” Paul could feel himself tense up slightly as he reached over, gathering up the paintings and stuffing them back under the bed. Despite himself, he was yanking out another pad of drawing paper from there as well. “If you wanted your album photo, all you had to do was check the newspaper.”

“I don’t want your photo. Just you.”

Paul handed the sketchpad over. There was an odd sting somewhere in his heart.

“You can’t want what you’ve already got,” he said quietly. He didn’t wait for Gene to respond, clearing his throat hastily. “I make a terrible art model.”

Gene’s expression, a little unreadable earlier, quirked a little.

“I’ll let you draw me, too.”

“I feel like you’re hard to draw.” But he’d gotten another piece of cardboard to bear down on after tearing off a page of the drawing paper for himself. Then Paul was gathering the rest of the supplies—pencils and gummy erasers—from where they lay in a coffee mug on the nightstand. It wasn’t exactly the most put-together setup. He just wasn’t around enough for any extra effort to be worth it. The guest bedroom’s only real use was as another place to stash his tour and art stuff. He could count the number of times anyone had slept there on one hand. “You don’t… really have one feature that really stands out—”

Gene stuck out his tongue.

“Oh, God, I’m not drawing that. Just your face. C’mon, sit down.” Paul gestured towards the bed, scooting up on it himself, sitting cross-legged on the pillows, dress bunched up. The cardboard and piece of paper were resting on his thighs, one of the pencils in his hand. He gave Gene the mug and sketchpad, scrutinizing Gene’s face. “Let me try first, okay?”

“Go for it.”

He’d never really studied Gene’s face before. That sounded a little stupid, given everything. Gene still wasn’t exactly attractive, though he looked a lot better now than he had when they’d first met. That hadn’t been the draw. It still wasn’t the draw.

Paul didn’t ask Gene to try for any particular expression as he started in, drawing the circle, the center line, mapping out the sections of his face in the half-remembered way he’d learned back in school and trying to adjust from there, only to, as usual, abandon the mapping about two minutes in. Gene’s eyes weren’t quite as dark as his, and his nose was bigger—you can’t hide the hook, Totie had said, back on their stint on the Mike Douglas show, and Paul remembered snickering with everyone else about it backstage. She’d had his number. Gene had struck up a friendship with her after that, excited to get to know another Jewish entertainer. Paul privately hoped he hadn’t banged her in the process.

He was distracting himself. It was hard to do the expression lines around Gene’s mouth without making him look forty-eight instead of nearly twenty-eight, so Paul abandoned all but a light insinuation before skipping over to his hair. He thought he could get that right, at least. Gene’s hair was somewhat coarse, and tended to frizz even worse than Paul’s own did, and it wasn’t as thick. All of the teasing and backcombing and tight ponytails had done a number on it. Paul pursed his lips, trying to approximate the texture with his pencil, and the sheen with his eraser.

“How’s it coming?” Gene asked, after about fifteen minutes. He’d been pretty patient, not shifting around much, even stopping himself the few times he tried to scratch his face.

“I think I did a damn good job on your eyebrows.” Paul turned the sketch around with a slight groan. “Everything else is a little…”

“You made me look really sad.”

Gene wasn’t wrong. Paul hadn’t quite figured out what to do with Gene’s lips when he’d drawn them, so he’d had them sink down a bit. The eyebrows really were pretty good, to his own estimation, and the hair was okay, and he’d at least started with the proper face shape, but—he hadn’t really caught Gene properly. Whatever his essence was, it hadn’t transferred onto the page.

“Frowns are easier to draw. Smiles, you have to get just right, and get the light in the eyes…” Paul shook his head. “Not a lot of room for error, right? And if you mess up, your drawing ends up looking like Norman Bates.”

Gene laughed, shaking his head.

“But you’ve got me looking like myself. It isn’t just the eyebrows. The chin and the mouth are right--”

“But it’s not great, either. I’ll try again later on.” Paul set the drawing down. “You can do me if you want.”

“Interesting choice of words.”

“Oh, shut up.” Paul shifted, suddenly antsy. He’d only ever seen Gene draw his own fanzines and doodle on napkins. He knew Gene wasn’t going to take this as a serious art study, but… but on the same token, letting Gene draw him felt--revealing. Almost too revealing. He wasn’t as bothered by the face Gene was going to draw as what it signified. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Gene saw when he looked at him. What stood out to him.

If he drew a pair of tits, Paul grimly promised himself he’d keep denying Gene at least until tomorrow.

“Tilt your chin up a bit,” Gene said, and Paul did so. His fingers worried unconsciously at the straps of his dress. Paul waited for more instructions, but they didn’t come. Just the scritch of the pencil against the sketch paper, and the occasional fuzzy sound of the eraser rubbing back and forth on the page. Gene kept such direct eye contact on his face that Paul was getting a bit intimidated.

“You took art in school, right?”

“Only a couple of terms. I liked it, but I wanted to get in all the electives I could.”

“Even weight training?” Paul scooted to the side.

“Your art school had weight training?”

“God, yeah. We even had a football team.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never said we won anything.” Paul paused. “Do you want me to pose?”

“No. You’re fine like you are.”

“Should I smile?”

Gene looked like he was considering it for a second, and then he shook his head.

“Just relax.”

Paul tried to, but he kept fidgeting. Not getting any direction was making him nervous. He wasn’t gutsy enough to try to look alluring without the makeup as a shield. Gene had stopped talking as he’d gotten more into the drawing, only responding to Paul’s attempts at conversation with a few “yeahs” and “uh-huh”s. He was taking longer than Paul had, too. But he seemed pleased with himself far before he signed the bottom and held it out for Paul to see.

“Here you go.”

Paul was a little stunned.

He was nearly right there on the page. Big dark eyes greeted him. Full lips, slightly parted, revealing a little of his front teeth. High cheekbones. Gene’s portrait of him was more thorough and detailed than Paul’s attempt, stopping at the shoulders, where the dress straps drooped. More attractive than Paul knew he actually was; Gene had, oddly, been kinder about Paul’s nose and jaw than was accurate, but all the same-- he’d captured something of Paul on the page. Some facet. Tenseness or intensity or both. The sketch was clearly of a chick, sure, but-- it was him.

“Gene, this… shit, this is really good.” Part of what impressed him was the self-assured pressure and definition of most of the lines. Paul’s own tended to fade out, like he was mentally erasing them after committing them to the page, but Gene went into it with a much heavier hand overall. The contrast was interesting. “And I thought all you could draw was Batman. You’ve been holding out on me for years.”

Gene shrugged.

“I had someone cute in front of me. That makes all the difference.” He paused, moving to sit beside him, pointing at the sketch. “You’ve got pretty eyes.”

“Since just lately?”

“No. Since always.” Gene seemed to hesitate. “Paul, in a way, you don’t really look all that dif--”

“Peter told me they made me look like a beagle,” Paul stumbled out before Gene could finish. He wasn’t sure why he interrupted that way. Gene snorted, reaching over and draping an arm behind Paul’s shoulders. Paul let him.

“Maybe more like a moppet. You remember those posters.”

“Yeah. Julia had them in her room when we were kids.” But he wasn’t displeased at the comparison, somehow, reaching to put the sketches and supplies on the crowded nightstand, before leaning back against Gene’s arm and shoulder. He could feel Gene start to tense, so Paul turned his head, impulsively, pressing a kiss against his cheek. “One of them was a harlequin or something, I don’t remember.”

“Paul.”

“What?”

“You didn’t let me finish. You don’t look all that different.”

“Come off it.” Paul could feel something cold and odd trickle up his spine, something he was almost afraid of. “I’ve had tits for a week and a half, don’t try to kid me.”

“I’ve been kidding myself.”

“Gene, what’re you talking about--”

“You’re the same as you always were. You’re beautiful.”

Paul sat there stunned. The icy feeling up his spine seemed to melt and dissolve in an instant. He didn’t want it to. He wanted to hold onto it. Use it as something to protect him, something to chase away any hurt, any vulnerability. His face was going florid, and all of a sudden, he couldn’t look directly at Gene, staring instead at the hem of his dress.

