#my pen had left ink blotches on the paper and when i went back to erase the unlaying pencil lines the ink blotches smeared across the page

[mysticmoondancer]

Spirit Dragon

Name: Soulron

He watches over the Spirit World and can freely cross between the Living World and the Spirit World at will. He helps lost souls find their way to the Spirit World. The gemstone on his chest is called the Spirit Gem and is the source of his power.

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Would you do a Jean x Reader x Reiner one? The reader felt so betrayed by Reiner being a titan shifter and when he left she felt so confused whether she can loves him or not after finding out the truth. Jean comfort her and they eventually fall in love. Or you can do a modern au one where Reiner cheated on the reader and Jean begin to see his chance with the reader then they both had a relationship. But she still can't forget Reiner. I truly love your writing! Have a good day ! ♥

i was wondering if you could do a modern au jean x reader. where the reader is very stressed for a test of some kind, and jean and the reader end up skipping the test and spend the whole day together instead, where towards the end of the day jean confesses his feelings for the reader. a lot of fluff please if you could i am obsessed sorry by @cj-sparkss

A/N: So i decided to merge those two requests because they fit really good together in my head! I hope ou guys like this! I strongly recommend listening to any song in Halsey's album, Manic while reading.

Pairing: Jean/ Reader, some past Reiner/ reader if you squint

Tags: college!au, art school au, fluff all the way

Warnings: Jean being way too cute for his own sake, seriously

Sketches Of You

Your head was burning.

Your eyes were stinging; tiny little little blood vessels were popping here and there, throbbing profoundly as they merged together, rushing their way to your irises. You didn't know for how long you had been awake, mostly because a few days had passed and you didn't remember falling asleep or waking up on your once comfortable desk chair.

Before you laid numerous books open in different pages, most of the writting they held emphasized by your favorite pastel highlighter. What felt like your lamp buzzed, burning a canary yellow light over the mahogany material of your desk, warming up the spot where your hand used to lay. A pen in your hand was all you could bring yourself to hold with your numb, frozen fingers, the plastic edges of its tube sunk into your skin, carving bumps to mark their spot in your hand.

Wait, oh no, you thought as you looked around this wasn't your dorm, this was the university's library.

The library around you was extremely quiet as you laid face down on one book, your mouth slightly part and your lips dry save for the little ribbon of drool that moistened a line down your right cheek. Only for one more minute, you told yourself, deciding to shut your eyes together just to allow them sometime to rest, ignoring how such request was what had caused you to drift off to such extend in the first place. Stinging tears escaped the corners of your eyelids, signifying how tired and dry your irises had grown to be. Letting out a huge sigh you tried to lift your head, at least this could be an attempt to get your life together for the day.

Your scattered books came to close quietly under your palms, the numerous pieces of papers and notes being tucked messily in between pages, your own fatigue causing you to break your own rules when it came to being as neat as you could with your notes. Another sigh left you as you sank into the back the plastic chair, your books firmly standing on top of eachother and into your palms.

This test was going to end you. You knew it. Despite having tried to memorise all the information that was required for you to even try to get a five -seriously, a five would be absolutely godsent if you could at least get that grade- all you were left with was your brain feeling mushy and muddy without any actual knowledge of the subject you had been studying for. Why on earth was gothic architecture an essential class in your first year in art school was beyond you. Was this university never supposed to let you graduate on top of trying to prevent you getting in for numerous years?

Resisting the urge to scream or pull your hair off your head you decided that it was time to get up, your knees straightening slightly at the your brain's command, only to be sent back into the blue plastic of your chair, your whole body growling in fatigue. Your chest heavied as you let out a whine, bringing your hands to your eyes to scrub away the stinging ache you were feeling.

"You good?"

Your head turned to the direction of the voice maniacally, your eyes shooting wide as you practically ripped your hands off of your face. Looking up, your (e/c) orbs met with hazel ones, little specs of yellow and green stared back at you through thick eyelashes, adorned with a complex of worry plastered on dark chestnut eyebrows.

"Yeah Jean, I'm just studying."

"Oh it's Mr Ackerman's test right?"

"Hm" you hummed in response, another whine coming out of your lips.

"Yeah I remember how that class went for me. He's pretty nice if you get to know him though. I have to submit a few sketches for tomorrow, can I sit with you or were you leaving?"

"No, I'll keep you company, I need a break from whatever.." your eyes wandered at the books in your hands and the numerous note sheets peaking out from anywhere you could lay your gaze on "..this is."

Extending a hand Jean reached out for the head of the chair right next to you, pulling it back in order to let himself sink into the dark blue plastic seat, similarly to you. His lips pushed into a thin line as he looked at you, his cheek puffing up in the action. A hand came to your shoulder comfortingly as another one pulled out his sketchbook from his run down and way too littered with dry paint tote bag.

"Are those for Moblit's workshop?"

"Mhm." Jean confirmed. "You got any 0.8 tipped inks?"

"Yeah, I do."

Setting the leather covered sketchbook on the mahogany table Jean turned his head to you again, pointing his eyes onto the black pencil case in front of you. In response you shrugged your shoulders, your palms shooting up to your eyes once again. Jean's hand grabbed on your case, his long fingers digging through the numerous inking pens and markers that overlapped each other.

"I can't believe you have the Sakura Pens when you know I don't like them." Jean whined, hands roaming through your belongings still.

"Jean," you said, a deep chuckle escaping you in the process "I happen to like them, you know."

"They're yikes."

"You just can't use them correctly."

"How do you use an inking pen correctly. Enlighten me." Jean mocked, his fingers throwing signs in the air to accentuate his words.

Resting his head on his fist Jean opened his sketchbook, swiping through numerous ivory cold pressed pages, filled with inked sketches. Your eye twitched as you tried to keep up with many of the drawings you could spot; you had seen the contents of this sketchbook a thousand times, admiring Jean's skill with ink. His professor, Mister Moblit had one of the most interesting workshops for students who specialised in inks, and you aspired to take his classes in your following year in art school, supposing you could pass your classes this very semester.

"What are you supposed to be drawing?"

"Anything, mostly things that make us feel like they are important to draw." Jean said.

"Oh and library is important?"

"Sasha said you'll be here, so yup. And I want to draw my hands actually "

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head in borderline disbelief. Honestly, if you weren't that bummed about your test and your recent break up you could have laughed at Jean's sly arrogance. Your eyes traveled to Jean, examining his quiet form as he studied his palms. Inevitably your eyes studied them as well.

His fingers were long and tan and harsh to look at, scrapped in most places with tints of Indian ink. They stuggled to manage with your pencil case, his pinkies and thumbs couldn't even begin to fit in the little object and it made you wonder how he even managed to work his inking pens correctly with such enormous hands. Some veins popped from here and there, accentuating his bulky joints perfectly; they run from the back of his palms to his wrist, mingling with more of their blue kind in his calfs and biceps. The occasional blotches of dried paint were decorating them. Even some paint covered hairs spiked as the light contracted his form.

You smiled miscellaneously.

Your own finger traveled without remorse towards them, poking at a few hairs that were littered with paint. By pinching one, Jean shot back in half pain, his brows furrowing in confusion as he stared at you. "Hey, what they fuck!"

"You do that to me all the time when i have paint in my hands!" You half laughed, shooting him a mocking furrowed look as well.

“You’re so cruel!” Jean grinned.

“To pay you back with your own penny right?”

Jean cocked his eyebrow at you, a few lines begging to make an appearance on his forehead. He shook his head a couple of times, throwing a few shaggy strands of hair away from his face, his forehead immediately lighting up as his ashy blond locks overlapped just above his ears. You mimicked him, using a hand to move your feathery bangs away from your face as to not have them intertwining with your vision.

Jean brought a digit to his mouth, biting at the bulky knuckle while wrapping his lips around it to suck at the sore spot, dramatically mourning the loss of one single hair. It made you laugh harder than it should have and you told him off, quickly grabbing his hand by the wrist to pull it further away from his mouth.

"Ew you idiot are your hands even washed!? Don't put them in your mouth!"

Jean's smile faded gradually as he nodded its only reminder remaining in his eyes as they softened with each passing second they looked at you. You bobbed your head to the side, taking in the way he was looking at you and you felt your gut grunting in the anxiety you had managed to drown at one time.

You definitely knew that look.

"So how are you after... The whole Reiner thing?"

When Jean let the sentence out, he instantly regretted it. Biting back the inside of his lip, his teeth dug into his soft, fleshy gum, the tiny specks of spiky under lip hair he had poking through his chin. You could see the regret plastered on his face, yet you ignored it with a sigh, pushing your stern further back into the chair again.

Of course Jean would ask about that. Reiner and you had broken up a little less that a month ago and it was stressful enough to send your anxiety over the roof. Coming home to find him drapped in the sheets with someone else was still burning through your brain like a hot iron, marking the fleshy crevices by piercing your skull.

Jean and you hadn't had a chance to talk about your break up yet; in the midst of it being a spontaneous reaction to Reiner's anathema and your upcoming mid-terms, you had chosen to indulge yourself fully with the everlasting pleasure of delving into studying.

And now, as you tried to utter your awaited words your stomach clenched at the foreshaken memory that you had tried to bury in the depths of your soul, your hands sweating just a tiny bit as you gulped down on some saliva to dumpen your dry throat. Jean's hazel orbs were set on you with curiosity and reluctance, his skin tingling inside his crewneck sweater.

"I mean, Eren told us about it and then we fought on who would punch Reiner first you know."

You oggled at him as he spoke awkwardly, your lashes batting rapidly as a wave of confusion washed through you.

"You don't have to hit Reiner you know, we all make our choices and he made his."

"Ah," Jean sighed heavily "I suppose so. I'm here for you though, you can talk to me."

"You're actually doing an assignment at the moment" you said and pointed your finger onto his sharp nose, giving him a playful push to the side. "No need to talk about my sorry love life."

"Your love life isn't pitiful, don't talk about it like that!"

"It's not pitiful, just sad." You sighed, reaching out to your pencil case. "Just sad."

Your fingers run through the case even though your eyes weren't fixated on the action, your sense of touch working its way to let you know which object you were seeking. The tips of your fingers caught on the thick Posca marker quickly and you locked it in a grasp between your pointer and middle finger, bringing it up through the zip up opening.

"Give me your hand." You ordered at Jean as you clapped your fingers to your palm in a 'come here' motion.

"It could always get better you know." Jean spoke and threw his hand to you.

Slowly the cap was off the market with a snap and you slid it up towards it's butt to pop it on there as to not lose it in any case it feel off of the desk and onto the mosaic floor.

Jean's nose lit up in a faint scarlet and his ears followed right next, lighting up in a deeper shade of the color on his nose which made his hand snap away from you in a matter of seconds. With puckered lips he stared at the corner of the room that was in the opposite direction of yours, his gut drenching him in short tempered anxiety.

"You done painting my nails with the posca pen?" Jean remarked, lips still puckered as he turned to face you. "When's your exam?"

"Three o'clock."

"Wanna ditch?"

Your eyes goggled in his for a second. The luminous morning light that peaked through the library binds fell onto him dearly, caressing a few of his features in a lemony colored mellow way, your gaze traveled into anywhere on his face as you tried to examine his expression while your gut was beginning to churn at the sly thought of agreeing with his query.

Weighting your options wasn't a seriously hard thing to do; if you took the test you were most likely going to fail, but if you didn't take it you'd have to live with the guilt of not even putting the minimal effort in it for a few weeks. But, you had tried so hard to pass all of your other classes so why shouldn't you slack off for one that was bound to end in a fiasco?

You found yourself nodding to Jean before you could actually give more thought to it. His face immediately lit up, ashy blond locks flying over his eyes as he shook his head in excitement. With one move his sketchbook was closed again, left to mourn over the non existent scribbles Jean could have made during all this time he was sitting next to you.

The hard cover protected sketching pages were thrown into to his tote bag once again, the sound of the sketchbook colliding and clashing with a few more objects he had in the bag filling the silent air of the library.

"Put your books in here!" He offered, opening the sides of the tote bag right on front of your face, signaling you to do as he suggested.

By taking a long sigh you took a turn in throwing your books and pencil case in the bag, one object following another on the pursuit of finding their own place in Jean's crammed bag. A shy smile adorned your features as you looked at him, the mischievous little devil on your shoulder smiling proudly at your actions as if you were a high schooler skipping school.

_____

Black Cat was a notorious cafe among art university students for numerous reasons. For example, it featured a decent amount of of beautiful contemporary art that was meticulously merged with the soft, cobblestone-cottagecore-home-during-the-winter aesthetic and all of their tables, stools and booths were artist-friendly to the max. Additionally it played Nirvana and Metallica for most of the day and on top of that they actually had a chunky and extremely cuddly black cat roaming around the store that you often found on your lap during your time there.

Oh, and the batwoman made amazing custom cocktails.

Really was there anything else anyone needed in a store?

The soft tangerine light flickered open as the sun outside started to hide it's shy low lights under the peak of a mountain you couldn't recall the name of, the soft smell of apple pie filling your nostrils as you sipped lightly from your earl gray tea occasionally, stealing a few glances of Jean's focused expression. A knowingly half smile went up to your face as you looked at the scenery outside before fixing your eyes back onto the bright screen of your phone.

Jean cooed in his leathery chair for the upteenth time today, his gaze fixated on the sketchbook on his hands. You had spend last hour in absolute silence; you had decided to roam around in your phone for references for an assigned collage you had to do in Photoshop as Jean had settled on drawing the horizon from outside the window to practice on his perspective while finishing up the sketches he had to submit.

Your day had passed by pretty fast; you had visited an urban side of the town that was flooded with art supply stores and you had delved into every single one roaming around to find any kind of supplies you were short on, or just generally needed. As Jean correctly had said, you are always short on art supplies.

Thus, you had ended up with a bag filled with complementary acrylic colors in tubes of 20ml mostly because they costed a dollar each, and also because as art students you got to receive twenty percent off of all your supply bills. Jean had only bought a new set of watercolors and a few Edding inks and 0.7 tipped poscas, as he was sure he would ruin your expensive Sakura Liners in his attempts to finish his project.

Then you had decided to cram your place for some much needed lunch before heading off to Black Cat to have some tea and coffee while Jean would finish off his last few of the sketches he had been drawing throughout the day.

