#probably because I forgot to do a sketch again and just went straight to the lineart 🗿

[marinatedsaltea]

I remember I was rummaging through Pinterest and then stumbled across a badass lookin’ drawing (made by @kabukiaku, love their art) of Autobots playing supposedly baseball. So me and my friend Echo ended up drawing our beloved men like that as well

[chasingpj]

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

"My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers?"

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

words: 2,994

warnings: cursing, mentions of genitalia

category: one-shot, soulmate!au

You don’t know who your soulmate is, but when you find out, you know the first thing you’ll do is punch him in his face. You don’t understand why he does this. Why can’t he be romantic like everyone else? You have a few friends who have the same connection you share with your soulmate, through your skin. Your friends rise from their slumbers with beautiful sketches on their arms; Or throughout the day, lines will appear as they’re being drawn, creating the most beautiful artwork you’ve ever seen. However, of course, you don’t get that; instead, you get this.

You stare at yourself in the mirror with pure disbelief, and you can’t decide whether to cry or scream. You’re used to these kinds of drawings in places like your arms, stomach, and legs, so they were easy to hide. But this has never happened before; it's never been in a place so… so visible.

You fill with rage as you observe the sloppily drawn dick on your forehead and your fist clenches as it lays on top of your bathroom sink. You fucking ass. How the hell am I going to hide this? You have to be at work in fifteen minutes, and you have this vulgar drawing on your forehead. You’re sure if you tell your boss your situation, he’d probably dismiss you because this is obviously not appropriate for the workplace. Still, you can’t even imagine trying to explain this to him. It was way too embarrassing.

"What am I going to do?” You whine as you rub your hands on your face. The drawing won’t be removed from your skin unless your soulmate removes it on his, so you had to think of a solution right away.

“Where could he possibly be where this is acceptable?” You try to refrain from sobbing hopelessly as your frantic mind searches for a solution. You think maybe a hat will work, but you discard the idea knowing your boss will tell you to take it off once you’re indoors. Suddenly, like a sign from the heavens, your solution hits you right in the face when you catch sight of your makeup bag lying on the toilet seat. You reach over, grabbing the pouch and unzipping it. Your quivering hands move too fast, causing the products to fall out and scatter into the sink. Your eyes skim over them in search of your thickest foundation and concealer. When you find them, along with your primer, you sigh, saying a silent prayer before getting to work.

***

Leo gasps sharply as the sight of his face in the mirror shocks him out of his fatigue. He touches his forehead, trying to recall the memory of last night while ignoring the pounding headache surging through his skull. He remembers getting to the club with a group of friends and how they took one shot after another until their vision was blurry. He has a faint memory of dancing with some girl, and the chaos of his 4 am Macdonald’s run with his friends. However, he doesn't recall the moment when this picture was drawn on his face. When did this happen? More importantly, who did this? He pauses, gawking at his reflection. His jaw clenches as the culprit comes to mind. He felt foolish for questioning who did this because he lives with, and he went home with one person last night, and that's Percy.

“Percy!” He yells angrily, and in the next room, he hears Percy’s manic laughter getting louder as he runs down the hall and into the bathroom with him. Percy can’t help but laugh even harder at the sight of a distressed Leo, and he silently congratulates himself for pulling such a successful prank. Leo’s expression hardens, and his gaze snaps over to him, “It's not funny!”

Percy snorts and nudges his shoulder, "Come on, loosen up!" Leo laughs sarcastically,

"Come on, loosen up!" He mocks with clear annoyance, making Percy’s laughter ceases. Leo usually takes things like this so well; he's never been angry at him because of a childish prank. The two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since they moved in together, and they would always laugh it out while deviously planning their revenge. Percy tilts his head, now growing annoyed that Leo’s annoyed.

"Why are you so uptight today?" He almost snaps, not understanding his fury. Leo's eyes narrow at him,

"My soulmate is linked to my skin." He speaks slowly and carefully, accentuating his words to make sure Percy understands how bad this is. Percy's mouth drops open, and he stares at the vulgar art on his forehead.

"Oh… shit," is the only thing he can think of saying. “Fuck, I forgot. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes even though he knows it doesn’t help anything. He didn’t share the same connection with his soulmate, so he had forgotten entirely about Leo’s bond with his. He’s now left with regret knowing that there's someone out there going along their day trying to hide this lewd image.

Leo groans as he throws his head back. "I-It'll wash off? Right?"

Leo flips up the sink’s nozzle, dipping his head in the cold tap water to wet his face. He scrubs with his fingers, blindly grasping the soap next to him. He runs it over, spreading the suds and lightly scratching his forehead. He rinses everything off and returns to his original position to check his face now. He yells in panic when he sees the drawing didn't budge at all; it didn't even fade. Percy audibly gasps,

"I used permanent marker."

"BRO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Percy shifts on his feet as the memory of last night comes back to him. Leo fell asleep in the cab ride home, and Percy, somehow without much balance, carried him over his shoulder into their apartment complex. He squints his eyes, and with a vague remembrance, he recalls plopping him down on the couch. Leo was unconscious, and Percy’s drunk mind saw this as a perfect opportunity to prank him. He picked the first marker he saw, and in the middle of a giggling fit, he sloppily drew the phallic item and took a picture.

Leo frantically puts his head back in the sink to scrub again, and Percy stands by the door, watching panic wash over him. Leo continues scrubbing his skin, and though his skin becomes red under the friction of his nails, he persists. Percy shakes his head, walking over to him quickly, and he pats his shoulder.