“I don’t want to make a promise I can’t keep. But I think… I think there might still be something there after we break the curse.” Gene’s hand found one of the shoulder straps on his dress, fixing it back up, though his gaze was still firm on Paul’s face. Completely unwavering. Paul’s heartbeat felt like it could smash straight through diamonds. “I know that’s not enough for--”

“It’s enough.”

“Paul, look--”

“It’s enough.” Paul was surprised at the slow strength starting to rise from his voice with every word, like a newborn foal wobbling to its feet. “Even before all this happened. Any time I’ve ever gotten to have with you is enough.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.” He was able to look at Gene now, right in the face. The warmth he’d tried to avoid was blazing inside him. It felt funny, somehow, to feel so sure, so certain, in the face of a maybe, that things would still be all right, one way or another. It felt like the bulk of the burden, the fear, was really, truly beginning to dissolve. “Gene, I…”

He couldn’t say it. Gene was waiting on it, face so near his own he could feel his breath. He kissed him instead, reaching his arms around him half-blindly, clenching tight. Paul was panting as soon as Gene broke the kiss, pressing another and another against his cheek and chin and throat, climbing into his lap as though he belonged there, and maybe, for just a little while, he did.

Gene was so warm, so unbelievably warm. Paul could swear he could feel Gene’s own pounding heartbeat against his. His breaths were coming only a little bit better than Paul’s were, his dark eyes dilated. Gene’s mouth was back on his before Paul could think clearly, needy and wanting, and it was all Paul could do to pull back and manage one last request.

“Hey. Before we-- do you think you could take me back to o-- my bedroom?”

Gene had him gathered up in his arms in seconds. Paul held tight, pressing his face against Gene’s shirt for all of the minute it took to cross from one room to the next, taking in his scent as he finally dared to hope.

[honeydots]

"61. “Were you drawing me?”" for the ask meme? 👀

“Were you drawing me?” 

akira sleeps in and yusuke takes advantage of that. because of COURSE if im given the opportunity to write shukita im going to take it of course i am 

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(ao3 link)

-

Slugs were okay. 

Akira didn’t have much of an opinion on them, to be honest. Nothing negative. They were a little goopy, sure. But that wasn’t a bad thing. Sometimes you’re goopy and squishy and occasionally poisonous, it happens to everybody. Akira was sure he’d had a Saturday just like that. They were just little creatures. Slugging along. 

…That said, he didn’t like them much when they were on his face. He especially wouldn’t like them if they were the poisonous kind. He didn’t think these ones were, but still. That would be completely unpleasant. And then he’d be goopy until he died. Just terrible all around. 

But not these bad boys. Akira was sure they were just your everyday slug. Lucky for him! But they were still on his face. He didn’t really want that. Slug along anywhere else, please. He was trying to relax. This wasn’t the time. 

In his limited periods of consciousness, Akira often thought about how weird it was that he never realized when he was dreaming. Once he was in the dream, he was there. No second thoughts about it. The slugs were on his face now, and that’s where they belonged. But pointedly, again, they were not poisonous. Nice to know his subconscious wasn’t going for a gastropod themed execution. 

He woke up blissfully slug-free. Thank god. What a morning surprise that would’ve been. He also woke up alone, which wasn’t too unusual. Yusuke tended to be an early riser. Up and about, doing his creative stuff. He had picked up sculpting, recently. So far, he’d made a lovely bust of Isaac Newton (and if not him, it was a not-as-lovely bust of Haru), and a pistachio (this one really was a pistachio). Akira was happy he was expanding his repertoire, since he seemed to be enjoying himself. He was keeping busy, and he had a career after all. 

But the bed was meant for two. 

He shifted a bit, peeked his eyes open and, oh. He was surprised to see Yusuke sitting not far across from him. He was staring deeply into his sketchbook, very focused and very quiet. 

You know, he could always draw in bed. It’d be warmer that way. “Good morning.” Akira lazily stretched out his back. “Sketching?” 

Akira probably shocked him, because Yusuke jumped. He usually felt just a little bit bad when he did that, but today there was something mischievous dancing around in his brain. A tiny goblin who had wanted so desperately to cuddle, probably.

You and me both, Goblin-kun.

Yusuke looked up to him, and he seemed a little stoic. “You’ve awakened. Good afternoon. Please do not move.” 

Technical technical. Akira treated afternoons like mornings, anyway. He relaxed his body back down, trying to look as natural as possible. “Were you drawing me?” It wouldn’t surprise him. It’d hardly be the first time. Yusuke liked to make him blush by calling him things like his Muse, or his Starry Night, or his Lobster Fra Diavolo.

“Ah… I suppose,” said Yusuke. He swiveled a turn in his chair, and swept up a dab of paint with a brush. “Now, close your eyes again.” 

Akira did. So he was painting him. Again with Yusuke’s technicalities, his this’s and that’s. It was endearing. There was something very sweet about his specifics, since Akira knew he was included in them. 

He wondered if he could go back to sleep. If Yusuke wanted him to keep his eyes closed, the chances went up. He could already feel himself falling into it. Anyone who knew Akira was well aware that he wasn’t one to pass up opportunities to sleep in. Well, sleep in more than he already had. Yusuke knew better than to let him stay in bed, Akira couldn’t be blamed. And it was for art after all. 

But the afternoon did have plans for Akira. Goddamn. For example, something cold and wet being splattered onto his forehead. It was… weirdly familiar?

He jumped, but in like, a groggy half-awake confused boy way. “Ghh?” His eyes flickered open. Yusuke was there? He hadn’t heard him come over. “What are you…doing.” 

Yusuke remained focused as ever, eyes glued to, uh. Uh? “Akira, please. I do not want it in your eyes.” The wet spot moved and spread across his brow. 

The dots were sleepy and the lines were wiggling, but all connecting nonetheless. “Are you painting,” Akira said, flinching at the sloppy feeling, “on my face?” 

Yusuke lifted his paintbrush and looked very thoughtfully at the smear he’d created. “Do not speak much. I would hate for what has dried to crack.” He turned away, probably to get more paint. 

Akira squinted at him. It was already drying? As in drying drying? “How long have you been… at this.” 

Yusuke sighed, and shook his head. “Please, my love, if you must talk,” he said, turning back, “Try to be minimal. I will be finished soon.” 

He returned to Akira’s side, this time with a pool of paint on the back of his hand, probably for quick access. Akira stared silently at him. He wasn’t mad at all, more completely amused. Unique way to spend a morning. He’d woken up before with drawings on his face, but that was usually Futaba scribbling squiggles and mustaches with her sharpies. Oh, but he’d always get back at her for that. He’d refuse to wash it off and make her be seen with him, Mr. Sharpie Face Man, in the all forbidden public. She was one of those second-hand embarrassment people. 

Wow, the paint felt weird. He was all too aware of it sitting on his face. It was thick. And the actual spreading of it had been really strange. There were out of body experiences, and then there were all too aware of what is happening right now on your body experiences. Akira was the former. He was pretty surprised it hadn’t woken him up, actually. 

Wait. 

The slugs. 

The non-poisonous slugs. 

That made sense. 

Yusuke continued painting. Little swirls and pointed dots. Akira tried to guess what he was doing. The paint he had was blue, so maybe a bird? A fish? He was sure Yusuke would do something more outlandish, though. Maybe a bird with glasses. He wondered if Yusuke would let him name it. 

Inevitably, they made eye contact. Akira had been staring pretty relentlessly, and boy he was good at that. Yusuke held it for a moment, before something visibly clicked. There it was. Akira had been thinking about if he’d remember to answer. He didn’t, always. Yusuke had quite the way with concentration. He’d just about have to shake him out to come to dinner some nights. 

Yusuke had run out of paint on his hand, and he turned back to get more. A short silence hung. “A few hours,” he said. 