"So" Jean awkwardly spoke as in to break the deep silence, his thumb pressing over the edge of the page his drawing was placed as he closed the sketchbook carefully "I wanted to ask, because ahem, I'm your friend and I'm worried about you... Do you want to vent about Reiner?"

"Ah, no" you shook your head and fixed your gaze onto the auburn colored liquor in your cup as you reluctantly lift it up to bring it to your lips before speaking "I mean, I got so sad you know. And I haven't gotten over it, of course, I mean I liked Reiner. A lot."

"I came see it in your eyes. But I'm here for-"

"And he's a bitch you know? He could have told me if he was bothered by anything I did or if it wasn't going well for him. I'd gladly work anything out or even break up peacefully."

"You know," Jean sighed, he too bringing his cup of coffee to his lips to take a sip before gulping it down. "My opinion is obviously biased here, but I support you. I've took a psychology class and we were actually delving into as to why some people cheat, there are many reasons as to why it could have happened."

Your heart slightly aches as you looked at him, a few veins in your hand twitching slightly as he continued rambling about all things he had grasped from his class. Your stomach growled angrily in anxiety, warning you to put an halt to your friend's words but you couldn't bring yourself to do so.

Not knowing the reason as to why Reiner had chosen to see someone else behind your back had hurt you beyond repair. Deep inside you still felt the need to get some closure, although with your stress on your exams you had been sure you would most likely give in to anything Reiner would say and this wasn't who you were.

You could go on without having any closure, it shouldn't have mattered so much to you in any way.

And to some extent it didn't.

"I'm hurt, but I'm the other hand I don't really care about anything you know?"

"Mhm, yeah, look at you getting over it so quickly!" Jean said semi enthusiastically. "You need to be able to share your pain in order for it to become small and eventually non-existent."

"You know, for someone who takes such sophisticated classes you talk like you haven't slept in ages!"

"Give me a break, as if you don't."

The two of you burst into bubbling laughter, your chests heaving and falling as the sounds of joy left you one by one. Jean's hand had come to rest on top of yours softly, giving you a couple of squeezes as his eyes squinted in synch with yours.

And then, in a moment that seemed like it was forced out of a coffee shop au fanfiction, Jean's hand rubbed a few soothing circles over yours. Slowly his laughter was begging to set into a silent harmony, the woody brown specs of his eyes providing the slightest tint of warmth into his gaze.

"This is why I love you so much."

The choice of words was supposed to be naive whether it was intentional or not, or that's what you tried to tell yourself because you thought you knew Jean better than anyone. The look in his eyes, the soft upwards curves of his eyebrows, the way his top lip overlapped go bottom one as his eyes glimmered into yours; this wasn't a very casual look for Jean, it was the look he had on when he was looking at something that mesmerised him. And you knew he meant exactly what he had said.

But did you like Jean?

Well, was there anyone who could spend so much time with Jean and not fall for him, even without realising it?

At one time it had become obvious that he liked you, although he'd never act upon it. You knew it in his movements, in the little ways he looked at you or cared for you like no one else actually did while hiding behind the mask of being a friend. Eren had been one to tease him for it restlessly and you had been able to catch upon that too but you had never let it be known that you had been able to see through his facade.

"Forget it I shouldn't even have had-"

With curious eyes you stared back, your gaze never truly leaving him. When he suddenly shook his hand off of yours you found your other hand pressing on top of his, trapping the limb in place as you tried to open your mouth to utter any word. It was still hard to find the right choice of words, ones that wouldn't hurt to be heard.

"Jean... I-"

"No, forget it, it just slipped, shit."

"Look Jean shut up for a second please I want to speak okay?" You huffed half playfully, despairate to stop Jean's mumbling "I know."

"You know?" Jean cursed under his breath.

"Yeah, I do, it's obvious. And I've had this huge crush on you ever since fifth grade you know? I never really got over you because I spent all of my teen years thinking we'd end up together."

You watched as Jean's face lit up at your words, a new glimmer adorning his eyes just as the sky turned a sheer violet as the sun retreated deeper into a non visible horizon.

"And then we kissed in eighth grade and we fought about it and we stopped hanging out because I asked for space since I just could believe what was happening. But we're friends again and it's the best thing to happen to me in years."

You continued, your hand never leaving his while soothing circles were rubbed onto his palm.

"But I'm not going to ask you for space this time."

"You're not?"

"No. Just a little patience. I'm still getting over Reiner and I don't want to be unfair to you and rip you off of something that you might ask from me."

Jean snapped his hand away from yours and you retreated your hands back to yourself shyly, a bitter mouth leaking into your mouth as you tried to swallow it down fast to no avail. Somehow your heart felt a strong stinging, the pulling of your heartstrings at steak while your heart was sprawled before you.

Was that your last chance with Jean? You had told yourself that time and space between you would be right one day, but that day seemed to stray further away now, slipping right off your hands because you couldn't forget Reiner fast enough.

"I'm not fourteen anymore, so don't be afraid about me straying away. I just wanted to show you something."

Jean's worked through the pages of his sketchbook, taking a few seconds before they landed where they wanted to. Flipping the sketchbook to match your point of view, he revealed the sketches he had been scribbling all day. They depicted you in majority. The look on your face as you picked a tube of paint, your hands as they grabbed through numerous brushes and sketchbooks. Even the way you stared at your phone as you sat across him was perfectly sketched on the paper and hatched in indian ink, adorned by Jean's raw drawing style.

"Jean, that's me!"

"Mister Moblit told us to draw things that were personally important to us. So, I hope you don't mind."

Damn, you felt like tearing up.

In the midst of trying to get your stupid heart to calm down from the impossible rhythm in which it was beating at and stating at Jean's sketches so hard that your eyes felt like they'd pop out and any given moment your would felt like setting fire to your whole being while your tears were restlessly trying to put it out. It was even outdated to feel like that about Jean, your younger self told you but there was no way you could help it.

With rivers of tears running from the corners of your eyes you looked up at the hazel orbs that were set on you, feeling your heart want up by their luminous gaze.

"Jean I-"

"Shush, you don't have to say anything. Just let me know if I can hug you."

"I'd love that." You said shyly under your breath.

Next thing you knew Jean had gotten up from his seat and had plopped himself right next to you, pushing your head deep in his chest. The song in the background faded gradually as you felt serenity wash through you, despite your heart hammering in your chest beyond a point you could actually feel it.

And for now all that mattered was that you could listen to Jean's heart beat nearly as fast as yours while his words played inside your head.

Maybe, just maybe time and space between the two of you was right this time.

taglist: @sasageyowrites @levisbrat25 @ackermans-freedom-inc @melancholicmonologue @berrijam @callmepromise @nobody-knows-anymore 

[lnarizakis]

tear-stained paper | a. zenitsu

pairing: agatsuma zenitsu x gn! reader

foreword: written for the best lightning user out there, happy birthday zenitsu (sept. 3)! this is written in two parts, so check out sal’s piece before reading this part!! @sugaanoya

(( ‘twas a pleasure doing business with you >:)

wc: 1k

look out for: fluff

━━━━━━━━━━☆

“... I should end this before it gets too long. I have so much to say to you still, but I need sleep and I can save that for when I return to you. Sleep well my love and dream of me. 

Yours forever, 

Agatsuma Zenistu.”

The last few lines of the letter grew gradually blurry as you read through what the love of your life had written for the umpteenth time. After the third, you stopped keeping count. You set the letter down gently, so as not to ruin it further from how hard the little sparrow of his gripped onto it. Pushing the letter aside, you pulled out an empty piece of paper and a pen of your own. 

With the inspiration coming from the dried tears and the blotched ink that signed his letter complete, you began writing your own letter back to him. 

“To the love of my life, Zenitsu, 

Nothing in the world could compare to the love I feel for you; it is a pure, wholehearted, and unshared love that I never could experience with anyone else.”

You stared blankly at what you had written so far. It was only a sentence, yet it expressed everything you felt for the boy. Again you pressed a finger against one of the many tear stains on Zenitsu’s letter for you, and then pressed it against your lips to feel some sort of his presence on you. You breathed in inspiration once more and set your pen on the paper to begin writing, yet you were hit with a case of writer’s block at the worst time. 

Focusing as much as you could on the letter didn’t seem to fix the problem, either, for outside the confines of your small home was the ruckus that sounded all-too similar to Zenitsu. You turned your head towards the window by the door, and there was the blur of striking yellow that made you jump out of your chair and rush towards the window to see if it was really him or if you were just hallucinating. 

As you pressed your face up against the glass window, you saw three figures: Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Tanjirou, all shouting at each other outside your home. Tanjirou, who faced the window, pointed directly at you as he shook Zenitsu on the shoulder. 

Your love turned around and instantly his teary eyes brightened up as he smiled widely and reciprocated your actions, also pressing his face up against the window. The two of you looked like silly idiots in love. 

You then turned away to open the door and run into his arms, letting some of the dirt that clung to his haori fall onto you. Breathing in his scent, you thought there were remnants of smoke that also hung on his presence. You nestled your head in the crook of his neck, and Zenitsu did the same. Being in his arms felt like time stopped for the both of you, only abruptly continued when Inosuke, from behind his boar mask, coughed as he muttered out loud, “Lovebirds.” 

Tanjirou promptly smacked him on the back of his head in return. 

Giggling slightly, you and Zenitsu made your way inside your home while Tanjirou and Inosuke went off to see Urokodaki and get some rest. From there, Zenitsu stripped himself of his haori to place it neatly on the table, covering what you had written for him. You guided him into your bedroom where you were to clean his wounds and, soon after, to fall asleep in his arms. 

The moment of your washing away his dried wounds with a warm washcloth felt as intimate as the day you told you felt the same way about him. Maybe it was the lack of affection you received for the past week, but you were sure that this feeling ranked as high as the time he planted the softest of kisses he’d ever given you the night before he left. 

When you set down the washcloth, you traced your hands up his arms to find themselves behind his neck as you leaned forward to place a kiss so gingerly on his cheek. Matching the intimacy of the scene, you whispered low into his ear that you read his letter. Zenitsu cupped your cheeks with his hands, and asked you what you thought of it. 

“I don’t deserve you,” you blatantly told him, “I really don’t. You say that you’re the one who doesn’t deserve me, but, my love, I never would have thought I would fall in love with someone as caring…” you gave him another kiss on his cheek, “and as thoughtful as you…” you gave him a kiss on the other, “with someone who could love me almost as equally as I love him.” You gave him a kiss on his lips.

As much as Zenitsu loved to talk and blabber on about whatever, he was rendered speechless. All he could do was look into your eyes, full of love and genuinity, and just fall deeper and deeper in love with you. He gave you the most lovestruck smile as he told you like he wrote on paper, “(Y/N), I’m so hopelessly in love with you. I’m incredibly sorry I couldn’t give you the celebration of a first anniversary like you wanted.”

Moving your hands up to cup his cheeks as he did yours, you told him, “What’s done is done, my love. We have so many more anniversaries to have that it doesn’t matter anymore.” The two of you grew silent for a moment.

You then added, “We might as well celebrate our first forever together.”

Zenitsu tightened his hold on you as the two of you fell down into the comforts of your futon. “(Y/N), I love you so, so, so much!” he exclaimed, laughter following shortly after. 

The laughter died down, and was soon morphed into soft snores coming from you. With adrenaline coursing through him, Zenitsu couldn’t find himself falling asleep any time soon, so he released his grasp on you and made his way to retrieve his haori. 

There he saw that underneath his haori was your attempt at a reply back to him, and that little of a letter was enough to keep him going for now and forever, he thought, as he folded the paper to tuck into the pocket of his uniform.

━━━━━happy birthday, zenitsu!

[scrawler-jay]

of mice and artblock

So, midterms happened and I abandoned this blog for a while. But now I’m back, and I come bearing mice.

*

I’ve been really struggling with finding subjects I like to draw. I’m happy to work on skeleton studies until Judgment Day to better understand anatomy, but I know I need to balance “homework” art with “for fun” art, or else risk losing motivation for learning to draw -- and I’m so used to writing fiction at this point that no subject really appeals to me artistically unless it’s got 5,000+ words of story attached (or at least some narrative/character ideas, yanno -- something for my brain to pick at). The obvious solution is to draw concept art and characters from my written stories, but I feel really intimidated by that because I’m such a beginner artist that nothing I create now will do justice to the vision I have in my head.

I need art OCs and concepts – things that I will only draw art of, and have never written a story about. Stuff that doesn’t have to match a previously established, written story, and that I can change as I learn more and my skills improve.

I ended up drawing a bunch of mice.

This was initially just a whim. Human anatomy requires a lot of skill to pull off, especially faces and hands, but mice felt more beginner-friendly to me. Admittedly, I was going for a more cartoony style as opposed to photorealism, so if you’re looking at this from a realism perspective then these are pretty poor mice. However, I don’t feel ashamed of them, which I am taking as a good sign.

I kept drawing one mouse over and over. I ended up calling him Leo just because it was funny – “leo” refers to lions, but here Leo is just a little mouse. But of course, giving him a name (and a gender, incidentally) is the start of a story. Via a flight of fancy, I got it into my head that I wanted to do a painting of Leo trying to catch a big snowflake. I made some thumbnails of what I wanted the scene to look like, and then cut out a roughly 7 inch x 7 inch piece of watercolor paper from a big sheet that I had under my bed, sketched the scene in pencil, and then finished with watercolor pencils (and a white gel pen for the snowflakes). The process probably took 2.5 to 3 hours.

So, now the lore is that Leo is a mouse living in a little house in an old tree at the edge of the woods, and he wears a red scarf. I did not like this painting. It seemed over-saturated and the colors didn’t quite work the way I wanted them to. I ended up watching a tutorial on color theory, and decided to redo the painting using my newfound knowledge of color schemes. I used this color palette tool to get an idea of what kinds of colors would look good together, and settled on a complementary scheme with bluish green and brownish red.

And then, everything went wrong.

I tried to redo the painting, still working traditionally. I rushed the sketch because I was so eager to get right into working with color. This time, to avoid over-saturation, I used watercolors out of a pan rather than in pencil form. Mixing the colors in the lid of the pan took a really long time because I was so picky about shades, and because I continued rushing I didn’t allow the layers enough time to dry. Leo’s scarf (now green instead of red) bled into his russet fur, and the mailbox was the wrong shape, and I tried to erase a pencil line and created a dark blotch over an area that was supposed to be white with snow – and then I gave up.

I had downloaded Krita, a piece of digital drawing/painting software, a while ago, but hadn’t had any success using it because my desk isn’t big enough to accommodate both a laptop and my small tablet. Using my lap to hold the tablet was an exercise in frustration, and I knew so little about how digital art works that I just felt really overwhelmed and lost whenever I opened the program.

However, Krita (like most digital art software) has an undo button that I find very alluring, so I decided to try it again, now on a shiny new desk from Ikea that is actually big enough to support tablet and laptop together. I think just the space on the desk really made all the difference, but also I was determined to get this artwork of a mouse to a place where I felt satisfied with it.

I spent a solid 5 hours working on what ended up being a very simple colored drawing of a mouse catching a snowflake outside his little house. I barely blended anything at all, and there’s no light source that required me to shade anything – it’s just flat color. However, I really like these colors, and I think I did well (for an absolute beginner). I want to go back and add textures/shading to give an impression of depth, but I'm not sure how.

Leo – like all of my figures – feels really stiff, so I also want to work on gestures/studies of mice doing things. And, thanks to the popularity of mice as lab animals and pets, there are way more reference photos of mice than I expected! Most refs depict the house mouse, Mus musculus, but I did find the work of a wildlife photographer named Dean Mason who spent 15 years photographing harvest mice (micromys minutus).

Unfortunately, all of the prior artwork in this post I had drawn almost purely from imagination, and I think it shows. I studied two mice from photos in pencil, then erased the lines until they were barely visible and tried to do the fur texture in ink (with a dip pen, so there is some unevenness when the pen was extra inky).

Left is my first attempt doing the fur texture. I was more cautious with layering pen strokes, so you can see the lines of strokes fairly evenly. Right is my 2nd attempt, where I was bolder with the pen. I like these mice more than the one I created in the digital painting; these ones (especially the right) feel more Beatrix Potter-ish, which is a vibe I like.

Do I want to go back and fix the anatomy in my digital art of Leo? Yes. I also want to take another stab at doing this piece traditionally, but this time, I'd go monochrome and try to do everything in brown. However, part of me is exhausted from drawing ten million snowflakes and does not want to relive that experience with a gel pen -- I've already done it once with a tablet pen, and that was enough.

I have a hazy, far-off goal of creating a comic of Leo having adventures with another mousy friend, but that’s so far in the future that it’s not worth spending time considering right now. In the nearer future, however, Leo’s friend might become a reality – I know he’s an albino mouse (name TBD) who either escaped from a drug-testing facility (I loved The Secret of NIMH movie as a kid) or else is a pet who was dumped into the wild by a human owner who no longer wanted him. Leo is outgoing and adventurous, and this friend is shy and cautious.

[shotos-kettle]

My dearest Friend.. (M)

Chapter one.

*Trigger waring: violence, rape(in further chapters) p.s.... im sorry for writing this but It just happened and I cant get the plot out of my head.

Based off the inspiration that this photo gave me.

'I'm not too sure when it all really started, maybe a few months after we started school together, but… Kaa-chan has always picked on me one way or another, whether for my intellect, my appearance or the fact that I was born a quirkless nobody…'

Pin pricks of ink dotted around in a general area of the journal as Midoriya ran a hand through his soft messy green locks, a long sigh slipping past his lips as he tried to go deeper into his thoughts, wanting to make his entry tonight mean something more than just mindless drabbles. 

'When we got into middle school it started turning into something more than just light teasing, maybe it was because Kaa-chan's body was changing inside so his brain really couldn't tell him it was wrong. Even though I really didn't mind the teasing. At the end of the same day he was still Kaa-chan to me and i was still Deku to him, that was fine right? That's how it was supposed to be between the two of us.'

"Midoriya! Everyone's already downstairs for dinner, are you coming out of your room or not?" 

Setting his pen down for a moment Midoriya turned to look at Kirishima who had popped his head into the room, and with a smile on his face he nodded and gave him a small thumbs up. "I'll be down in just a minute, I'm just finishing up some homework that Sir Nighteye gave me during today's work study." 

He watched as Kirishima's face took on an unreadable expression for a moment before the fiery red head nodded and smiled before exiting. "Just don't take too much longer, Tsu made dinner tonight and you know how she gets when you skip her meals."

Midorya laughed slightly as he scratched at the nape of his neck. "Yeah yeah i know!" As he stared at the door waiting for a few moments his smile dropped as he thought back to the expression that had crossed over his friend's face for that brief moment, he could only imagine what the boy had been thinking. Turning back to his journal he picked his pen back up and let out a heavy sigh, pressing the tip into the paper to finish off his entry for the night.

'I don't really know how much longer kaa-chan is going to be like this towards me, whether this more aggressive side of him is just a phase or.. if he really does hate me for being picked by all might just like he said. I can never tell if he's being truthful or just saying something to get me off his case. Anyway, we are still friends, no matter what I know he still cares.. I can tell he cares, he just has a strange and unethical way of showing it.' 

He closed his journal and finally stood from his desk, taking a glance around the darkened room he gingerly slid the thin journal underneath his heavy mattress. "Alright, time to eat." He murmured to himself as he finally exited his room, taking careful and quiet steps down the stairs to the main hall where he knew everyone would be gathered. 

"I'm sorry if I'm late guys! I was almost done with my homework." Midoriya slid into one of the open seats and looked over at Tsu as she set a plate of food in front of him. "Thank you, it looks great as always Tsu!" He let the compliment roll off his tongue, a wave of an undesirable feeling washed through his nerves as he felt daggers digging into the back of his neck. He didn't have to turn around to know where it was coming from, he knew it was Bakugo, it was always Bakugo. No matter where he ventured, whether it was into the city or within the confines of their dorm house he was always there. 

His head lowered as he sank into his seat just a little bit more than usual. "Don't thank me Midoriya, I just wanted to make sure you got your dinner  too. I heard you have some training today with Mr. Aizawa." It was great that she cared, he enjoyed having friends around him that would care for his well being since gods knew he wouldn't do it himself. Even his mother, Inko would always call him once she knew he was out of class just to make sure he hadn't skipped lunch that day. Bless her heart, she was always so concerned about him and it was a good thing too. 

He had to admit, if it weren't for Uraraka and Tsuyu he didn't think he would be able to keep up his strength as well as he had been on his own.  "Yeah.. but still Tsu, thank you. I'll enjoy every bit of it!" 

As he went to take the first bite of his breakfast a wad of paper landed on his plate, the snickering from behind him caused a shiver to run down his spine. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat as he set the paper aside and picked up his plate, slowly standing. "I think I'm going to eat on the porch this morning.." he whispered solemnly as he lowered his head, attempting to scoot past the grumpy blonde. But the second his foot caught on something he landed face first into his plate of food, eyes scrunched  to not get anything in them. 

"Watch where you're going you damn nerd." Bakugo hissed as he knocked his foot into Midoriya's side, just barely missing his hip bone. It was on purpose, and Midoriya knew that… Everything Bakugou did to him was never unintentional, and it hurt. He quietly pushed himself up off the floor, leaving his ruined plate as he rushed out of the common room and into the nearest bathroom, heart pounding as the tears that threatened to spill over just kept building up. He slammed the door shut behind him and pressed his back against it, trying to clear the food away from his eyes so he could open them.

It wasn't an issue of the torture that Bakugou always put him through, no that wasnt why he high tailed it out of there. There was something so much worse going on that pressed further into his mind. Something he would never let come to light. It was painful, to have someone who he considered to be his childhood best friend treat him in such a manner, to bring these feelings forward, and it was even worse to admit to himself that he enjoyed the pain that Bakugou put him through. Though he had to admit it, even if just to himself…

The lock clicked behind him as he pushed away from the door, refusing to look at himself through the mirror as he turned the sink on, beginning to wash the wasted food off his skin. Some of it burned, having been fresh off the stove. Tsuyu must have kept it hot for him while he had been finishing his journal entry for the night. When he finally lifted his head to meet his own eyes he simply stood there, staring back at his own reflection.  He felt like a failure, couldn't even stand up so someone he considered a friend despite everything they had done to him over the last few years, but how could he? When the same pain inflicted upon him by that very friend brought him so much sickening joy.

He brought a hand down to press over his now bruised hip, hissing as his fingers dug into the area. Lifting his shirt he examined the blotches of purple and yellow that were blossoming against his skin, his eyes slowly drifting to the tent that had formed in his shorts and a heavy hearted breath left his lips. 'Why am I this way?' He began to think to himself as he rid himself of his clothes, stepping into the tub as he started to let the water fill up. Sinking down to his knees once the scalding water began to rise. 'I can't stop it anymore, why does this keep happening? Why him of all people?' 

Midoriya's mind was far too flooded to think rationally as he clasped his fingers around his growing erection, a needy breath leaving his lips as he squeezed the base of his cock. The water that continued to lick as his thighs only egged his arousal on further, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned back, propping himself against the back of the tub, one leg pressed against the side of the porcelain that framed his body. His hips rocked in time with his strokes, jaw taught to keep himself quiet as his head tipped back against the wall behind him.

His free hand slipped down between his legs, hips lifting as he pressed two slim digits past the tight ring of muscle and deep inside of himself. Wiggling down further into the tub as his back arched, one hand working desperately to stretch himself out and find that spot deep within his ass that would bring stars to his closed eyes. This is what he had become, a disgusting version of himself that got off on being bullied and beaten by one of his closest friends and he hated every second of it. There was something wrong with him, something within his mind had changed over the years and he wasn't sure when it had started but it did. 

A gasp left his lips as his climax finally hit, spurts of cum mixing with the water than now came up to his chest, he pulled his hands away and started to tear up again this time the tears spilled over and streamed down his cheeks, soft sobs and hiccups left him as he sat there in his own filthy water, fingers curling into his green locks. "I'm disgusting.. I'm so sorry Kaachan.." The words came out broken as he tried to speak through his own sobs. Bakugou could never find out about any of these feelings, it would surely mark the end of his life if he ever found out.

[megalony]

Perfect to me- Beginning

This is another part to my Roger Taylor series which is about Roger’s relationship with deaf Reader. I hope everyone likes it.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roger couldn't help the way his lips curved up at the corners when his eyes found their way back to the woman in front of him. They had been walking in the same direction for only two minutes but to Roger, it felt like two hours. He felt like he had become entranced by her in the shortest of time. Their eyes had locked the moment she crossed the road, her head dipped down in a way that showed she was shy but her smile showed she was polite. There was a sparkle in her eyes that seemed to capture Roger's full attention before her back was suddenly in his line of sight as she walked in front of him.

He found himself smiling at how she tucked her hands into her coat pockets to pull the fabric closer around her in the winter weather. He rather liked the deep berry purple coat she wore, it was one he had seen somewhere before but couldn't quite place where.

The drummer liked how she had her scarf tucked neatly into her coat until one of the frayed ends escaped her coat and flew in the breeze littered with little flecks of snow that was just beginning to fall. But more so, Roger liked how she reached up to run her hand through her hair that was half-covered by a hat with the ends flowing free in the snow. Each strand became coloured with the snow before it melted into her locks. He fought hard not to laugh when she seemed to catch one of the rings sitting on her fingers in a strand of hair that wrapped around the item.

She was trying to get her ring free without ripping her hair from her head and causing a scene in the street. With a final tug, her hand released from her hair and went back into her coat pocket.

It was as if luck had been on Roger's side in that cold winter's afternoon. He noticed the simple silver ring with a dusty pink rose on it fall from her finger without her notice. His rather worse for wear eyes narrowed until his eyes were almost shut so he could see where it landed as the girl in front of him hadn't noticed it had left her delicate finger. Roger crouched down as if examining the thin layer of snow beginning to cover the dirt-ridden pavement. His thumb and index finger delicately taking the ring, rubbing it on his jacket before he looked up.

His eyes widened when the girl seemed to have disappeared rather quickly, leaving Roger to squint to be able to see her walking into a cafe on the right.

Roger fisted the ring in his palm but being careful with it at the same time as he picked up the pace to follow after the mysterious woman who seemed to have cast a spell over him. Heading into the same cafe, Roger shook his mop of ash blond hair to rid the flecks of water and snow. Realising that this was not a cafe he had been in before.

Glancing his eyes around, Roger soon found her in the queue for a drink or a bite to eat and decided to sit down at one of the tables so he didn't look suspicious standing in the doorway.

(Y/n) sat down at her usual table in the corner of the quaint cafe next to the window. Allowing the steam of the hot chocolate in her hand to flood her senses and thaw out her nose that had turned to ice. The steam felt nice against her cold features and the cup was beautifully warm against her stone-cold fingers trembling against it. She slowly brought the rim to her lips, telling herself to be careful as last time she had managed to burn the rim of her mouth. When her eyes drifted upwards they widened just a little when she noticed the blond she had seen in the street moments ago.

He had a smile on his face that looked intoxicating, but what caught (Y/n)'s attention was the fact that he was looking directly at her. More to the point, he was now walking in her direction. She quickly set down the drink in her hands in case she was liable to drop it before now, her nerves suddenly spiking though she didn't know why.

"I believe this is yours." Roger's tone was gentle, but (Y/n) wasn't to know that. Her eyes watched the way his lips pressed together and pushed together towards the middle of his mouth when he spoke certain words. She was thankful he was punctuating his words better than most so she could work out which words were forming from his lips. When her eyes moved to the ring he held in the palm of his hand a look of surprise took over her face. That was indeed her ring. (Y/n) couldn't help but look down to her right hand, seeing that her index finger didn't hold the ring that was now clearly in the palm of Roger's hand.

A small hum that resembled an unevenly toned chuckle left her parted lips and although it was muffled it made Roger smile instantly. He gently nudged his palm towards her so she would take her possession back. When her fingers skimmed over his palm he felt his nerves sparking to life and it made him feel alive, somehow.

Slipping the ring back into its rightful place on her finger, (Y/n) stared at it for a brief second before her attention was turned back to the man standing beside her. Acting on instinct (Y/n) pressed her fingertips of her hand to her chin before motioning her hand towards Roger in the sign for thank you as her lips curved in a way that sent his heart rocketing in his chest. When she noticed the way his eyelids pushed against his eyes in confusion it became clear that this kind person didn't know sign language even if he knew she was doing some kind of gesture of kindness or thanks to him.