So, a while. His projects usually took a bit, so he was glad to hear this hadn’t been some all nighter. That could’ve been nice too, though, because then Yusuke would certainly take a nap. And of course then Akira would get to take a nap. Which would be great. But he’d have to wash all this paint off first. He hoped it would come off easy. 

It wasn’t like Yusuke had never painted on his body before. But that was usually, you know, doodling with a pen on his arm. Or some grand experiment on his back. Face painting wasn’t technically something to be considered out of the ordinary, but unconscious face painting was. Yusuke’s inspiration strikes were always charming. 

Akira watched as Yusuke readied his brush again. He felt him very gently move some hair out of his face. This wasn’t really a view Akira usually got. Hello there. Thank goodness he was nearsighted. 

But, all good things must come to an end. Yusuke looked down at him. “It really is imperative you shut your eyes, now. This would sting.” 

He probably spoke from experience. He already knew Yusuke had drunk paint water before. It was an accident, he said, but it wasn’t like he couldn’t also accidentally get paint in his eyes. Akira also doubted that the paint water incident was entirely accidental. He had evidence. But, despite all that, he heeded his advice. Yusuke was kind enough to wait until he did so. Akira wondered how long it would take for Yusuke to just start painting, anyway. 

He felt the brush fit into his eye socket and curve around down, above his cheek bone. Very confident but delicate strokes across his eyelid, and then repeated on the other side. He decided this was much better than slugs. Though still just as goopy.  

The brush lifted, and did not come back down. “There,” Yusuke began, “Now, please remain very still. I will return in just a moment.”  

Akira obliged, keeping his eyes shut tight but careful not to scrunch. He heard footsteps, and a door opening. Yusuke was probably getting their camera. They’d bought a very nice once for situations like this. Non-portable art, or anything that would wash away. Akira supposed he wouldn’t mind being on display for an art show. Ehh, that was, as long as it didn’t last too long. He didn’t really get fidgety, but he did get bored. 

He heard Yusuke come back, accompanied by some clicking and clunking. He probably also brought in a light, since he tended to be very particular about his art pictures. Akira appreciated that his face-canvas was being given such fancy treatment. He hoped he was doing the art justice. 

There was shuffling. The sound of curtains opening. The buzz of a lamp. And eventually, many, many clicks. Yusuke always took bunches of pictures, with light adjustments and in different positions. He’d learned how to use a camera very well, at this point. Akira was glad to see it, because initially Yusuke had been a little helpless with one.

He took pictures all the time now. It was much more convenient, since instead of pulling over and waiting thirty minutes for Yusuke to be satisfied with a sketch, they’d pull over and spend just ten minutes taking pictures. They still had to leave an hour early for events, but they were late less often. They were also a little poorer, because memory cards didn’t come cheap. Yusuke’s new cocaine, he guessed. 

The clicking went off and on. Akira sat through it, beginning to drift back to sleep again. When Yusuke had said ‘afternoon’ that could’ve meant 12:01, right? Which meant it would be perfectly reasonable to sleep for a few more hours. Just a little catnap. He’d bet anything Morgana was still sleeping. And how was that fair? 

He was thoroughly lost in cat-jealousy thoughts, and did not notice the clicking stop. So, the sound of Yusuke’s voice scared him right out of his drowsiness. “You can move about now. I’ve finished.” Gah. 

So, no naps for him. Yet. But Akira guessed he was getting a little bit cramped anyway. He stretched out again, properly this time, and opened his eyes. He watched as Yusuke turned off the extra light, and carefully put the camera down. 

Yusuke looked to Akira and smiled very sweetly. Akira smiled back, entirely sure he probably looked very silly. His whole face was (presumably?) blue, after all. He was still thinking of a bird name. 

Yusuke sat down at the foot of their bed. He fiddled a bit with his fingers, and scratched at the drying paint on his hands. A learned habit.“I do hope you slept well.” 

“Mm,” Akira replied, pushing himself up. “I think you gave me weird dreams.” He felt around a little for his glasses. If paint got on them, oh well. He’d curse the glasses god today. He wanted to see. 

Yusuke reached out and picked up Akira’s pair. “Did I?” He handed them to him. 

This tended to be a typical morning procedure. “Thanks.” He was pretty sure Yusuke’s hands were covered in paint. Maybe it was inevitable his glasses would get messy. “You did.”  

“I apologize. You seemed to be sleeping quite soundly.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Vision at last. 

Yusuke seemed relieved. Akira was sure if he told him about his slug encounter, he would take a good fifteen minutes connecting it to art and philosophy. Which would be fine, but Akira’s face was kind of itchy and scratchy. He could tell him later. He picked at it a bit. 

It wasn’t like Yusuke wouldn’t notice, obviously, but it probably gave him the wrong idea. “The paint is thoroughly non-toxic. There is nothing to worry about.” He rubbed hard on his hand. 

Akira wasn’t worried. There were things to worry about with Yusuke, but he wouldn’t consider this one of them. Yusuke was particular, it was a completely defining trait of his. No, Akira would not trust him with their grocery money. He would also not trust him left alone in a candy store. But he was considerate, and precise, and attentive. Especially to his art. And especially, Akira would bashfully admit, to him. 

He could still tease him a little though. “It’s not at all?” 

Yusuke straightened himself up. Which was a little bit funny to watch with his typically impeccable posture. It was more like he shuffled his shoulders around and puffed out his chest. “Absolutely. I would never let you near such toxins, not even dream of such a thing.” It was hard to not constantly give Yusuke fond looks. 

He failed. He was a fond look giving machine. “So a kiss would be fine?” He grinned a very bluish grin. Give him a smooch, art boy. It would probably be better than paint water. Actually, he really really hoped it would be better than paint water.

“Ah.” Yusuke said, giving a sigh. “An innocent request turned devilish, I see.” Yusuke was also a fond look giving machine. They could make it a competition. The most sugary and sweet one in the world. The kind that would give Morgana hairballs, the poor cat. 

Akira didn’t say anything. He looked at Yusuke, guilty but not regretful, and waited. It was only a little devilish, he thought. He could do much worse. He could do better, too. But there was no fun in that. 

Yusuke stood up, and walked right up next to Akira, standing just where he was before. Akira gave him an innocent look; he was good at those, and it made Yusuke smile. Which was only more reason to get even better at them. Lying at interrogations was just an added bonus.

Yusuke was an all or nothing kind of guy. Akira knew this. So he wasn’t surprised when Yusuke cupped his face and leaned down, to give him a kiss, first on the cheek, then on the lips. Soft and sweet. Lovey and dovey. 

Akira was very unhappy to see that when they pulled away, a grand total of none of the paint had gotten onto Yusuke. A foiled plan. He wiped at his lips anyway. How rude, you mean to say he didn’t want second-hand (second… face?) paint on his mouth? Like some kind of moderately health conscious member of society? You drank paint water, Yusuke. You’ve eaten grass before, Yusuke! The thought made him chuckle.

“What is it?” Yusuke asked, sitting himself down on the bed. 

He probably wouldn’t appreciate the thought. “Nothing.” Akira fiddled with a piece of hair. “Did you get the picture you wanted?” 

The question made Yusuke beam. “Indeed. I took several. Adjustments do need to be made, however.” 

“That’s good.” He was glad Yusuke had become accustomed to editing digital photos. He was very against it at first, pretty much because he didn’t really understand what the editing was. Not like, photoshopping things in. Just things like saturation and lighting. This was another little hobby he’d picked up. He had never accidentally recreated Isaac Newton in Adobe, though. 

“I will most certainly show you the completed product.” 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Akira said. His nose itched. Not really in a sneezy way, but it was annoying him. He wanted to sniff, but he also didn’t exactly want to snort up Yusuke’s project. Yucky. “I think I want to wash this off, now.” 

“Ah, of course.” Yusuke moved to let Akira off the bed. He hovered there quietly as Akira got up, and followed him to the bathroom. 

Okay? “What’s up?” 