(Y/n) had tried mouthing words to people before but it wasn't the same. She had no way of knowing if she was miming the words right because her lips never produced any verbal sound. She could see people talking but miming was like seeing someone play the piano and trying to copy when you had no knowledge of how to play. She had made a fool out of herself more than once by doing that and she didn't fancy doing that in front of him.

Roger watched the girl's expression fall as if her features had been on a string which was now cut. Her lips curved down instead of up and her eyes seemed heavier than before. She pointed to her ear before shaking her hand to try and gesture that she couldn't hear him. When Roger's smile faded she knew he had gotten the message.

In the blink of an eye, Roger had turned around and speeded off.

Biting down on her lower lip, (Y/n) tried to push away the tears welling in her eyes. This wouldn't be the first time that someone had realised she was deaf and couldn't speak and had so left immediately. It was something she was used to because people weren't bothered with taking the time to learn sign language to communicate with her, they deemed her not worth the time or effort. But he had seemed different. He had followed her to give her back a ring he could easily have left on the ground or have taken for himself. He seemed to want to know her especially with his smile and now he had gone.

Sign language or a pen and paper was necessary to communicate with (Y/n) because as much as she could lip-read, that did get hard at times and she couldn't respond without signing or writing. It took a while to write things down and not many people knew how to sign so they didn't want to bother.

Speech was much easier but (Y/n) could only hum and mumble incoherent words to herself that she couldn't hear. Sometimes she didn't know she was mumbling, other times she couldn't help but squeak or murmur and it annoyed people how quietly she murmured or that she spoke at all.

Bringing the rim of her cup back to her lips, (Y/n) brushed her eye against her sleeve to rid the single tear that left her eye before she took a sip of the chocolate drink that always made her feel better. Her eyes widened when she saw movement in front of her and looked up to see the stranger was back. Taking it upon himself to sit down on the seat opposite her as one side of his mouth curved up into a lopsided smile that made (Y/n)'s heart leap into her mouth.

He came back.

Roger set down a rather large handful of napkins in the middle of both of them and a pen he had acquired from the waitress behind the counter. He had to admit that he didn't know sign language and he didn't think it would be fair if he tried to speak and she had to strain to read his lips. At least this way she could tell him to get lost if she didn't want to talk to him.

Grabbing the pen, Roger scribbled down on one of the napkins before pushing it across the table to (Y/n). Watching as she set her drink down at her right side before looking at the napkin that held the blotched blue ink that was delicately written onto the paper instead of tearing through it like most pens did.

'I'm Roger, what's your name, beautiful?'

(Y/n) pulled her lower lip between her teeth at the last word on the napkin which Roger seemed to see her staring at because his lopsided, docile grin turned to a cheeky smirk instead.

'I'm (Y/n).'

'How do you sign that?'

When Roger pushed the paper back across to her, (Y/n) couldn't stop the breathlessness that took over her. No one had ever asked how she signed her name before. No one cared to know, they just saw her write it down and buried the information, they didn't want to know how she interpreted that. If signing with another she simply signed 'my name is' and the first letter of her name instead of spelling it out. But Roger was interested. He wanted to watch her spell out her name and commit that to memory because he didn't want to leave without knowing every little thing about her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Opening her apartment door, (Y/n) couldn't help the smile that pulled at her lips as she leaned against the doorframe at seeing Roger stood on the other side of the threshold. A bright yet somewhat nervous smile playing on his lips as he moved his hand from behind his back to hand over a single blood-red rose that he knew was her favourite.

Taking the rose, (Y/n) brought the petals to her nose so she could inhale the sweet scent she had almost forgotten since it was out of flower season due to the winter upon them.

Ever since Roger had made the effort to talk to her in the cafe, he had asked very politely to walk her home and then if he could come by sometime to see her. He had come by almost every day and each day he came around with a new word in sign language that he had learnt. The first time he came round he fumbled but managed to sign her name like she taught him. Then he signed the word beautiful, which he had taken upon himself to call her since he thought she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Then he had signed good morning, good afternoon and had gone on from there.

(Y/n) had never had someone try this much to get to know her.

She had friends try and then ultimately give up with sign language which she understood and accepted. She had people end up not coming to see her anymore. She had never had someone play this sort of lovely game with her where they made their progress with sign language into a game or competition. Showing up with a new word did help Roger though. It prompted him to try and make words ready to start a conversation and it helped him remember them. He wanted to know every word and phrase in sign language that he did in speech. He wanted to be able to have as many conversations with her as sign language would allow.

He had gone to the library and gotten a book of sign language and had found a friend who did a class nearby who was teaching him words and phrases. She usually taught children but had given Roger a few lessons here and there to help him muddle through.

Roger wanted to be with (Y/n) until she grew bored of him.

Biting his lip, Roger held his hands out in front of him ready to surprise her today with more than a word.

'Hi beautiful. Would you like to go on a date with me?'

Roger took his time to make sure he signed every word slowly and separately to make sure he didn't mess up and sign the wrong word or make one up. His eyes drifted from his hands to her when he had finished. Alarm in his baby blue orbs when he saw tears falling from her eyes before her arms were suddenly wrapped around his neck, her head pressing into the crook of his shoulder. He held her back just as tightly, taking this as a good sign that made him smile as bright as the sun.

He gently squeezed her hips to gain her attention since he technically hadn't received an answer to his question. She seemed to know what he was asking for without him needing to speak or sign as she furiously nodded her head at him making him laugh. He had been unsure if this would work or not, wondering if she simply wanted to be friends or found him too irritating to be around but it seems he worried for nothing. (Y/n) snapped her eyes closed to stop the tears as she pressed her lips to his own, savouring in the new feeling that was like pure magic to her lips.

This was just the beginning.

[strikearose]

IT’S ALL ABOUT CONNECTIONS (SASUNARU) (P. 2)

I hope you guys are safe. Here’s the second part of that silly !YoutubeSasuNaru story. Please feel free to give me your impressions <3 Summary :  Sasuke has had that massive crush on a youtuber for years when Rasengan randomly starts going to his class… You can also read it on ff.net and ao3. Part 1 (clic), Part 2 (clic), Part 3 (clic)

9:27.

Sasuke shook his head, annoyed at himself. There was nothing to be done : all hope of being able to concentrate again on what Mr. Sarutobi was telling had definitely vanished almost half an hour ago, when a certain blond head had finally made his noteworthy arrival. His last bit of coherent notes somehow proved it : the tip of his pen had dramatically crashed onto the sheet of paper, leaving a huge blotch of blue ink on top of it.

But no matter how much he was struggling, his onyx eyes were literally hypnotized by the psychedelic motif of the one Kiba who had called out (with way too much familiarity to his liking) ‘Hey Naruto, here !’.

No one in the auditorium had seemed the least surprised to see Rasengan bursting out in their class like that.

No one had made the slightest remark about this unusual interruption.

And worse than that - no one had flinched (or even giggled) at the sight of that awful washed out t-shirt.

The class had resumed straight-away as if nothing had happened for everyone, except for Sasuke, who couldn’t take his eyes off the curious pair only located a few rows away.

Kiba Inuzuka and Naruto.

Naruto.

It must have been his real name as he immediately turned towards the insufferable brown-haired boy before settling down beside him, a big grin on both of their faces.

So Rasengan’s real name was Naruto.

Naruto.

A strange name, but one that rolled almost pleasantly on the tongue.

Na-ru-to.

A name that months of search online had not been able to find.

Damn it - was it really like that? Rasengan just showed up one morning in the middle of their class and the teacher, without even batting an eyelid, let him sit next to… Kiba ?

… Just like that?

Kiba Inuzuka was dissipated, noisy and frankly dumb. If Rasengan really had just joined their class, wouldn’t it have been more appropriate to have him sit next to someone more serious? Someone who could at least explain to him what this class was all about? Someone reliable, rigorous.

Well - someone like him, for instance.

Tss - why did things never turn out like in a damn manga?

**

The next two days confirmed what Sasuke had understood. 'Naruto’ had really joined them in the middle of October. Incidentally, it had came to his knowledge that the blonde had previously taken a distance learning course.

Unfortunately, the black-haired man had not yet found a way to get in direct contact with the newcomer - even though, judging by the familiarity with which his classmates were already addressing him, it didn’t seem like that much of a challenge. Naruto seemed to be one of those people who didn’t need to be integrated: all he had to do was to jump into someone’s conversation after hearing them talk about music or a tv-show - and that was it, he was one of them. He didn’t care if he was interfering something or being intrusive - and no one seemed to mind: everyone welcomed his companionship with open arms.

In less than a week, Rasengan had become the complete idol of Konohamaru Sarutobi (who was trying in to follow him wherever he went), he had also managed to make the shy Hinata come out of her shell for a bit, and - more incredibly !, her cousin even seemed to tolerate his presence in class. And God knew how hard it was to be tolerated by Neji Hyuuga.

In short - it had taken Naruto less than a week to truly became one of them. It wasn’t just Inuzuka now - no, even that would have been too easy in comparison -, Rasengan was always surrounded by people.

Whether it was in class, during break time, in the cafeteria, at the washrooms, and even on the way to the subway, Rasengan was never alone. It was as if fate has decided to take away from Sasuke any possibility to talk to him.

His happy-go-lucky attitude, the honesty gleaming if his eyes, that damn smile that never seemed to leave him, even his laugh seemed to be contagious. There was something in Naruto, as in Rasengan, that you couldn’t help but notice, that made you wanting to be closer to him.

And just like Shino, who had mysteriously started to hand out more and more band stickers, Sasuke Uchiha had started to spend more and more time in the cafeteria, a place that Naruto and his clique seemed to be particularly fond of. It was their headquarters to him, Inuzuka, Nara, Sakura and many others.

And it was there that their very first interaction took place.

For once, Sasuke wasn’t even listening to their conversation: the hot drink machine had just been replaced and he was just trying to order a coffee.

« Yeah, you may not know it but it’s been six years since Mister Naruto has gone into that Youtube thing. »

The black-haired man’s sixth sense leapt up and, now paying way more attention to the conversation, pressed whatever first button within his reach.

« Ah, you say that, Kiba, but I might have a fan here ! »

Boom, boom.

It seemed to Sasuke that all eyes in the room had just laid on him - as if his moment to enter the stage had finally arrived.

But no: no one - literally no one - not even that harpy Ino or even Sakura were paying the slightest attention to him.

Everyone was watching Naruto.

« Pffft if it’s true, I’ll pay you lunch - Kiba giggled and turned towards the other tables of the cafeteria - Hey people, a star is among us! Does anyone recognize him? »

The entire cafeteria turned towards the blond videomaker who, not in the slightest embarrassed, had even stood up with a big grin on his face.

Sasuke hesitated for a moment before daring to do the same and looked at Rasengan.

A few seconds passed without a single voice being heard.

« Come on, nobody? - Kiba laughed - Ino dear? Saku darling? »

The two young women rolled their eyes before the nickname but ultimately shook their heads.

« Mr. Hatake perhaps? »

The teacher, who had come inside to get a snack, scratched his cheek before answering in the negative too. His knowledge in terms of videos were of a completely different kind.

With a triumphal grin, Kiba’s eyes wandered over all the students facing them, one by one, before stopping on the only one who hadn’t reacted yet.. - the opportunity was way too good.

« Well now, Sasuke? I think you’re his last hope. »

That was it.

His moment had finally arrived.

All eyes, including Rasengan’s, instantly laid upon him. They were hung upon his every word.

But Sasuke, once again, had just drowned into the silent contemplation of the blonde. But that time - it wasn’t about those blue, blue eyes, it was because of beautifully tanned skin.

They were now near the end of October, but it was as if he had just come back from vacation. It was almost indecent.

Luckily for him, the group had no idea of what was really going inside his head. They’ve all known Sasuke for most of their teenage years so the reason why he was looking at Naruto up and down was only because of that perfect opportunity to grow his momentum.

He was such a smart ass.

« Mhh no, I never saw your face before. »

Boom, boom.

Sasuke cursed himself for being such a coward, but there was no way he could make such a confession in front of the others - and certainly not in front of that stupid Inuzuka.

The group laughed as they saw Naruto’s sulky face.

« Hey ! - the student with the tousled blond hair tried in vain to defend himself - you can laugh all ya want! In the meantime, my channel is really growing ya know. I almost have four hundred thousand subscribers. That’s near half a million! »

The laughter doubled in intensity. Defeated, Naruto finally sat down with a sigh.

« You won’t say the same in a few months, you’ll see! »

The coffee machine made a jingling sound behind Sasuke, still under the shock of what had just happened, he took the cup of disgusting green tea and promptly left the cafeteria. He tried his best to keep a steady walk.

He still couldn’t believe it : he had just talked to Rasengan.

And it hadn’t went that bad.

**

Their first real discussion only happened few days later. And once again, Sasuke couldn’t have predict it.

When he had arrived at the uni, he’d been displeased to see a herd of students clustered in front of the bulletin board. It could only mean one thing: the results of the mid-term exams were in.

Oh.

His overall average had increased by half a point since his last semester - not so bad. And unsurprisingly, he was once again valedictorian, although the Nara was getting closer and closer to him.

He was seriously going to be wary of him.

His onyx gaze moved up on the list - just in case…

Found it.

Naruto. Uzumaki Naruto.

The name right after his.

For an overall average of nine…-

« Ninety-nine, a voice suddenly came from behind him and he jumped. SHIT! I was almost there. »

With frowned brows, Naruto took a good second to notice the presence of the model student.

« Oh, hey Sasuke! »

He had greeted him casually, a thousand miles away from suspecting what the dark-haired young man felt when he heard his name come out of his lips.

« I’m not passing, but I’m reaaally close to it. That should do it for the semester !, smiled the blonde, rubbing the back of his neck. What 'bout ya? »

That was it.

It was time to find something cool to respond to, something biting, intriguing. Something that came out of the ordinary. But without overdoing it.

…

In the end, Sasuke had to bring himself to state his result flatly.

«  Seventeen zero three.

- Oh shit, Naruto’s mouth opened wide. You’re actually pretty smart!

- …Yeah. »

Once again, Sasuke mentally cursed himself. It was really the only thing he could find.

However, Naruto didn’t seem to mind and the Uchiha’s overconfidence even made him chuckle.

Needless to say, after that Sasuke was on cloud nine the entire day.