Yusuke pressed his lips together. “Oh. I simply wanted to help you. As a penance, perhaps.” 

Akira scoffed. “Strong word.” He didn’t mind Yusuke helping. He’d probably need it, or he’d give up halfway and finish by midnight. What wasn’t inherently tender about getting paint rubbed off your face. Ugh, and the peeling. It wasn’t a super great smell, either. He was gonna have such a look going on for this. Cute. 

They walked in. Akira turned on the light and readied himself for a face scrubbing. He wondered if there had been any that got in his hair. That would suck getting out. He looked in the mirror, his mind set on checking, and thoroughly surprised himself at his reflection. 

So the bird guess? He was kind of sort of close. 

He’d made his whole face very lightly blue. There were feathers painted around his eyes that very gracefully formed into wings bending out and upwards towards his forehead. Little patterns of flowers and leaves framed his face and fell in swooping designs. It was all done in different shades of blue, you had to really look at it to see all the detail. Except on his cheeks. In a thick gold sat long tears, layered on top of each other. They traveled all the way down to his chin. 

It was pretty. 

He wanted to touch it.

He pressed his fingers into his cheeks, and squished upwards. It was sticky, and it didn’t give way much. But the farther he went, the more it moved. It got on his hands. He was all smudgy now. This was incredible. 

He was also being watched. “I’m not sure that’s the most effective way.” Yusuke commented.

“I feel like,” Akira kept on squishing, “the slime in those stim videos.” 

He laughed lightly at that. “I suppose we do all experience art in our own ways.” 

Akira watched Yusuke absentmindedly through the mirrors reflection, while still giving his face a very blue massage. He grabbed a rag, and turned on warm water. He also took out a bottle from one of their cupboards. Yusuke had all sorts of painting things stored away, so it wasn’t all that surprising. Akira had found about eight bottles of acetone in Yusuke’s dorm room years ago. He remembered gaining a certain understanding of Yusuke’s budgeting problems.

He placed his materials down. “Will you be satisfied soon?” He asked, now watching him closely. 

Akira paused mid-squish. He looked at Yusuke from the corner of his eye. “You want to give it a try?” Why not. 

Yusuke blinked at him. And then visibly considered it.

“I’ve no reason to object, I suppose.” 

Double the squish. This probably could’ve gone fifty-fifty. Akira dragged his fingers off his face, careful not to touch anything. They didn’t need a blue bathroom too. He held his own hands, and let Yusuke reach over to him. 

Yusuke, who gave this a little more forethought than Akira had, removed his glasses first. Yeah, smart move. He couldn’t exactly wear them while they washed his face, anyway. He followed Yusuke’s hands as best he could when he put the glasses down, and followed them back up as he rested his palms on Akira’s face. 

He pressed inwards and held him there for a second, and then moved his palms farther up just past his cheekbones. It made Akira quietly giggle, just quick little exhales. It felt way weirder when someone else was doing it. Not that it hadn’t felt a bit weird when he’d done it himself. 

Yusuke was smiling too. Akira was very adamantly keeping his eyes open, which sometimes proved to be a challenge. He was gonna sit there and stare him down like this was the height of romance. 

Yusuke placed his thumbs on the crook of Akira jawline, and swiped with his fingers outwards on his cheeks. He stayed there. Akira leaned into it. “Having fun?” 

Yusuke tapped his fingers. “As much as you will let me.” 

Akira nestled himself farther into Yusuke’s hands. It scrunched his face up more. He felt so squashed. Now this was amore. He was the king of romance. 

It made Yusuke laugh, just a little. “You know, we are wasting water.” 

In reply, Akira (very masterfully) kept as blank as an expression as possible while giving him fish lips. 

That got a real laugh out of Yusuke, and he took his hands away. It was always nice to get laughs out of him. He didn’t used to often. That was, other than his occasional hearty chuckle when he was feeling an odd kind of inspired. Akira liked those ones, too.

Yusuke scrubbed his hands as well as he could in the water, and then wet down the rag. “Let us get to work, then.”

He was very gentle, wiping off big pieces and rinsing the rag whenever it got cold. Alright, this may have been better than Akira had anticipated. Yusuke was considerate and routined. Working through section after section, and making sure no water dribbled down onto his clothes. It was almost nice, even with the inevitable scrubbing that came with it. Yusuke picked up the mystery bottle. Akira gave it a look.

Yusuke had always been good at reading him. “It is coconut oil.” He unscrewed the cap. “Oils do well to get paint off of skin.” 

He made a little noise of understanding, and Yusuke went back to his work. It was less rough this time. He felt super greasy, though. He was pretty sure coconut oil was good for your face? Maybe this would turn out to be a miniature spa session. He wondered if Yusuke was any good at nail art. 

“Close your eyes, now,” said Yusuke. Akira was also pretty sure coconut oil was not good for the eyes. Just a wild guess. He did as he was asked, and Yusuke went to work, very careful on his eyelids. Very very careful around his eyes.

That reminded him. “I have a question.” 

Yusuke hardly hesitated. “Anything.” 

“Why was I crying?”

Yusuke stopped, just for a moment. “Ah,” A silence sat. “It was only that, in your rest… you simply seemed horribly melancholic.”

He sounded so sad. 

And Akira about choked. 

Yusuke retreated immediately. “Have I gotten some in your mouth? I am terribly sorry.” Understandable question, he’d made him start coughing like a maniac. 

He cleared his throat. He was fine, he was chill. “No, don’t worry. That’s not it.” He wiped around his eyes. Oil was kind of gross, actually. 

“Oh.” 

He should probably elaborate. Yusuke looked confused. “It’s just funny you say I looked sad.” He leaned down onto the counter. “I was dreaming about slugs.” Or, the everlasting woes of slugs, apparently. 

Yusuke paused. Processing, a little bit. “Slugs… you say?” 

Slugs… he said. “Yep.”

“Were they… causing you any discomfort?”

Akira shook his head. “They were just hanging out.”

Yusuke was obviously considering this. It made him smile too, of course, but he was certainly lost in thought. 

He’d come to his conclusion. “Perhaps they meant something more profound. The ways of the subconscious are ever mysterious.” He wet down the rag again, and poured more coconut oil. 

Did they need that much? “Maybe.” 

Apparently, they did. Less is more, but more is also more. He started up again, lightly scrubbing. “You know, due to ancient influences, a slug is considered to be more of a spiritual being than an earthly being. In symbolism, that is.”

“Is it now?” He’d known this would happen. Of course it would, it was Yusuke. He always kept little random pieces of knowledge about symbolic references in art and literature. 

Which, you know, was fine. He was happy to hear it. He was covered in paint and coconut oil, sure, but they were working on it. Sometimes, this was what your days were like. Lazy, and a little slimy. He hoped that his skin would glow like goddamn Polaris after this.

They’d fly down a list of topics, starting at one point and ending at another. Yusuke would lose himself in talking, and Akira would always love to listen. 

So, the morning ended the way it began. Feeling goopy.

And slugs. 

[marculees]

🌼 Tag 🌼

Tagged by @pikachulein to answer ten of her custom questions, thank you 💖 💖

1. What compliment you've received meant the most to you?

I don’t really believe people when they compliment me rip. Only a few months ago, one of my professors told me I wrote at Masters level during a private meeting and it made me smile for three hours straight. I’ve been considering a career in third-level teaching and research and I hadn’t told him this but he started telling me I would be perfect for it and it was really motivating ;-;

2. Would you rather meet your favourite celebrity/group/bias and realize they're not at all how you imagined them to be like (maybe they're not as kind as you thought, for example) or never meeting them in person but it turning out that they're actually the amazing, kind, sweet, generous, etc. person that you thought they were? (I hope that makes sense hhhh I think the ethics of this question are really interesting)

I’d rather not meet them and have them be lovely. I haven’t met them yet anyway and so I wouldn’t lose anything by not meeting them.