**

Ting.

Sasuke took another sip of tomato juice before lowering his word processor window to open his web browser. He had this annoying habit of always leaving a facebook tab open, just in case.

Shino Aburame invites you to the following event…

Shino Aburame?

Uchiha arched an eyebrow, puzzled - he didn’t even know how that guy had ended up in his friends list. He clicked on the notification and almost choked when he saw what it was all about:

Shino Aburame invites you to the following event: Radioactive Worms concert on November 5th 8:30pm - Coffee Rokudaime.

…

Thanks, but no thanks.

The mouse pointer was about to click on the “Ignore” button on its’ own initiative when a crucial piece of information suddenly jumped out at him: 13 of your contacts are interested.

Well.

Before refusing for good, he could at least do a quick check.

A satisfied smile stretched his lips as he recognized among those names that of Kiba Inuzuka - a first.

Because if ’Naruto Uzumaki’ was nowhere to be find on Facebook, Sasuke knew at least where to find him in town: always in company of that loser.

**

Sasuke was late, fashionably late - the concert had already started for at least fifteen minutes. Suigetsu, who was dragging his feet behind him, cursed as soon as the first notes of music reached their ears. Well, to his defense, Sasuke had left him little choice - he had come to fetch his old fencing buddy at home, claiming a sudden urge to go for a drink and insisted on not going to the bar that was just in his street, choosing instead to make him walk three kilometers.

And the least that could be said was that Radioactive Worms was a very appropriate name.

Sasuke promised Suigetsu to buy him a drink as they soon as they could reach the counter. He somewhat felt quite sorry for the silver-haired young man, knowing how much he liked electro music, but - hey, he really needed an alibi.

There was no way he could look like a geek with no social life when he’d run into the entire Uzumaki gang -no.

Sacrifices had to be made.

And the gang really couldn’t get unnoticed : Kiba, Konohamaru and Lee (what the hell was Lee Rock doing here?), glued to the front of the stage, were already doing some weird kind of pogo dancing.

Sasuke squinted his eyes - there was no trace of the characteristic blonde hair he was looking for.

« Woh Sasuke, I can’t believe it! Is that Rasengan at the bar? »

This news had the effect of a bomb for Sasuke who promptly followed Suigetsu’s finger… to see Naruto ordering a mug of beer. The dark-haired young man took a deep breath before he walked with a decided step towards the videomaker, without even taking the time to answer his friend. He had finally managed to get rid of the dimwits, it was now or never!

« Oh, hey Sasuke! - Naruto was finally the one who started the discussion when he sensed a presence behind him - I didn’t know you were a fan of metal! »

'I didn’t either’, he failed to retort in time, while Suigetsu (who obviously felt obliged to follow him) was looking at him in awe.

The Hozuki was one of the few people who knew about Sasuke’s special appeal… to the blond guy’s videos. In fact, he’d had that bad habit of teasing him about so-called crush for a really long time. It happened so much that the upset Uchiha had swore never to confide in him again.

Suigetsu was therefore too shocked to learn that Sasuke knew freaking Rasengan to realize that he’d been shamelessly used.

« Yeah… - Sasuke cleared his throat, still uncomfortable in his company. You’re not with the others?

- Well, I’ll join them - the azure eyes looked at his friends and he laughed heartily when he saw them form a scramble - but first, I’m enjoying the happy-hour: half a pint for barely three dollars, can you believe it? »

Naruto finally seemed to notice the presence of Suigetsu who had been staring at him for a good thirty seconds.

« You two should hurry and order now! There’s only two minutes left - Naruto took a long sip before continuing - I’ll finish mine quickly to take another one in time!

- Oh cool, replied Sasuke distractedly as he couldn’t take his eyes off the beer-soaked lips of his interlocutor. »

The dark-haired man tried his best to ignore his friend’s mocking look when he obeyed the blond’s recommendations and ordered a pint for himself. Suigetsu knew how much the brunette hated beer, he was more the type to order only expensive cocktails.

Well - now he really had to get rid of him too.

Sasuke’s prayers were answered when a vaguely familiar face appeared, almost providentially.

« Suig, he raised his head to follow his friend’s gaze. Isn’t it Karin ?

- Oh, Suigetsu leapt up to his feet. I’ll be right back. »

'Liar,’ thought Sasuke, noticing that his fencing companion had taken the time do disappear with his own mug.

Well, at least Suigetsu had been taking cared of.

« His girlfriend?, asked a surprised Naruto as he looked at the pair in the distance, talking with animation.

- Or his ex, I don’t know. It’s hard to follow.

- Pfff! - the blonde snorted and took another sip - Girls…

- Yeah… »

Sasuke felt like slapping himself. Girls, yeah - as if he knew that sort of things.

Fortunately, Naruto didn’t seem to notice his discomfort and he started to list with great passion the reasons why he preferred beer to any other alcohol.

« And what’s more… Well - without beer… There wouldn’t be beer-pong!, he concluded proudly. »

If the brunette had been listening to his interlocutor’s account with an almost religious attention until then - for fuck’s sake, he was having a drink with Rasengan! - the latter point made him raise an eyebrow.

It was completely stupid.

All you had to do was replace the beer with vodka in the cups.

For a long had he been drinking?

Well - Sasuke chose not to share that last thought with the blond guy. To be fair, he wouldn’t have had the time anyway: Kiba Inuzuka had just arrived at their level and slapped Naruto in the back.

« What are you waiting for ?, the student was out of breath: his cheeks were red and he oozed of transpiration. »

Sasuke wrinkled his nose but once again wisely refrained himself from making a comment.

« I’m coming! Let me finish my drink and… -

- Nah, too late - his friend cut him off. I’m tired, let me rest for a bit… »

The gifted dancer was about to slump on the seat left vacant by Suigetsu when Naruto put his arm forward to block his way.

He looked at his friend up and down :

« Sorry, Kiba, it’s hotties only. »

…

Needless to say, Sasuke was over the moon.

Unfortunately, it was just a joke and Kiba ended up joining them.

**

The next morning, Sasuke woke up with an awful headache. It wasn’t caused by any alcohol abuse (Kiba and Naruto had fought to finish his beer), but by the performance of Radioactive Worms.

Holy crap - Shino.

The latter had ended up shirtless on stage while Naruto had dragged him into what turned out to be their first pogo-dance to the both of them.

The young man stretched out his hand on his bedside table to retrieve his cell phone. It was blinking: a facebook notification.

Menma Namikaze would like to add you to his list of friends.

Rightfully, Sasuke was about to decline the invitation when his pulse quickened: that damn smile - he was just getting to know it too well.

Click.

Sasuke Uchiha now had the honor of counting Rasengan among his Facebook contacts. And in order to celebrate it, he logically began to analyze every single piece of information available.

Menma Namikaze (what the hell was that fake name) had nearly eight hundred friends, was from Uzushio and had entered Konoha as his 'current city’ two weeks earlier. He was born on October 10th and his profile was full of selfies and embarrassing stuff.

But it was his profile picture, in particular, that caught Sasuke’s attention: sunglasses, a straw hat, longer hair, a luscious tan and a cocktail glass in his hand : Kiba’s comment summed it up nicely - ’god, you’re such a poser’ - although the ocean in the background was absolutely breathtaking, the only thing that Sasuke could focus on was the stunning smile on his new contact’s face.

As well as the fact that he was shirtless.

’why’s your name menma now’ - Sasuke was scrolling through the various messages under the publication (almost all of them were trying to make fun of the blond’s selfie) when he stopped on this one.

Excellent question.

Fortunately, Kiba had the perfect answer:

’mister naruto is afraid his fans could find his account’

’yeah, he’s got a big head now that’s what the hat’s for!’

…

Ah.

**

Ting.

That new notification wasn’t from Naruto, but from Rasengan. He had just uploaded a new video and Sasuke, like the dutiful fan he was, closed his spreadsheet to put Youtube in full screen.

« Heyyyy everyone! »

It was much less personal than 'Sasuke’.

« I made that promise long ago, so let’s get back to this cult game! Let’s see if Kyuubi will come first in the agility race this time. »

What the.

Nintendogs.

A video about Nintendogs.

A forty-minute video about Nintendogs.

As strange as it may seem, it was precisely for this kind of thing that Sasuke had started following the video maker. It was impossible to predict what he had in mind and what he was about to do or say. Deep down, as long as Rasengan kept making him laugh, telling crappy jokes and yelling stupidly whenever something took him by surprise, Sasuke didn’t care about what was the video. Rasengan wasn’t necessarily there to please his fans, he was there to have fun.

The first time he had came across his channel, about five years ago, it was by pure chance: Sasuke wanted to buy an indie game that nobody had taken the time to test so he had clicked on the first horrendous orange thumbnail he had seen. At that time, Rasengan wasn’t doing any face-cam and Sasuke would have closed the page if the idiot making the video hadn’t started screaming from the first second. The sound was really saturated, he must have lost some of his hearing that day, but at least the video was in his language.

So he had stayed. And without realizing it - he had started commenting out loud on what the video maker was doing. Criticizing him for not paying enough attention to the the npc, advising him to save before getting into new fights.

Yelling at him to be more careful and to stop rushing into the heap like an fucking moron.

A few days later, he had returned to the then-two thousand subscribers’ page with to see if he had made progress in the story.

The following days, too. But not for the same game.

Still - it had taken him almost two years of weekly visits to subscribe.

Months after, Rasengan had finally agreed to show his face to the camera to celebrate his 10,000 subscribers - and all the comments in that video were still to that day about how cute he looked.

And that was when Sasuke had mysteriously became a very regular viewer.

In the end, the forty minutes of the video went by way too quickly.

[elephantpipe]

Doctor, Listen...

“So here’s what I want to do now. I just want you to lay down here. I don’t want you to say a word for the first hour. Not one. Just lay there and try to relax. After that hour has passed, you can say anything you want. Do you understand?”

The young woman with the already wide eyes nodded just slightly and then looked over to the small grubby couch against the wall. She walked over to it and sat down. At first she fidgeted with her fingers, picking off the lifted skin, digging her thumbnail into any of her knuckles, scratching the back of her hand. She looked around the room like she hadn’t been there before. Today, she hadn’t. Yesterday she had, but she didn’t know that.

The walls were obsidian black, an odd shade. There was a remarkable collection of books everywhere, occupying each of the four bookshelves, the two desks in the room, and each of the side tables. She thought it was strange to have so many words yelling out from every inch of the room. The tall lamps placed strategically about the room lit every corner, nowhere to hide. On the desk by the door there was a vase filled with flowers. She thought them to be white, but she could not be sure. One wilted and she watched two petals fall, catch each other, and hit the metal together. There were papers scattered all across the other desk, positioned near the right wall, the one with the fake windows.

As she sat, she looked at the doctor sitting in the grey armchair, the one next to him empty. His clipboard sat on the little table next to him, the pen he twirled in his hand absently. His eyes however looked into her, and she couldn’t help but claw a little deeper into her knuckles when his stare didn’t waiver. She saw the door behind his head. He would be in her way for the next two hours.

“Lay down.”

She stayed in her trance.

“This is not going to work if you do not listen to me.”

She inched her way lower into the couch, her toes finding one end, her head finding the other. Her eyes broke free of his and soon found the swirls on the ceiling interesting. She stayed still. He moved in his chair and she heard him pick up the clipboard. She concentrated on the swirls.

It took fifteen minutes for the swirls in her peripherals to start moving on their own. They jumped and pounced each other, one swallowing another, the next swallowing that. After another five minutes, only the center of her vision stayed where it was designed to be. At the half an hour mark, nothing in her eyes stayed still. At forty-five minutes, the scratching came back. It started faintly at first, behind her head, coming from under the couch. It escalated to the wall beside her, to the desks and tables all around her. The buzzing came next, high pitched and coming from right beside her ears.

Can’t you hear that?! Why won’t it stop?! Can’t you make it stop?!

But she wasn’t allowed to say anything. So she stared at the ceiling.

“Cecile. Cecile, you have to stop. Cecile wake up!”

Her eyes opened. The doctor was wearing a mask now. How odd that might be.

“Was it the same as always? The no talking? The noise? Was it all the same?”

“Yes, every bit.”

“Hmm then the medication isn’t working.”

“Doctor, listen, I don’t think I want to be in this trial anymore.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t feel right anymore. Everything is changing.”

“How do you mean?” He picked up his clipboard.

“I mean my body doesn’t feel the same. It feels like it is slowly becoming someone else’s.”

“Hmmm…” He marked down a few notes and concluded the session.

An assistant entered the room a few minutes later. She too wore a mask and a white coat with what looked to Cecile like ink blotches. She helped to lift Cecile off of the table, and into the wheelchair. Cecile’s wrists were lightly strapped to the arms of the chair, her feet neatly tucked into the rests so they did not move around. The assistant wheeled her down a long, dimly lit hallway. At the end were four separate rooms, each pitch black. The two on the right hand side of the hallway were empty. The first one on the left was open, waiting for Cecile. The assistant undid the straps and lowered her out of the chair and onto the floor. She looked down at her arms and legs and willed them to move. It took a few minutes but soon her limbs flicked and twitched out and slowly carried her across the floor into the dark. The assistant closed the door and moved on to the next one. She opened the door and went inside to retrieve another body. She came out carrying a young man, who she proceeded to put in the chair just as Cecile had been.

“I think I’m ready for the surgery now. I thought about it a lot and I think it’s time to just do it.”

“Sweetheart you’ve already had the surgery. It was just yesterday. You and that nice young lady in the room next to yours already switch bodies. Don’t you like your new body?”

She wheeled him down the hall to the exam room as the young man remarked, “Oh how wonderful. I didn’t know this was my body.”

She lifted him up onto the table and began administering the medication necessary. When she was done she stepped out into the hall and looked up into the doctor’s face.

“The medication was supposed to work. Why are they still not accepting their new body?”

“I have faith that it will soon work. It may just take some time. This round has to work after what happened to the last two.”

The assistant cringed, then turned to go back to the young man’s side. The doctor followed, closing the door behind them. Practice makes perfect.

[wintersrein]

Speculation

The abrupt ring of the bell on the shop door had the sisters tense as Kyalith moved greet the courier on the other side. She gave him a few small coins then turned back to Clair, a plain brown packet held gingerly in her hands. “Do you think this is it?”