3. What's your current favourite song you always use to get hyped up to or a song currently stuck in your head?

Boss Bitch - Doja Cat

4. If you had to write the book of your life, what genre would it be and what would you choose as a title?

I’d write it in the format of diary entries, very much a ‘slice of life’ type, with illustrations and doodles on the pages for metaphor and viewing pleasure. I think the title would be something simple too but with some depth to it, like a significant date in my life; almost like the ‘climax’ of the book, I could work the reader up to that entry and they would know something is coming up but not what 👀

5. Name your top 5 musical artists and your favourite song of each of them?

mxmtoon - Feelings are Fatal

Hozier - Movement

Kim Petras - Personal Hell

Conan Gray - Comfort Crowd

Kodaline - Ready

6. If you were invited to a big humanitarian event and had to give a speech on a topic you'd want to bring about a huge change for the better, what topic would you choose to speak about and voice your opinions/ideas? (Assume public speaking is one of your strongest assets and you'll ace this no matter what)

Okay so this is literally one of my aspirations in life, no joke, I’d love to be able to speak to a crowd and try to inspire and motivate them to achieve great things! I just really want to see people succeed and realise their potential regardless of who they are :( There are so many topics I would like to address but I think I would go for mental health in development. I study international development so I’m very familiar with humanitarian issues but often times, mental health is ignored when looking at healthcare regardless of where you are in the world.

7. What is something (a skill, personality trait, or something appearance related, it can be whatever) you wish you had and/or you really admire in other people?

I really admire team-players in leadership. People who are genuinely concerned for those around them and want them all to succeed together. They don’t leave anyone behind and remind everyone of their strengths and what they contribute to the team and actively push them to succeed. I try to do the same but sometimes I can sometimes be a bit of a pushover and not strict enough, instead just taking on more work myself rather than trusting a team member to do it... group projects, anyone??? :’)

8. What's your favourite anime/show/youtuber (you can answer whichever you got an answer for, it can be all three options of course :D)?

I don’t watch anime anymore but I enjoyed Ouran High a lot!

I’m waiting for the new season of Line of Duty to come out soon, but my guilty pleasure TV show is Bondi Rescue dsjvkdhlvjhfb I’ve also been watching that new show Five Guys A Week with my mum recently and its such good craic omfg 

I tend to flock towards gaming and commentary channels most but Dashie is my fave istg there isn’t a video of his that I don’t wheeze along to 😂

9. In kpop, are you more into vocalists, dancers, rappers, maknaes, leaders, or visuals (or maybe a mix of some/all :'))?

I’ve noticed I like the rappers most!

10. What's your most beautiful/favourite memory?

This is hard...I literally had to answer this question last because I wanted to have a proper think about it. Its been hurting my head for days trying to think tbh and is it bad that I actually can’t pick a particular moment?.I’m genuinely stuck but a recent-ish one I can think of was this time last year when I had to give a presentation in front of my class of 250 people. I was presenting with two groupmates and I remember how hard we practiced and rehearsed for the days coming up to it. We wore coordinating outfits and had our lines memorised and I remember walking up on the stage and immediately feeling ‘powerful’. I don’t usually feel powerful at all but once I started speaking and performing our skit with my groupmates (who were lovely btw it made me really happy seeing the more nervous one do so well!), I seen how the faces of my classmates lit up and it gave me that warmth I had missed for so long. Random people I had never even spoke to before came up and complimented me later and it made me really proud because its what I love to do and it was so lovely knowing they enjoyed it too ;-; The lecturer we had for that class was known for being really intense but she took a shine to me and pulled me aside one of the days to compliment me and then referred to me as “her powerful speaker” in front of the class when we were receiving assignments back weeks later. It was the highlight of my whole semester and second year tbh. I’m really hard on myself but for once, I felt genuinely and I mean TRULY proud of myself and it had been a long ass time since I had felt that way 😭 

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Okay, now I tag @wheezing-pterodactyl @jbemin @jenoscity @starryseung @seventiddies @thegirlthatsdancingintherain @leechan-babyboy @angelwonho for the following questions:

1. What comment appeared on your report card most often as a schoolchild?

2. What’s your guilty pleasure?

3. You find a magic lamp and now a genie is here to grant you three wishes! What are you gonna wish for? (you can’t ask for more wishes though lol)

4. Imagine you have the power to control time. Would you rather pause, rewind or fast-forward?

5. When you shop for clothes, what’s the first thing that catches your eye? (could be the colour, pattern, style, price, fabric, etc.)

6. What’s the strangest dream you have had recently?

7. What is your MBTI type?

8. Do you have any unusual talents or party tricks? If so, what are they?

9. If your life were to be recreated through a form of art, which medium would you choose? (examples: painting, film, book, music, video game, etc.)

10. If you could be any mythical creature or figure, what would you like to be?

[jbbuckybarnes]

Distant Connection - 2/11

Pairing: Bucky x Harmonia (OC) Warnings: a bit of angst, a lot of domestic fluff Summary: After an unknown group of goons took her mom’s life and tried to get her for the dark magic powers she possesses, this untaught witch is saved by the Avengers and brought to the compound where her new life unfolds.

MASTERLIST || Distant Connection Masterlist

Harmony was about to see the student area of the Stark Tower for the first time. Tony provided all the kids with wifi, laptops, food, medical help and tutoring there. She overheard it in a few conversations and she really wanted to draw in an environment like this again and also learn more about her witchcraft.

As she walked in she could see a lot of concentrated students sitting on laptops and others sitting together talking. She walked into the little laptop area with all the desks to see Steve sitting there drawing concentrated. There weren’t a lot of students in there and most of them had headphones on so she sat down beside him with a “Looks beautiful.” His head went up and he gave her a soft smile back “Thanks. Still trying to get into all the new markers from this time.” He had drawn a pink Starbucks drink with alcohol markers, the page he was currently working on was a view of a NYC street and he was painting with gouache. “Can I join your little art session?” she asked pulling out a watercolor sketchbook and watercolor from her backpack. “Of course. What’s your art project today?” he asked after finishing another window. “You…...that sounded like I was flirting. I was not. Just need to get better at watercoloring humans.” she chuckled. They both looked down and worked on their little projects for a while. “I heard you called me big energy ball?” he said and couldn’t take himself serious. “Yup, the outside finally fits the mindset.” she giggled with him. “You changed something in James’ mind?” he asked a bit softer about the thing he overheard. “I tried to bring more positive memories in the main focus again. You were doing a lot of dumb shit in the 30s and 40s” she smiled at him because he had stopped to listen to her. “I was...I can’t even lie about the fact that I wasn’t much different back then. A little less mature, but now I’m just that with the actual body fitting to the mind of a tiny human taking on the world alone.” he laughed about himself. “I saw some of the memories. They were hilarious.” she was thankful that it was way easier to talk to him than she expected.

“Can you...do that with me too?” he asked curious. “Yes, but that means I see everything you saved into your long term memory.” she said a little more awkward. “Oh please don’t tell me you saw all of the assassin stuff...please…” he was concerned for her and looking at her frowning. “I did...that was my first try. It was a spontaneous thing.” she went back into shy mode but he pulled her onto his lap to give her a big hug. “Don’t do it with Nat, Sam or Tony. They are good people but that would hurt you more than you could probably take.” he mumbled against her forehead. “Do you still want me to do it?” she looked up at him. “Only if you’re comfortable with it...why does this sound like we’re talking about something different.” he realized all of a sudden and both started laughing. “Something’s still off about the painting.” he said pointing towards it trying to change the subject. “I think you just need to feel out the colors better. Darker gouache tends to dry lighter and lighter gouache tends to dry darker. Should’ve done a color test. But I think you need to correct the glass reflection on the ground floor here a little bit.” she gave him advice still sitting on his lap. “Would you stand up, or?” he gestured at her initial seat. She reseated. “Hmpf, was so comfortable for once,” she said with a fake pout and got a chuckle back.

After correcting his painting in silence he put down his brush and looked over at Harmony doing her second painting which made the first one fully visible to him. “Simple but I can definitely see it’s me.” he said smiling at it. “Just the first layer. Needs another one or two.” she smiled while painting her flower. “You wanna draw something into my notebook?” he asked a little bit more shy. “Like a notebook switch? Sure.” she said finishing her last petal before turning to him and interchanging the notebooks. He grabbed some normal pencils and an eraser before leaning over the next page while she grabbed some of his alcohol markers to start drawing one of the memories she saw in James’ mind of young and small Steve. There was a comfortable silence between them and the only thing audible were the laptops of some of the students around them and the kids laughing outside of the computer room. He made sure she couldn’t see what he drew with his pencils and was way too concentrated to look over at her beautiful 40s painting.

After about 30 minutes both of them finished their drawings almost in sync and looked up at each other. They put both of them between each other and held their breath for a second. “You drew me? Wow. That’s...so detailed.” she said in awe before reading the little note below “for the small energy ball, from the big energy ball ❤” “This is the cutest thing ever.” she said while giving him a hug and he was so concentrated on her liking it that he looked at her drawing just now over her shoulder while breaking the hug again. “You drew me from Bucky’s eyes?” he was in awe, this was a gift so rare that he couldn't grasp it. Seeing through someone else���s eyes was almost impossible but she put it into a drawing. “When I went through his mind this is one of the memories I made clearer for him again. I think it’s very you.” she said soft and with her guard up. “Wow. I remember that day. We got in big trouble for spending all our money on unhealthy stuff but the whole day was so much fun.” he smiled down at his notebook with the most genuine smile in weeks. “You have such an unique bond. I wanted to put that into a drawing.” she said fidgeting with her fingers. “You two also have a very different connection. I’ve never seen him protect someone like that.” he tried to look into her eyes but they stayed on her hands. “I feel like he’s the only person that can relate to how I feel and also keep me save, you know?” she said very vulnerable. He grabbed her hands and made her look up at him, “I might not be able to relate but I would definitely keep you save too.” A weak smile formed on her lips and a slight nod gave him an answer.

“Can I see the rest of your sketchbook?” she ask shyly again and he grabbed it and put it on her lap with a smile. She grabbed it and slowly went from page to page. There were a lot of 40s related paintings but also a lot of new ones. He drew James and Natasha a lot, sometimes the whole team, there was a little sketch with all of them sitting at the kitchen table laughing, a drawing of her and James when they sat in the corner of the common room, food with recipe notes, a page filled with uniform designs, a sketch of Peggy Carter, a watercolor painting of Grand Central Station, two hands holding each other, a bruised Thor and a closeup of his hammer, a street in Brooklyn back in the day. He didn’t seem to use the notebook chronological and just opened a page and started creating. Meanwhile he looked at her notebook. The outside was filled with stickers of potions, black cats and flowers. She was into witchcraft before she knew she was gifted.

There were a lot of watercolor and marker drawings, her mom, the campus of Syracuse University, a stranger in a coffee shop, part of what looked like her room, two people kissing, fashion sketches, crystals and moons, braided hair, two people hugging, a collage of the different parts of her outfit, sneakers, a sketch of the library in the compound, a sketch of James, an unfinished sketch of what happened to her mother, a sketch of sleeping James, a detailed painting of hands doing blue magic, a painting of James with black eyes and a smile, a sketch of the common area, the flower she just painted, the first layer of the painting she made of him and the sketch he made of her. She was very organized in the way she drew. 

She looked at his concentrated face and noticed he finished going through the sketches but showed him the last page of the notebook. There was a big sticker of his shield on the little pocket in the back of the book that held little nicnacs. He looked at her with a smile and a little bit of pride “Was that always there?” he asked. “Yeah.” she said smiling back at him, taking her sketchbook back. The moment was interrupted with a 10th grader coming into the room looking straight at them. “Could you help us with world war stuff? We’ve been sitting here trying to get it into our heads and…” Steve smiled and nodded.

He left his stuff with Harmony which started doodling little things onto another page. A little shield, a bit of magical stuff, hearts, stars, moons, dots and a little note. *Always prefered you over Stark. Thought you wanted to know. Guess I have a soft spot for old grandpa Avengers. -small energy ball* After looking around at the concentrated students she picked up her brush again and started doing the second layer of her painting of him.

“Harmony?” she heard from a computer voice above. “Yeah?” she said a bit weirded out. She still wasn’t used to FRIDAY at all. “Captain Rogers has been called to the compound for a mission and asks if you could bring his belongings with you back to the compound.” the voice asked. “Sure. Tell him to stay safe.” she said with a little smile. “I will make sure to do so, Harmony.” the voice stopped. Once of the students had took his headphones out to listen to the interaction and got a shy smile from Harmony. “You are allowed to take his things with you?” she asked in awe. “I’m just bringing them back where they belong, I guess.” Harmony answered softly. “Can I ask you something?” the girl, probably around 16, asked. “Uuuh, sure.” she smiled. “Is he really as serious as everyone thinks. He seemed to be very childish and funny with you.” she asked with a nervous voice and a shy smile. “Nooo, he is a total dork but he knows when to be serious. If you ever have a problem with anything just ask him. He’s super nice and wants everyone to feel comfortable.” a smile came across the lips of both females. Harmony continued to put his sketchbook and art supplies into her bag, stood up and grabbed a bottle of water and a pack of chips from the food shelves behind her before turning around. “See you around?” she asked the girl and got a smile and a nod back before she walked out of the room and made her way back to the compound.

[ayatakami]

♉️(1/2) Hello Honey!🌸✨ I was wondering if I could get a part 4 or 5 jjba matchup please? I'm a straight female, standing at 5’4, ENFP, ♉️, and I wear glasses. I have fair skin and long brown, curly hair. I radiate big musical theatre kid energy. Because of that, I’m incredibly outgoing, being able to make friends really easily, and am usually loud. I also radiate massive mom energy (I’m kind-hearted, patient, and I’m really good with children)

♉️(2/2)Though I'm usually all sunshine, rainbows, and smiles, I also enjoy things like true crime. I enjoy artsy things like drawing, singing, dancing, etc... and am a hopeless romantic who gets attached to people very easily. I’m also a self-titled critic of things ranging from video games to movies (though I love both). I tend to go on long rants on those pre-mentioned things. I dress solely for comfort. Thank you so much and I hope you have a great day! 

♉️(3/2) Sorry!! I meant to type "part 4 and part 5 matchup" If you only want to do one, then that's totally ok!! I love your writing and I hope you keep up the amazing work! :)

𝕁𝕁𝔹𝔸 ℙ𝟜 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕡: ℝ𝕠𝕙𝕒𝕟

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑒𝓉: You and Rohan hung out in a similar friend group, so it wasn’t uncommon that the two of you would meet here and there. Although, that didn’t mean you knew him personally. More like his name and face, thanks to Koichi. Koichi invited you to tag along to Rohan’s house for a bit, and having nothing better to do, you accepted. However, you were starting to regret it as you felt emerald eyes watching your every move. “Koichi, can you grab some supplies for me from my office?” He asked casually, Koichi agreed, and left the room. You shifted every now and then, his eyes still on you. “Do you want to hang out sometime?” You looked up at him. His expression wasn’t his usual hard stare, it was softer. It broke off the defenses you didn’t know you were building up. “You mean... just us or?” He nodded. “Um, yeah sure.” You beamed at him, at least now you would get to know him a lot better. “Rohan, you didn’t have any of those supplies you asked.” Rohan groaned, “I guess I’ll go shopping for them soon.” He sent you a glance. 

𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒: A few weeks have passed by since you last spoke to Rohan. You were currently on your way home since you stopped at the mart to buy a few snacks in case any of your friends decided to pop in for no apparent reason. You didn’t hate them for it, you were just extremely used to it by now. “Hey!” Stopping in your tracks, you turned around. Rohan was by your side, “Why haven’t you been answering my messages?” Your brain flatlined for a second. “You’ve been messaging me?’ He pulled out his phone, typing up your contact, and showing you the messages. They were throughout the weeks you haven’t heard from him. “Oh, I’m sorry, you have the wrong number down.” The two of you walked to his house without you even noticing. “Then, we should hang out now,” He stretched his hand out to you, leading you up the stairs and into his office. “I hope you don’t mind, but I used you as my muse.” He uncovered a large canvas, and you gazed in awe at the large portrait of you. “It’s beautiful.” “I know you are.” The two of you spent the rest of the day doodling away on the couch while leaning on each other. 

𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒/𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊: To him, you’re the personification of happiness and joy. He loves the little hangout sessions where it’s just the two of you huddled together on the couch, doodling away. He won’t admit it to anyone else, but every drawing that you give him, he keeps with him hung in his office. He loves listening along to your rants, using them as information for his manga. 

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓃𝑜𝓌:  Since you started dating, you two would almost always be together late at night, watching true crime, painting, or just chatting back and forth. He always spoils you with the newest and latest art supplies (you always thank him and tell him you want to pay him back but he’s like just being with me is enough). Whenever you two hang out with the rest of the group, he always admires your concern for your friends as they deemed you the ‘mom’ of the group. Someway somehow, they ended up making Rohan the ‘dad’ of the group as well, but he can’t say he hates it. Even if he has a dislike towards Josuke at times! He loves doing little things for you, getting you gifts here and there, or just showing up to your door with your favorite bouquet of flowers. 

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒫𝟦 𝐹𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹: You would be best friends with Reimi!

𝕁𝕁𝔹𝔸 ℙ𝟝 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕡: 𝔾𝕚𝕠𝕣𝕟𝕠

𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑒𝓉: You first ran into Giorno while you were studying abroad in Italy. He offered you a ride to which you graciously accepted, not knowing the place at all. He dropped you off in the center of town, hoping to take your luggage and sell them along, or at least your purse. However, his hands remained glued to the steering wheel as he wished you a good day. He later then went to his gang and explained the situation. “You like her!” Mista gawked at him, squealing along with Trish. “No, don’t.” He shrugged them off. Although, it dawned on him that he left you on the territory of his opposing gang. “I’ll be back.” His absence made them glance at each other and shrugged. He found you where he had left you, speaking to the locals in fluent Italian. “Excuse me,” You turned to face him. ‘My cab driver came back for me?’ “You forgot something.” Your eyes widen as you checked all your bags. “I’m so sorry, what was it?” He handed you a bundle of purple and orange roses. “Are you free this Friday?”

𝐹𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝑒: He took you to an art museum on your first date together. He held out a single orange rose for you. “Thank you,” You smiled warmly at him. The entirety of the date was spent by you pulling on his hand around the building, pointing at the paintings, and admiring them. Towards, he took you to a small cafe and let you order whatever you wanted. “So you’re a cab driver?’ He tugged at his collar, “Well in my free time I am.” He replied, not wanting to alarm you with his real occupation. He asked what you were doing in Italy, and you told him how you were studying abroad for the time being. “Would you like to do this again sometime?” You nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek before going inside your temporary apartment. 

𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒/𝒶𝒹𝓂𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊: He admires how outgoing and compassionate you are. He loves hearing you sing in his free time, and dancing with you. (Although he’s a bit stiff when it comes to dancing) You still think it’s cute that he tries to learn with you. He also loves hearing your opinion on things, so he purposely sets up movie dates or sends you music to listen to.

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓃𝑜𝓌: When your short trip to Italy was finished, the two of you kept in contact via texting/calling. You told him how you missed Italy and him, so of course, being the boss of the mafia, he bought you plane tickets and arrangements to come to Italy and live with him. Knowing how pricey that would be, you kept telling him that you’ll make it up to him. But you didn’t refuse his offer. He loves surprising you with small gifts as well as giving you roses just like the day the two of you met. “What’s your real job? I didn’t know being a cab driver paid this much?” Eventually, he came forward and told you that he was the mafia boss. Regardless of his occupation, you accepted him for who he was. In time, you also met the rest of the gang, and you got along with them famously. He loves setting up dinner dates for the two of you, or just a casual day for you two to relax. 

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒫𝟧 𝐹𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹: You would be best friends with Trish!

[jaqfms]

there's     jacques    ‘jaq’    daingerfield   !     though     on    their     socials     they     go     by     @thedangerousq     .     i     heard     he     is     originally     from     paris     ,     france     ,     but     made     the     big     move     to     los     angeles     to     join     TWENTIES     .     you     haven't     heard     about     it     ?   well     ,     apparently     their     dream     is     to     design     his     own     video     game   ,     but     they     have     no     chance   unless     they     quit     being     so     cocky     &     lazy     .     that     said     ,     those     behind     the     scenes     have     said     they     can     be     witty     &     charismatic     too.     guess     we'll     have     to     watch     and     find     out     !     ━     &    laughing     until     you     cry     ,          a     cartoon     theme     song     paired     with     a     hip     hop     beat     ,     a     juul     behind     your     ear     ,     vines     quoted     in     a     thick     french     accent     .    (     timothee     chalamet     ,     cis male     ,     he/him     )   (     pepper    ,     she/her + they/them     ,     est     ,     twenty four     )

ABOUT THE MUN.  are ya in a relationship? you think i can convince someone to do that?

hello, it’s me again. i tired myself out with haisley’s so jaq’s if going to be considerably shorter. let’s go. 

BIO.  aaaahhhhhhhhhh shhiiittttt *begins understanding things*

jacques daingerfield was born in france to two very average parents. like his mother was a teacher and his father was a financial analyst. nothing wild or crazy going on there, and to top it off he was the middle child, and well, you can tell. 

he has four siblings. he was the third kid, and well, he spent most of his childhood fighting for any kind of attention, usually by making inappropriate little jokes or you know, fart noises. yes his parents were generally exasperated with him, but that behavior made sure they paid attention to him. and honestly that was all jacques wanted. 

again, jacques had a pretty average upbringing. he went to school, he was actually pretty popular among his peers despite being so annoying (definitely very unpopular amongst his teachers for generally that class clown that sat in the back and always interrupted), and he excelled academically without really trying too much. well, in every subject but english funnily enough. jaq always struggled in english, which is why it was incredibly ironic that when his parents separated they decided to move to uk with his father. jacques was ten at the time, and he still doesn’t understand the decision.

so yes, jacques was the kid in class with the weird name and weirder accent who could barely communicate with his classmates. it didn’t take long for them to stop really trying to pronounce ‘jacques’ properly. jacques became jack without much input on his part, and by the time jacques had got enough of a handle on the english language to correct them the americanized name had already stuck. even at nine jacques was smart enough to know that insisting on the correct french pronunciation of his name just kind of made him sound like a pretentious french asshole, so instead he spun it. he embraced it. started signing all of his papers and assignments with ‘jaq’ with a q like it was his brand or something. even as a child jaq will give himself credit for being clever af. 

it actually worked pretty well honestly. the older jaq got the more he grew into himself, and the more comfortable he got with the english language. honestly a lot of how jaq learned english was through video games and youtube videos and cartoons, like those were some of his go to resources. spent a lot of time playing games with strangers and tested his english out with colourful trash talk. actually started his first ever youtube channel was basically that as just a way to practice his english a bit. all he did on there was play video games, and honesty he didn’t even show his face. the channel wasn’t that popular, but he had fun making it. 

jaq on the other hand had gained popularity by the time he was in middle school. granted, that popularity was mostly due to the fact that he had a popular older brother and sister, was french and therefore ‘cute’ (jaq didn’t pretend to understand how girls brains worked then, and he still doesn’t now) and his family always had the newest gaming system at their household, and even then it wasn’t wild popularity. but it was enough that barely anyone teased him for his thick french accent anymore, and yk what jaq would take it. he weirdly got even more popular with the guys in his grade when they found out about his youtube channel. they found it funny, and they would generally watch his videos and come tell him about their favourite parts later, ask him about how he got past a certain level or learned a certain cheat. jaq soaked up their admiration like a sponge, right into his ego. they were the beginning of jaq getting the big head he proudly sports today. 