Clair raised a brow and smirked, “Gee, I don’t know. Are you expecting any other hand delivered envelopes from Stormwind?”

The redhead’s cheeks flushed pink as she handed to parcel to her sister, “I guess this is it then.” she replied sheepishly.

The elder sister pulled a dagger from her belt and sliced the packet open then pulled a thick sheaf of papers out. She read the top sheet then handed it to Kya, “It says some of it’s redacted for security reasons.”

She scanned the first few pages then blew out a deep breath, “Obviously their idea of ‘some’ is different from ours.”

Kya looked at the sheets, noting that they held more heavy black lines than anything else, “We’ll be lucky if we get anything out of this.” the mage exclaimed.

“My dear sister,” Clair replied, “It’s all in how you read it.” she gathered up the papers and took them to the counter, spreading them out across the surface, “You got any colored pens around?” she asked absently, her attention riveted on the documents before her.

After a few minutes Kya came back with a bundle colored pens, holding them out to Clair who nodded toward the papers, “First we’re going to look for keywords, Stormwind, Regynn, orphanage, mother, father, charge, ward… that sort of thing. We’ll circle each keyword with a different color ink. I bet, after a bit, we’ll be able to piece enough of the story together to at least know where to look next.”

The two of them worked diligently, unaware of the hours that flew by until they realized the shop had become almost dark with the setting of the sun. While Kya went about lighting the lamps Clair gathered up the papers she’d been working on, “Well that was useless, all we have now is paper covered in black blotches and bright circles.” she grumbled.

Kya came from the back room with a tray laden with coffee and muffins, as she nudged the envelope out of the way a faded piece of news print fell to the floor. Two pairs of brown eyes rested on the paper before Clair picked it up, her expression quickly lighting with excitement.

“Ho ho, what do we have here? It says that the young daughter of a prominent merchant family attempted to run off with a ship’s captain but the man  never showed up. The family tried to ignore the scandal for a month or so and then the girl just disappeared. She wasn’t seen again for nearly a year. The article speculates on the reason for her absence.” she looked at Kya pointedly, “ We need to find out who the merchant was.”

“That shouldn’t be hard. Just find one from Stormwind named Winters.” Kya said as she nibbled on a muffin.

Clair rolled her eyes, “That’s not her real name silly. The orphanage named her Winters because that’s when she was left in their care. I got that much from the redacted papers at least, she was dropped off during the Winterveil holiday.”

The women grew silent for a moment before Kya rose, heading to a section of the shop, “I bet I can find him. She’s what… 25 ish?” she ran a finger along a row of books, stopping to peer at the titles before stooping to retrieve one from the bottom shelf, “One of the older guidebooks of Stormwind.” she said at Clair’s questioning look. She flipped through the book as she continued, “It didn’t sell because it was more a who’s who of hoity toity folks than it was about the points of interest.” she paused for a moment, her eyes scanning a page before she grinned, turning the book around to reveal a picture of a small family, “Meet Mr. and Mrs. Walter Perryval and their young daughter, Madelayne. She look familiar to you?”

Clair gaped at the picture a moment before taking the book and reading the caption beneath, “Walter Perryval, owner of Mayfair Shipping; his wife Amelia, and daughter Madelayne.” she read aloud. “Does it say anything about the business?”

Kya noded, “He made his money trading with the Ashvanes before the rift between the countries. I can write some letters and see if I can get hold of any old shipping records from the company.”

The two of them sat in silence for a moment then Clair looked up, “You know what this means don’t you? Reggy could be half Kul Tiran.”

[flatlinesunrelenting]

Spread Your Wings

Hey, @dan-yuna it’s ya boi, your secret santa! This went on a whole bunch of tangents, but I hope you enjoy it anyways <33 Thanks to @fander-secret-santa for organizing all this. This was super fun!!

Pairing: Logince

Summary: Character A (Logan) is feeling really down and Character B (Roman) helps him.

Tags: Negative thoughts, wings, and I think that’s it? Ask to tag if I forgot anything.

Logan does this every time. Whenever a video comes out delayed, the logical facet would slink away to his room as soon as it’s public and disappear for a few days. Whenever anyone would pass by his door and listen closely, the sound of scratching pens and the occasional murmur of frustration could be heard, only stopping in the early hours of the day for a couple of hours before starting up again. Ideally, it would have indicated that Logan is finally getting some sleep, but no one could never be sure. During those few days, the door would never open for anything.

Roman knows that Logan isn’t exactly fond of him. It’s almost to be expected considering they are polar opposites and butt heads more often than they have any sort of friendly interaction. The prince just assumes that every time Logan disappears into his room doing whatever it is he did, he would be the last person he would want to see.

Even then, Roman can’t help but consider it when he passes by Logan’s room after a video and hears something that sounds like sniffling.

That’s impossible, Roman thinks to himself as he stands frozen in front of Logan’s door. As the personification of Thomas’ imagination, he’s prone to getting so caught up in his musings that he doesn’t know if it’s the reality or if he has just been thinking too hard again. But no, even that doesn’t explain what he heard.

Because why in Odin’s name would Logan be crying?

Roman shakes his head and continues to walk down the stairs, where Patton and Virgil are making dinner in the kitchen. Absurd is what it is. Even Logan himself would deny to his grave that he felt… well, anything. He’s Logic, for goodness sake. Why does Roman care so much, anyway?

“Hey, Princey,” Virgil’s greeting snaps him out of his thoughts, “Logan’s still not out of his room?”

“He still hasn’t emerged from his nerd cave, no,” he quips in return as he eyes the strawberry shortcake on the counter. Before his hand even finishes reaching out to get a dollop of cream off to taste, Patton smacks it away. “Hey-!”

“Not before dinner, Roman.” Patton scolds, turning back to the stew cooking over the stove. The moral trait glances up the stairs and frowns. It has been a week since the last video and with how huge the project was, the release date was pushed back way more than the other videos have been. Through all the commotion, Patton still couldn’t help but notice Logan’s composure fraying to the point of being completely severed. He sighs. “I hope Logan’s okay.”

Dinner is spent in semi-uncomfortable silence with one of the three occasionally glancing at the stairs to see if their fourth counterpart is going to appear. Some amiable conversation made is a bit less awkward and after dinner, Patton and Virgil went to fix the dishes and left Roman to his business. On his way to his room, Roman finds himself focusing his hearing when he passes by Logan’s door. He hears it again, the staggered breathing. It’s mingled in with the usual noises of muttering and pen scratches, though the former is significantly less monotone. It’s probably the most emotion he’s ever witnessed from the logical side, and the sound of it makes his chest tighten.

Knock knock

His knuckles are rapping against the door before he can process what’s going on and the noises stop abruptly. There’s a tense minute of silence, followed by the sound of shuffling, then another minute passes before the door opens and Logan peeks out.

“What do you want.” Logan rasps, rough from disuse. The puffiness around his eyes and the light tracks down his cheeks are a telltale sign that disuse isn’t the only reason for the pathetic roughness of his usually monotone voice.

“You missed dinner.” It’s only by virtue of his acting skills did Roman keep the indifference in his voice, “It was really good. Patton made strawberry shortcake.”

“That’s great,” Logan mumbles and avoids his eyes, wiping his own with the back of his hand. “If that’s all, then–”

Roman’s foot shoots out and traps in between the door and the frame, keeping the door ajar. He ignores the tired glare that Logan gives him and pushes inside despite his protests. The room, once pristine to the point of clinicality, is a mess of papers and scattered thoughts. The charts lining the wall above Logan’s desks are a timeline of the two weeks he spent in voluntary exile. Off to the left, Roman can recognize the neat script of Logan’s impeccable handwriting and he watches it deteriorate as his eyes travel further right. The almost font-like writing starts getting littered with scribbles and blotches of stray ink until it borders on illegible, some of the papers even tearing at the edges.

“I didn’t give you permission to enter,” Logan growls, though any venom in it is effectively dulled by the sheer fatigue in his voice. Now that Roman looks at him closer, he looks like he’s dead on his feet, swaying slightly in place as if he’s having trouble staying upright. “If you have no business here, then I would prefer it if you left.”

“I do have business here, actually.” Roman replies, “More specifically with you.”

“I’m busy.” Logan shoots back through gritted teeth.

“Look,” His unusually stern tone makes even Logan pause, his lips pressing together to stop whatever he was going to say. “I know we haven’t always… seen eye to eye. But I would like your assistance in something.”

Logan raises an eyebrow and Roman takes that as the cue to continue. He grabs his hand and tugs him out of the mess of his bedroom, paying little mind to the half-hearted attempts at breaking free from his grasp.

“I have work to do,” Logan says monotonously.

“You’ve been in your room for forever, Francis Prick. You need to loosen up!” Roman declares. The blank look he receives from Logan makes him pause for a moment. “Francis Prick? Like a variation of Francis Crick, co-discoverer of the structure of the DNA molecule? You’re a nerd, you should know this.”

There’s a flash of recognition in his eyes before the light goes out again. Logan looks down at their intertwined hands and frowns. “How do you know that?”

“Maybe I’m just smarter than you,” Roman says, earning an incredulous snort. He’s not about to admit that he spent hours looking up researchers and scientists to make up more creative sleights towards him. “Anyways, I have something to show you in my room. Just let me have this.”

Logan really wants to protest more, but his fatigue is getting the best of him and he decides that the sooner he agrees to whatever plot Roman has stirred up, the faster he can come back to his room and work out his mistakes so that the previous video’s delay doesn’t happen again. With a soft ‘tsk’ and a tightening of his hand, Roman walks a little faster and stops in front of the intricately carved oak door leading to his room.

As soon as he opens it, Logan is overwhelmed by the sudden gust of wind as they enter an open field lit dimly by the moon partially blocked by clouds. He shivers instinctively and rubs his arm with his free hand, looking around in confusion.

“Oh, this will not do in the slightest.” Roman lets go of Logan’s hand and looks up at the cloud-obscured sky with a small frown. If he had been slightly more coherent, then Logan would have pointed out that he had complete control over his realm and he could have just conjured the weather to his liking in the first place. Instead, he just watches as Roman rubs his hands together and hold two fingers up in a pistol-shape to the sky.

A burst of magic shoots from his fingertips along with a wave of energy, forcing Logan to shield his face from the incoming debris. When he opens his eyes again, Roman is smiling and he nods up to the sky. Logan follows his gesture and promptly feels all the air leave his lungs.

The sky is a canvas of twinkling stars, glowing jewels streaking along the inky blackness with the careful hand of an artist. With his mind a bit more awake from the shock, Logan recognizes some constellations dotting the sky with surprising accuracy. When he looks back down to Roman for an explanation, he is once again baffled when he sees a pair of pure white wings coming from his back fluttering gently in the breeze. With a wide grin, Roman makes a flourish with his hands and Logan feels his centre of balance shift and something move behind him.

He recognizes the wings on his back as belonging to a barn owl, bronze in colour and dotted with darker browns. Logan wordlessly flexed and spread them, feeling the wind resistance against the massive appendages and watching the feathers glisten slightly with moonlight.

“Well don’t just stand there.” Roman’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. “Moonlight’s a-burning!”

Logan shook his head, “I don’t know how to- I mean, I’m not familiar with the mechanisms required for the replication of flight.”

“This is the dreamscape, Logan. You will fly if you just believe!” Roman flexed his wings and hovered a few feet off the ground to demonstrate. Impossible for that wing type, but Roman did have the habit of completely disregarding common real-world rules with his creations. “Now come on!”

Roman doesn’t wait another second before grabbing Logan by the hand and shooting up into the sky. With a startled yelp, Logan clings to Roman with his own wings folded tight against his back and his eyes closed tight. The fanciful side lets out a bark of laughter and starts gliding across the sky, his powerful wingbeats gently pushing along the breeze.

“Hey, nerd,” Roman calls out, shaking the facet in his arms. Logan opens one eye and uses it to glare at him, still clinging tightly to his sash and uniform jacket. With a small smirk, he continues, “Look up or you’ll miss it.”

Against his better judgement, Logan fully opens his eyes and tilts his head upwards. Again, something in his chest stirs as he takes in the sight above him. In that altitude, the stars look close enough to touch. Light streaks across the sky as a meteor shower starts above them and his jaw drops in awe. Roman looks at him and the starlight shining in his eyes and feels something twist in his chest, warming up until it reaches outwards and sings through his veins.

When Logan finally looks back at Roman, the look of fondness on his face makes the feeling in his chest grow stronger. He blinks slowly and his eyes fall on Roman’s parted lips, looking impossibly close with their proximity. If he only leans forward a few inches.

Neither of them knows who started it, but suddenly their lips are pressed together in a soft embrace, moving together with such gentleness and such passion that neither thought the other was capable of. Logan feels the tension leave his body as Roman’s hands tangle in his hair, scratching gently at his scalp and drawing out a soft moan.

With that, Roman pulls away and Logan’s eyes flutter open to find Roman hovering a foot or so away with his arms crossed. The same arms that were wrapped securely around Logan just a few moments ago. There’s the movement from behind him again and he looks to see his wings fluttering with the pulse in his chest, his eyes widening as he realizes that he’s flying on his own.

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Roman pipes up. His face is flushed and his lips are slightly pinker, stretched out in a small smile.

“… No, I suppose not.” Logan responds, cursing as his voice cracks a bit. “…Thank you, Roman.”

The smile on his face gets wider and he holds his hand out for Logan to take. “Don’t mention it. Now come on.”

They continue flying for what feels like forever, with Logan pointing out certain constellations and Roman conjuring a few more into the sky as per Logan’s request. In the morning, Patton would do his rounds and find Logan’s room empty, its usual occupant lying asleep in a luxurious red silk bed with his hand intertwined with Roman’s.

[cjwritesfanfiction]

Hot Chocolate and First Dances

Summary: Alex is an over worked chemistry professor at a major university. One night, Alex stays up till 3 A.M. much to his husband’s discontent. Luckily, Thomas knows exactly how to get Alex to away from his work and back to bed. 

There was something about chemistry that always interested Alex. Perhaps it was the idea of experimentation. exploration, or the unknown. There was something about chemistry that thrilled Alex from the time he first stepped foot into a lab his freshman year of college to now when he was an accomplished professor teaching students the same labs he did as an undergraduate student. It was Alex’s dream to be a professor. He loved interacting with students and saw potential in each and every one of them. Sure, he might have been a little rough with the grading sometimes, and maybe, he challenged his students with questions and encouraged them to at least try to make an impression during lecture, but he just wanted them to learn. He wanted them to challenged the ideas presented to them and ask the bigger questions. This is what Alex absolutely lived for, and he didn’t want to let his students down. However, there was times where Alex hated being a professor.

Alex’s least favorite thing about being a professor was the grading. He didn’t work at a small community college, he worked at a giant university. Instead of 40 or 50 students total to grade, he had three sections with 150 students each. His nights were spent grading homework and his mornings were spent grading labs. He didn't want to let the kids down. So, he would work equally hard in giving good feedback, and helping the kids who were truly struggling. This pact between him and his students left Alex on the verge of insomnia, but he refused to let them down.

One particular night, Alex wasn't just tired. He was beat. He sipped his long cold coffee and grimaced at the taste. He hated cold coffee. Alex groaned rubbing his eyes. All of the numbers started to blur together in unreadable ink blotches. But, he had to get this done. Alex was so out of it he didn't even hear his husband come in.

Thomas yawned and wrapped his arms around Alex's waist setting his chin on Alex's shoulder. “It's three in the morning.” Thomas muttered watching the pen make illegible squiggles on the page.

“I know. I’m almost done.” Alex said. His voice was scratchy from the countless hours grading labs. Alex was absolutely exhausted, but he would never tell that to Thomas. Thomas tended to worry too much. Sometimes, whenever Thomas would have time in between trials at the law firm, he would visit Alex during his lunch at the university with a brown paper bag full of Alex’s favorite lunch, chicken salad from an Italian restaurant next to Thomas’s law firm, in one hand and a coffee with three creamers and two sugars in the other. Alex normally drank it black, but when he was really stressed he drank it this way. Luckily, Alex normally stressed himself out everyday. Thomas really was the perfect husband. Sometimes, Alex felt like he didn’t deserve Thomas.

“No, you aren’t. I know you Alex. If I let this go, you’re going to keep yourself up all night.”

“Just a little longer, Thomas.” he said.

Thomas smirked and softly shifted off of Alex. He knew exactly how to get Alex to bed. As Alex continued to scribble in the lab books, Thomas put a kettle full of water on the stove. Coffee might have kept Alex up all day, but hot chocolate knocked him out faster than a socker punch by an boxer. Alex didn’t even notice him until Thomas scrolled through his phone and turned on their wedding song. Alex smiled and glanced up at him for a split second.

“Our wedding song.” He murmured fondly scribbling a little slower. Thomas nodded and strolled over to Alex in his slippers and held out his hand.

“Dance with me?” Alex smiled and set down the pen for a minute. He could never say no when Thomas asked him to dance, especially to their wedding song.

“I hardly call this a dance. You’re in plaid pajama pants and a tank top.” Alex said stepping into position. Alex was never a great dancer. Even to this day, he had to look down at his feet to get the simple steps right. Alex remembered how many times he stepped on Thomas’s feet when they first started dating. But luckily, Thomas was a very patient dance partner and teacher. After a while, the steps became more manageable and easier to remember. Alex followed the steps about a half a beat out of time and laughed at how ridiculous he and Thomas must have looked. Thomas twirled Alex, and Alex fell back into time for the moment.

“It still amazes me how just spinning you catches you up with the beat.”

“It amazes me how you manage to break every appliance in the house.”

“Touche, but I have you to fix my messes.”

“And I have you to keep me in time.” Alex whispered pecking his lips softly. Thomas smiled and kissed him softly back before Alex settled with swaying with Thomas. Thomas’s heartbeat was still as magical as it was years ago when he heard it for the first time. Thomas smiled and leaned down to kiss Alex’s head as the song came to an end. Thomas walked Alex to the kitchen table and sat him in a chair away from the lab notebooks that were sitting on the island. Thomas kissed him one more time as the kettle went off.

“Stay here. I’m going to get you some sleep juice.” He joked.

“Mini marshmallows, please.” Alex muttered, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Oh, and can you add-”

“Whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top of that? Of course.” Thomas chuckled pouring the hot water into two mugs, one green and one purple. The green one was for Alex; the purple for Thomas. Normally, they would use travel mugs since they were both married to their job and didn’t have time to actually sit down and enjoy their coffee in the mornings. However, there were those somber and rare occasions where the floor was a little too cold, the coffee was a little too hot, and time moved a little too slow, where Alex and Thomas sat down and enjoyed each other's company over a cup of coffee.

“You didn’t let me finish, asshole.” Alex smirked lazily as Thomas gently pressed the cup into his hands. The warmth of the cup felt like absolute heaven on Alex’s cold hands. He leaned forward and licked some of the whipped cream off the top humming in satisfaction. Thomas chuckled and reached over to wipe whipped cream off of Alex’s nose. Alex smiled as Thomas licked it off his hand and reached over to hold Alex’s hand.

“Because, I already know your order. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be a very a very good husband would I?”

“I guess not.” Alex chuckled and squeezed his hand. They drank the rest of their hot chocolate in silence and soon finished. Alex brushed his teeth while Thomas put their mugs in the dishwasher. Alex checked his email sitting on the bathroom counter while Thomas brushed his own chompers. A couple minutes later, Thomas took Alex’s phone proclaiming it was bedtime. Alex complained, mostly to annoy Thomas, not because he didn’t want to admit that he probably needed sleep. Alex collapsed into the bed and groaned. The usually springy bed felt like a cloud to the exhausted chemistry professor.

“You did that on purpose.” Alex muttered hugging a body pillow. Thomas smiled and pulled the smaller man against his body.

“Of course,” Thomas yawned. “You fall for it every time. Goodnight, my dearest Alex. I love you.”

Alex turned his head and kissed Thomas with his fingers entangled in the loose curls.

“Goodnight, my lovely Thomas.” He whispered against the far familiar lips and laid back down to go to sleep. . .

[stancapon]

Character Workshop

This work shop was inspired by Ian Mque’s concept art/ character designs. In this workshop we experimented with shapes created by ink and water. We were testing our imagination by creating random shapes and having to turn them into characters. This workshop was trailered to my theme robots.

We started off with by making a thee mixture, making sure that its 80% water with 20% ink. When it came to painting the watered ink on the paper we had to do fluid movement and to try not think about our actions making them spontaneous and natural. This was a challenge for me as I new my character is a robot and they should be geometric. A technique that helped me to overcome this was constantly turning the paper so you find it harder to create a humanoid object.

After the water had dried we then looked at what shapes we had created. It  took a a few minuets to see any form of shape that sparked ideas to design a robot. Once I could see something with in the shape of the ink, I then had to go over it with a fine liner. While we were doing this we had to make sure we were using as much of the random hasp as possible. 

Once we were happy with our outline of a character we then went back into the mapped character and added more watered ink. Depending on how dark you want the shadows on your character you can change the ration of water to ink. When I had all the shadow added I got a small tip fine liner and worked back into the image adding in small details, such as buttons, wires, scratches etc.

Depending If you were happy with the outcome of your character you could leave it and it would be finished. But you had the option to go into photoshop and clean up the image getting rid of excess ink or mistakes with the lines. I didn't want to do this as I liked it looking rough on the paper and it added to the effect of it being an aged robot. Also I didn't want to the be a clean character on a crisp background as its only concepts to develop my idea for a character, therefore I left blotches of ink and pen marks on the paper so it didn't mislead the viewers into think it was a final product.

My results...

[originaldetectivesheep]

Tales of the Missing 12 - Keep the Porch Light Burning

Others may have other definitions, but surely there is little better understanding of the Romance of the troubadors than this: the emergence, unexpected, of the long ago and far away into the here and now and alive.

Keep the Porch Light Burning

The letter came with a scent of its own, like an anonymous love letter ought to: a dusky, heady scent, dark and rich like a burned-down candle in a jack-o-lantern.  The letter came folded up and sealed with a blotch of purple wax – the scent from there, the candle that had dripped on, maybe, or from the paper itself, heavy and rough to the touch, a spidering blue copperplate scratched in with a nib pen: archaic, romantic, and definitely impossible for Toni to connect to anyone's handwriting she knew.  The whole thing was unreal, like something out of one of those impossible nineteenth-century romances in English class, and the scent most of all, like an invitation out into another world of secret meetings under sultry, starless skies – far, far away from the sharp dazzling sunlight and golf-green-cut lawns of May in suburban Massachusetts.

That was why Toni kept it – because it was so different, so strange and faraway and miraculous – and why she read it only in her room, the doors closed and the covers up, by flashlight.  Dearest Antonia, the letter read, like a sending from a world where its writer might kiss her hand and request the honor of the next waltz, I love you – I have loved you. And because I love you, and expressing this love in person might be troublesome to you and yours, might be unwelcome in its coming, I consider your position, and speak only as such.  I am content to write: to convey my heart to you with these words, that I may testify that you are loved.  If this message is troublesome to you, if I annoy you, the please: discard it and think about it no more.  Our lives shall pass like ships in the night – that was definitely an English-class phrase there, definitely – and you shall not hear from me again.

But if there might be room for one like me in your heart, the letter continued, without any indication of what the writer was like, and you should wish to see me with your own eyes, hear my suit with your own ears, then please: give me such a sign.  Should you wish to meet, to judge myself and my love, then from tonight, Monday the 18th, leave your porch light burning for seven nights the night long. Should you reconsider – should you consider, as normal and appropriate, that this request is outrageous and dangerous and can't be made justly to a modern girl – one night dark, any night, and the chain shall be broken, and I should withdraw to trouble you no more.  But if you should wish, and that wish should endure, then when the seven nights pass with that light burning, I shall reveal myself to you: I should tell you plainly, in my own voice, and stand or fall with your judgment to take or leave me as I am.

I remain, as ever, your devoted servant & worshipper, &c, &c, and it trailed out from this strange and ancient adieu into a twisting, curling, swipe at the base of the paper where a signature might have been. The letter was unsigned; it obviously hadn't been posted, no stamp, no address let alone a return address, just her name in the same swirling blue ink on the outside opposite the wax, and whoever wrote this got really, really lucky that Toni happened to get home ahead of her mom today and take the letter in at the bottom of the other junk and bills stuffed through their mailbox.  If mom saw this she definitely would have opened it – mom was always getting into her stuff – and then she definitely would have called the police.

Calling the police, Toni thought, reading it over again, might not be a bad idea. Someone who sent a letter like this was at least a little bit of a crank or a weirdo, a little bit, no matter what they were like otherwise or what their intentions were, and you didn't want to get mixed up with someone like that – didn't want to give them ideas. But if it was some harmless goof who just got their ideas about courtship from English class, did you really want to give them a police record for being dumb?  It could be a stalker, but weren't stalkers always in denial about stalking, sure that the girl they were stalking them was secretly into them, and wasn't this letter the opposite, so sure that it was troubling her and giving her every chance to get out, to say no, to break things off just at the weird letter?  And she was seventeen and sure that Julie and Sarah and Nicole were in much better with their boyfriends than she'd been with Eric or Bryan or Matt, who'd all gotten bored or been interested wrong, and this was the last summer of high school that was just breathing in from the window, the breeze wrapping softly around her bare feet poking out from the covers.  Toni folded up the letter, and slipped it into the top drawer of her dresser.  She would keep it, and in the worst case it would be evidence.  And slowly, quietly, so as not to disturb her parents across the hall, she sidled out her half-open door and down the stairs to the front room, and the light switch, and the first real adventure of her own.

The ice cream stand at the park was open early on the weekends, and Toni had an early shift Sunday; she should have known, but she hadn't ever had a secret love letter to hide before, and she'd gotten up a little late, and didn't realize that she'd kind of just left it on top of her socks until she came home, and opened the door, and there was mom standing in the middle of the front room floor holding it, arms folded with a thunderous scowl on her face.  Toni stopped short in the door.  "Mom – I –"

"I wondered why the light was on this morning," her mom started, her voice starting to build like the air raid siren at the ball field cranking up, "and when I thought I heard you sneaking around in the middle of the night for a couple times this week.  Antonia Livia LaRoche, what on EARTH do you think you're doing?  What is this?  Who is it?  Who are you sneaking around after?"  

Toni just shook her head, mouth open, struck dumb.  "Mom, it's – it's – I – look, it's just the letter –"

"Then you don't know? YOU DON'T KNOW?  You don't even know who this is from, if it's from a sixty-year-old man, if it's from a murderer, if it's burglars, and you think you can just turn on our lights, signal to the whole entire world about it, and that's okay?  Where are your brains, little lady?  What is wrong with you?  Whatever it is, this is The End of it – you are grounded.  Grounded – till the end of the school year.  Phone privileges – gone.  Your father will drive you to school and work, and pick you up after, and if we hear about you seeing anyone, A-NY-ONE without getting permission from us first you will stay grounded like this even longer.  And so help me God, that porch light will stay turned off tonight if I have to chain you in the cellar with my own hands!  Go to your room!"  Toni started, a little, opening her mouth like she was going to speak, and her mom pointed up the stairs, her arm trembling with rage.  Toni swallowed her pride, and went up.

Maybe this was for the best.  Maybe mom was right, and it was a stalker after all, maybe it was better to break it off – like the letter even practically told her to break it off – and not take the chance.  But it was the seventh night – the last night – and she'd come this far, and her mom had read that letter and felt nothing, didn't think her daughter could take care of herself enough to have her own romantic adventures.  Hadn't she done crazy things when her parents weren't looking, when she was younger?  And if she had didn't that make her a hypocrite, and if she hadn't didn't that mean that Toni was just rolling down the rails to also be just a homemaker for an insurance adjuster in a little nowhere town? Whether the letter was from a RenFaire goof that she'd laugh about later, or a pervert that she'd have to fight off with a knife, or an actual honest-to-god romance that was starting romantic, it was different – it was adventure – it was anywhere but here, and it was hers and hers alone.

Toni slid her door open onto the dark hallway.  She could hear her father's breathing, slow and even; he'd been yelling about sitting up with a shotgun – did dad even have a gun? – while she'd been cooped without dinner, but now he was asleep like he was always going to be.  As quietly as she could, looking and listening around for her mom, who was less likely to fall asleep on the job, Toni made her way to the landing, looking down the stairs to the light switches by the front door.