that said for most second form jaq’s youtube channel was just a hobby. something he did for fun. like i said earlier, jaq actually did really well in school and his parents always expected him to follow in his father’s footsteps and go into something in business. after all, it would be an easy transition with both french and english under his belt. they knew he would excel. 

but then he met madi. and somehow the two started doing videos together for fun, and it quickly expanded into something a lot bigger. something that jaq wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing before. suddenly the picture perfect future he had planned for himself just seemed boring in comparison to what he and madi had going on, and so jaq easily picked that instead. his parents weren’t all that happy about it, of course, after all jaq had full scholarships to some schools just waiting for him to accept and he ignored all of them in favour of making videos of him playing games online. they still don’t understand, but jaq doesn’t really need them too. he’s happy with what he’s doing and he figures he can always go into business when he’s old and boring. 

he moved out of his parents house straight into an apartment with madi when things between them started getting really tough. they can’t really speak without the whole ‘we’re so disappointed in you’ conversation coming up so jaq doesn’t really speak to them unless he has to. both of his older siblings went into business like their parents wanted, and his younger siblings are on the same path. his little sister wants to be just like him though, and that warms his heart tbh. 

has come to TWENTIES to have a good time! wants to break into the acting industry like dylan o’brien and maybe show his parents that a ‘real’ career can come from something like this. his parents begged him not to come on this show and embarrass them so that is definitely what he’s about to do. 

HEADCANNONS. there are a lot of people who need to shut up.  not me though 

thinks he’s funny! sometimes he is

will answer to jacques, jaq, jaqi, or q! you can call him daingerfield if you want but not many people do

fun fact, made his instagram handle as a joke, much like awkwafina. was just supposed to a little dig about how many times he has to say ‘jack with a q’ whenever someone spells his name. but now the dangerous q is his brand, and just finds it really dumb and funny. 

a bit of a kleptomaniac. will swipe something he thinks is cool mostly just to do it. has very little impulse control. loves to pull pranks and generally make trouble, but not in a way that will ever actually hurt anybody because he’s not a whole idiot. not the biggest fan of cops. 

is an artist. will spray paint your walls and probably has spray painted the walls of his apartment. will doodle weird things all over napkins or receipts or whatever he can get his hands on. has drawn out little video game characters he wants to be in his future games, and actually is considering going to school for a video game programming degree just for that. the funny thing is with his grades he could probably do it. is teaching himself coding in the mean time. 

 the type of person to start drumming on the counter or desk with his hands or like pencils or pens when he’s bored. will make up fun little raps on the spot. 

incredibly intelligent but doesn’t like to talk about it. would much rather act dumb than act like he has any braincells. he doesn’t want to give anyone expectations. 

all the youtube success has definitely gone to his head in the way that?? he just thinks they’re untouchable like he cannot compute the concept of their channel failing or their future endeavors failing. definitely thinks that TWENTIES will lead to much bigger things for them. will walk into his future acting auditions like he’s the shit. 

an introvert with extrovert tendencies. needs to be by himself to chill out and recharge but can like work a room honestly. can make friends pretty much everywhere he goes. a bit of a charmer when he wants to be. 

a smoker unfortunately. also a bit of a stoner. definitely has a juul on him at all times, like i said he tends to keep it behind his ear and then be like ???? where’s my juul. 

needs glasses but refuses to wear them. is very stubborn about it tbh. does not want to get contacts because he hates the idea of putting something into his eye. so you can catch him squinting sometimes like a fool. 

one of the first things he treated himself to with his first big youtube check like outside of rent was a tattoo! it’s on his ribs and it’s just a drawing he did himself but he loves it and it was the start of an addiction. he has about five. also has a few helix and orbital piercings on his left ear. 

another muse of mine with a tiktok, but jaq just uses his to make music for the most part. will turn the mickey mouse club house theme song into bars! (if you’ve seen that tiktok,,,, ily) 

a big nerd. reads comic books. watches anime. will get very reasonably upset about the avatar the last airbender movie whenever it’s brought up.

can cook really well, but whenever he does it it’s pure chaos. like julian/brad leone in the kitchen for sure. but the food comes out tasting really good, so???

is jewish af. knows a bit of hebrew and a bit of yiddish because of his grandparents mostly. is kind of ??? a lot more lenient with things now that he’s not around his parents as often i’m ngl. 

brings his ds everywhere and you can literally catch him on the bus vaping and playing animal crossing because he hasn’t bothered to get a american license yet 

is always willing to take a picture with a subscribers and they’re always the weirdest thing. there are pictures of subscribers like pretending to stab him in the eye. prom pose pictures with subscribers. the weirder the better tbh

has gone to vidcon a few years in a row, always has the wildest time. there is video footage of him waking up in some strangers bathtub with a feather boa around his neck. it’s probably on instagram. 

is also bi af. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.  very proud to announce that i am officially a lost cause! 

BEST FRIENDS.

A BROMANCE. 

FWB/EWB.

EXES. 

FANS OF HIS YOUTUBE VIDEOS. 

and here’s his wanted tag, i forgot to do the same for haisley so here is her wanted tag. 

and many more, y’all this took so long and i’m so tired but like this and i will slide into your dms for plots!

[fools-end-art]

Heya so this is a long ask but is it normal to lose creativity for long periods of time? I attempted to get into art for years and ended up with a bad teacher that drove me away from art as a whole for a while. But I still had ideas for projects. Usually I latch onto a idea strongly and then move onto a new thing but this time it feels worse. Now I recently feel like I have no drive for any ideas and I feel like part of it might be due to a bad experience I had online a few months ago. Cheers

Hi anon! This turned out to be super long, sorry. I got carried away :^)

That is completely normal! I think people tend to glorify creativity as this constant channel in 'creatives' brains, and while that's the case for some, it's not the case for most people.

I tend to think of creativity as an emotion of sorts. Take being happy, for instance (I know 'happy' is a bad example to use because of mental illness and the general state of the world, it was just the best one I could think of). While everyone feels truly happy about something or another from time to time, very few people are happy constantly. However, there are things you can do to cultivate happiness, or any other feeling. Hanging out with someone you like, delivering a sick burn, watching your favorite tv show, etc. Creativity can be the same! There are ways to nurture it.

I think the best way to do that is to make sure that when you try to get back into art, make sure you're doing it entirely, 100%, for yourself. You mentioned a bad teacher, and while I don't know exactly what aspect of them was bad, my guess would be that they pressured you (sorry if you did mention what part about them sucked and I forgot, tumblr won't let me see the entire ask while I answer it which is somewhat of a problem). Pressure and expectations can make anything unpleasant no matter how much you enjoy it. I know that I've turned myself off of a hobby before, because I started doing it for other people too much, and not enough for myself. It took 4 years, and I'm just now dipping my toes back into it. Draw, paint, and doodle the most self indulgent things you can think of. And if you don't feel like drawing anything? Don't! Art should be something that do you because you enjoy it, not because you feel like you should.

If you can't think of anything you want to draw right off the bat but still want to draw something, I'd suggest fan art! It can take a lot of the pressure off to think of an idea, and can be really fun.

And as far as getting creativity back goes, again, nurture it. Listen to some new music, and think about how it makes you feel. Watch some speedpaints on YouTube, and try out a technique you noticed. Think of your favorite quote, and illustrate it. Even something so simple as drawing two dozen disembodied, weird facial expressions can help boost creativity.

Finally, don't be hard on yourself! Things take time and there's no way around that. People will say that you should draw and paint every day, but that's not realistic for most people. I know that I don't! It took me years to get to the point where I draw something even most days. The one thing that is universal, is creating things you don't like. But that's just part of learning, and is totally okay! The most important thing is that you enjoy what you're doing.

I hope that answered your question! I'll look back over your ask and reblog this with anything I missed initially. Good luck and happy art-ing!