Mom was standing there, back against the wall, right by the switches, arms folded and holding a rolling pin.  She was looking at the door, and seeming to listen out through the windows into the dark, and she didn't notice Toni up at the head of the stairs.  Toni backed up, quietly, making sure not to rattle against the pictures along the wall, before she noticed and went after her daughter with the pin. Somewhere outside, somewhere in the distant still dark of the suburban night, there was a sound – engine sounds, a car somewhere coming down the road.  It was him – whoever it was, it was him, and he would go by in the dark and Toni's chance would be gone forever.

She ducked quickly back into her room, flashlight, where's the flashlight, digging apart a drawer onto the floor, and – how on earth was she going to get it out?  It was the porch light, not a light in her room – it had to go down.  Toni cast wildly about for a string, or a rope, or a belt, or something – ribbon?  A spool of satin ribbon from Aunt Pat that she was never going to make sewing projects with because it's 1998, who does that, get real, one end tied around the light as tight as she could manage and then Toni was out her window, onto the porch roof, the rough tar shingles strange and unsteady under her feet, and she played the spool out, slowly, lowering the light down by the side of the porch.  Hoping and praying that the light would be shining out at the road, that it wouldn't slip and fall, that her mom wouldn't notice her scrambled out her window, desperately hanging a flashlight off the side of the house. The car went by, dazzling headlights breaking up its shape in the pitch-black night, and didn't stop – didn't even slow – and went on along the curve, back into the trees, and was gone.  No sign, no signal – if it worked, if the seventh night counted, or if it hadn't and now this was the end, Toni had no way to tell.

Since nothing happened in the next week, Toni was almost sure that it hadn't worked, and nothing would come of it, and she should just get over it and move on – until Shahid bought an ice cream with a two-dollar bill.  Because it was a two she stopped when she picked it up, and looked at it, and saw the  writing on it, the same purple ink and the same narrow copperplate hand.  I sent you a letter, it said, and you sent me seven lights. She looked up, and he looked around.  "I know it's cheesy," he said, almost flushing, "and I don't mind if you tell me to bug off, and you're at work –"

Toni shook her head, and picked up a marker with the napkins for his cone, leaning on a french-fry box so she didn't blot the counter.  She handed him the cone and the napkins, looking him in the eye, and Shahid unfolded the smudgy one.  I'm on break in 10 mins, it said, and he nodded.  "Is – by the swings, by the pond, is that okay?"  Toni thought for a second – the playground by the pond would be empty this late, so they could have some privacy, but there was a path right by there, people always jogging or walking their dogs, so it wasn't like he was dragging her off into the bushes.  It would be okay.  It would probably be safe.  She nodded, and he nodded back and turned away.

Ten minutes later Toni was smoothing down her work shirt as she walked across the park, pretty sure that Beth and Vanessa would cover for her if she was out a little too long and would only call the police if she like disappeared, trying to think about what she knew about Shahid Diwan.  He was a senior; his family came from India or somewhere over there, even if he didn't have much of an accent; he was in honors classes; he was on the football and basketball and lacrosse teams, even if people said he was only there to bring up the team GPA.  He had buddies on those teams, but not a lot of friends, maybe; he dropped in and out of parties just to prove he wasn't a stick-in-the-mud; when he wasn't studying, he was working, and there wasn't anyone he was really close to there either.  And he was in love with her, apparently: he'd written her a crazy anonymous love letter and now here she was going to meet him, in person, for the first time.

He saw her coming, and stood up from where he'd been squatting next to a bouncy horse, looking out at the lake, and threw something away like he'd been smoking a cigarette to settle his nerves.  She stopped, and he stood still, silhouetted against the twilight reflecting off the water, and there they were, twenty feet apart and just looking at each other, waiting, nobody sure where or how to begin.  Shahid broke the silence first.  "I – I almost didn't think you'd come," he said.  "I thought I'd scared you off – anyone would, with that letter, but –"

Toni took a step forward, her eyes dipping to the ground for a second. "No, I – I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling – just a feeling, like it was so crazy that – you know, that if it was something bad it wouldn't be like that – like you wouldn't be so scared so bad that I would get freaked out."  She took another couple steps forward, off the path, past the swingset.  "But – since, like, you're not dragging me out to murder me, why?  Like, why didn't you just, like, ask me out like normal?  And – why me?  I mean, I don't really know you – I don't know how you know me at all."

Shahid rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.  "Yeah, I – I mean, you know, you stick out – I couldn't stop seeing you, around school, and whenever I saw you I just couldn't look away.  I didn't want to say anything for the longest time because I wasn't sure you were single; I mean, like, there had to be other guys who saw what I was seeing, there had to be somebody.  And when I was sure that somehow someone as wonderful as you didn't have someone, I wasn't sure about myself – would you want a brown kid? An honors nerd?  A guy who hangs out with the football team?  I – I didn't know you, and I want to get to know you, but worse than that I didn't want to scare you, to freak you out, to make you have a bad time." He squatted down and scrubbed at his face with his hands.  

"So I put everything I had into that letter, but when I thought about it for a second it was just crazy and it was going to make things worse but I'd already put it in your letter box Sunday night so I had to come by and my heart just about jumped up through my throat when I saw the light on the first day.  Every night I'd bend some route around coming back from a delivery and I'd dread that your house would be dark, that you'd thought better, that it was crazy after all, that I didn't have any right to be with someone like you, and every night it was still on – and then you didn't tell me to get lost tonight, when you found out who it actually was instead of Brad Pitt or somebody."  He stood up.  "I mean it – I love you.  And even if all you were here for was to get an explanation, to find out what my deal was and go on with your life, I'm beyond honored that I got to say it to you myself – that you humored me this far, that you haven't pushed me away yet."

Toni took another step forward, glad that it was so dark that she didn't look as pink as her cheeks were feeling.  "I guess you don't notice because you're used to it, but Shahid, I don't think anyone would push you away.  You're popular – you're on the football team and you're in the honor society and you're cute and dark and mysterious like people can't get close to you.  I – I certainly don't mind a brown guy if – if it's you; my parents might, but –" she giggled "– but my mom was already sure you were a sixty-year-old pervert, so there."  He smiled a little at that, and took a first step, a first half-step forward.  "It's easy to see how someone would have a crush on you – even if she didn't know to be interested until you came to her work tonight.  I just don't see how someone like you could have a crush on someone like me."  She took another step, and now she was so close that she could almost reach out and touch him, make sure that he was real, that this all was real and not a daydream.

Shahid shook his head.  "I guess you don't notice – you're used to it, just used to everyone looking at you, and you don't notice why. You're pretty, and you're always cheerful; you're in charge of yourself and you know what you're doing.  You're – sexy –" Toni could see that he was blushing, even as dark as he was, even as dark as the night was around them "– and –" he looked away, staring at the ground, "and I like taller girls.  It's not a big thing – it's just a thing.  It's just my thing.  There aren't many tall girls back in Pakistan – but I still feel like it's better if you're with someone you look in her eyes, like you're not looking down all the time."  He was still looking down, though, staring furiously at his feet.  "If – don't –"

"I'm not going to make fun of you," Toni said, reaching out to stroke down his arm.  "I think it's sweet.  And – I like guys who like taller girls, too."  Her hand traced all the way down to his hand, and folded around it, holding tight.  "But – just, why did you send the letter to my house?  Why didn't you just put it in my locker?"

Shahid looked up at her, his eyes till bashful.  "I thought about it – but I thought that I didn't have time.  And – I made a mistake."

Toni froze.  "What?"

He raised his other hand between them, palm out, trying to calm her down.  "No – not about you.  It still has to be you – you and nobody else.  But I thought you were a senior, too."

Toni unclenched, still confused if she was less shocked.  "If – but – what – why?  Why would it matter?"

Shahid shook his head and let go of her hand.  "If you were a senior, if you were going to be on your own, I'd ask you to run away with me. We'd go to New York – we'd go to L.A. – we'd get the hell out of here and go somewhere far, far away and never come back."  He looked back at her.  "But if you're a junior, if you're not done school yet, I can't ask that – I can't rip you away from your family, your friends, everything here, when you wouldn't be going on your own."

Toni folded up her hands on her chest.  He was right – that was crazy, that would be crazy, and evn if he asked her she wouldn't go.  Even if she was graduating this year instead of next – there were some things that were just too far, no matter how romantic it would be. "I – I can accept that, but – but why?  Aren't you going to college?  Don't you have your own whole future?"

Shahid squatted down again, his back to her, looking out at the lake, the stars starting to spark in the ripples.  "They're sending me back to Pakistan," he said.  "There are – there are family things and I'm not going to college here.  My father's already declined my acceptances.  I'm going back to Pakistan and I'm going to learn my uncle's cement business and I'm going to marry some girl I've never met.  Everything is already decided – everything was already decided long ago.  I don't want it: I want to stay in America, and I want to be with you and I want to live my own goddamned life for myself."  His shoulders were trembling, and his voice was shaking.

Toni knelt down beside him, settling her arm over his shoulders, taking his hand in her other hand and knitting her fingers with his.  "If – if you could stay –"

"If I could stay, I'd stay with you as long as you'd keep me around; I'd go to Fitchburg State if it meant I could see you four days a week rather than going to Harvard and seeing you for three.  Nothing matters – nothing else."  He leaned his head into hers, and Toni could feel his tears wet on her forehead.  It was real – he was real and his love was real, just as real and just as fantastical as his letter, just as little able to survive in the face of the real world.  But while it lasted it was real, and they were alone on the sand, and the stars were coming out up above them.

"I won't ask you to stay if you can't," she murmured, the scent of his skin, his shirt, his old tobacco filling her head, "but I want you not to forget me – because I'm not going to forget you. And if you can get free, and if you can come back, you can find me – I'll wait for you.  I'll write to you – and I won't forget.  She kissed him on the cheek, and he turned, taking her in his arms.

"Beloved – it may be a long time – bad things will happen and bad things are already happening and I'm so afraid that I won't ever see you again, but I will never forget you.  I will never forget you.  I will never not love you.  And if I can ever return to this country I will move heaven and earth to see you again."  He squeezed her close, and she was already turning her face, her lips seeking his, pushing and pulling on him to settle them down into the hollow of the bank, where it would be only them and their love, and the moon and the water and the high, drifting stars.

Her phone blinked green, and Toni reached over to unplug the cord; no sense charging it past 100% and hogging the outlet when everyone else had flights to charge for and there were so few outlets around the gates.  She checked her messages – nothing else from Jon, nothing from the kids – and then checked the time: she was probably still good, but she should probably be getting back to her own gate before they called for boarding.  She pulled out the handle on her bag, and tugged it back towards the central walkway, and then stopped as she saw him.

His hair was thinning on top, and he had a bit of a paunch now, and he and his wife – it had to be – were herding a swarm of four kids and their luggage, trying to keep everyone tucked in and together, not in anyone's way in the midst of the traffic of the terminal, but she wasn't wrong: fifteen years turned into a lifetime and everyone changed, but it was Shahid, still alive and it looked like he and his were thriving despite everything, despite all the awfulness that had spilled out around Pakistan, between Pakistan and the United States, in all that time, and despite the ten-year-old rings from Jon on her hand, Cameron and Jaycey on the lock screen on her phone, Toni had to stop, had to drink him in.  And then he happened to turn back across, and his eyes caught her, and Shahid stopped too, because even in a sea of white faces and she was wearing glasses now and had most of ten years of motherhood hanging off her hips, he, also would have recognized her anywhere and couldn't do anything else.

It was only a second, because they were both grown and not teenagers any more and airport traffic waits for absolutely no one, but when Shahid broke the spell, he broke it by motioning his family forward, to the side of the gate, forwards toward her.  "Toni!" he said, "Toni – it is you, isn't it?  How have you been – it's been so long – it's been so long – how are you?"  He reached out, and she reached out, and he shook her hand with both hands and she laid her other hand over his, too; she wanted to wrap herself around him and crush him close and pretend she was seventeen and on the shore of the pond in the park again, and she could feel that he wanted to, too, but they were grown and he had his whole family with him – his whole life and the strangers in the airport to consider.

"Shahid – it's so good to see you again!  It's – it's been absolutely forever – but you're looking well.  Your kids look so darling – are you doing well?"  He nodded, beckoning everyone in, especially his wife, hanging back a step, her hijab tucked close into her collar, a guarded look in her eyes.  Whoever you are, whoever you were, he's mine now, and these are the proof.

"Yes – I'm doing well.  We are all doing very well.  Toni, this is Zeba, my wife; Zeba, this is Antonia, an old friend – my high school girlfriend."  Toni extended a hand, tentatively, and Zeba took it, barely touching.

"How do you do, Mrs. Diwan; I'm Toni Delaney, and, well, it was a high school fling.  Such a long time ago – your children are beautiful; what are their names?  These are mine – this is Cameron, and she's Jaycey."  Toni flicked her phone open, pointing them out – her own happiness, her own life that wasn't going to try and walk on Zeba's.

She smiled, and herded one back out from behind her skirt.  "The little one is Nergis, she's not good with strangers yet.  Ayesha, Suleman, Kumail, say hello to your father's friend."  Zeba's English was as accentless as her husband's – maybe that was it, that she, too, had been torn away from her first love and had to rebuild her life in a strange land.  The kids nodded and waved, mumbling; they, too, weren't good with strangers, or maybe they weren't sure how much of a stranger this strange woman was.

"Do you live out here now?" Shahid asked, ruffling Kumail's hair offhandedly.  "We are just passing through – visiting some of Zeba's relatives in New Jersey."

Toni shook her head.  "No, I'm just going the other way; one of my great-aunts passed and I was back in Massachusetts for the funeral. Jon had an important project to finish, or he and the kids would have been here too – I wish you could have met them.  We're living out in California now."

He nodded.  "Yes; I think we know some people in California, too. Perhaps we'll meet again sometime.  But, even if not, it was good to see you again."  If Toni wasn't hearing things, there'd been a catch in his voice – the shadow of something gone that could never return.  "Now, come on, we've still got to go to the plane; let's go.  Toni, be well, okay?"

She nodded.  "Yes, it was good to see you; Shahid, Zeba, everyone, take care!"  Shahid barely looked back as he herded his family away, and from over by the gate, the attendant at the counter garbled into her microphone: flight 1119 to Sacramento is ready for boarding. Antonia reached down for her bag, and turned back, and turned out, at last, the porch light in her heart.

further Tales of the Missing ...