"Come on, man. It's not working; you’re gonna hurt yourself." If Percy let him, Leo would scrub his skin raw. He disregards his advice and continues to scrub, bringing the soap over the drawing once again before scratching harshly. Percy, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, turns off the tap, and Leo groans, standing straight. He stares at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet, and his skin is red with irritation. I'm so sorry.

***

Your day hasn't gotten any better since this morning. First, you wake with a dick on your forehead; second, you miss your bus because you took so much time layering makeup on your face. Then, you get to work about 15 minutes late because your commute, which usually took about 5 minutes, was delayed due to traffic. You assumed that your day couldn’t get any worse, but you discovered you spoke too soon when the system your job uses to put in orders crashed, making your job even harder than it had to be. Also, you spilled hot coffee on yourself during the morning rush, and that almost sent you straight into tears, but somehow, you prevailed.

By the afternoon, you wanted to rip your hair out when you realized you forgot your wallet, leaving you unfed and cranky. Your boss was no help to your mood either. He picked at everything you did today and held a grudge about you being late this morning. You've never had such a shitty day at work, and there is a sense of relief when you witnessed the clock turn to 4:30 pm. You immediately stood up from your chair, collecting your things before walking straight to the computer to clock out.

The last challenge you're facing is to get home in the slippery aftermath of the pouring rain earlier today. It was colder than usual; the sun’s hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the smell of wet soil is in the air. You shiver, your arms wrapped around your frame in a poor attempt to keep you warm. You don't have an umbrella, and you hope it doesn’t start raining again. You were sure that if your makeup washes away in the rain for everyone to see the mystery under it, you will lose your mind.

You stand in the corner of the waiting shed, resting your head on the side. You take a deep breath, noticing your hands are anxiously chipping away the week-old nail polish. From the corner of your eye, you see someone join you under the shed, and out of usual curiosity, you look over. A tall, slender guy stands in the opposite corner; he wears distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie with a print you can’t see from your view, and a black winter hat. In his hands, he fiddles with a piece of scrap metal. His skin was tan, and his brown curly hair peeks from under his hat. Oblivious to your staring, he looks away from his fiddling and happens to glance over at you. There's a moment of awkward eye contact before you snap your vision away and out to the street.

You cringe at yourself for staring too long, shifting on your feet. You casually lean over the side of the curve, and you swear the light of the heavens was shining on your bus as it drove toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over you. It’s here; you were one step closer to getting home and relaxing.

The excitement was taken away as quickly as it arrived, your bus passing your stop making a mini tsunami in the process. A wave of water splashes directly on you, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You stand there, cold and wet staring blankly at the curve. You felt overwhelmed, not being able to hold back the cries that you’ve been suppressing all day.

"are you-" a sob releases from your lips, stunning the unknown guy next to you. You miserably walk over to the bench, plopping down and resting your elbows on your thighs to lay your head in your hands. You sob freely, not caring about the boy's presence, and he stands in his spot, not sure what to do. He had an innate urge to make you feel better, and he doesn't know why but it pains him to see you like this. He clears his throat and decides to settle in the seat next to you. "Bad day?"

You sniffle, trying to find your breath, "The worst."

You don't look up, your hands doing their part to cover your face and your forehead. "I don't understand why everything is going so wrong.” You didn’t even care that you were pitying yourself, but you felt like you had the right considering how shit your day has been.

"I woke up with an awful drawing from my soulmate. I was late for my bus, which made me late to work; I haven't had lunch either. I'm hungry, cold, and now, soaking wet in street water." You sniffle once more. "My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers? I'd even take a tacky picture of two stick figures falling in love... shit; I’d be satisfied with a grocery list. But of course, with my luck, that doesn't happen. I get stupid drawings of... genitalia."

Leo’s body tenses next to you, and his teeth bite the inside of his lip. Drawings of genitalia? Sounds like him. Now he needed to see this drawing you were talking about, and he feels himself getting anxious at the possibility that you could be his soulmate. You continue to cry, refusing to move from your position.

"Well... it can't be that bad?"

"Oh, it's bad,” you managed to respond in your ragged breathing. Leo hesitantly reaches over, affectionately rubbing his hand across your upper back. Your breath hitches softly at the back of your throat, and there is a surge of warmth that radiates from his hand. You feel your tense shoulders begin to relax, and you furrow your eyebrows as your breath miraculously finds its regular pace. You even have this strange desire to cuddle into his frame to acquire more of his touch.

"Come on, show me. It's probably not as bad as you think." He speaks from his experience this morning. If you aren't his soulmate, he's sure that whatever you have isn't as traumatic as what he and his soulmate have.

"No! You'll laugh," you whine, your head laying firmly on your hands.

"I won't! I promise." You can tell from his voice that he was genuine, and for some reason, you can trust him. You slowly remove your hands from your face, but your head is still in an embarrassed bow. His heart pounds in his chest at the anticipation and leans forward to get a look at your face. You close your eyes, not wanting to see his initial reaction.

There it was. Right under your concealer, there is the familiar drawing faintly present. Leo's mouth drops, and his eyes widen; how is he going to tell you that he has the same picture on his forehead? You sigh shakily,

"It's bad, isn't it?" Your face burns in pure humiliation, and you now regret showing him. Leo is silent for a bit, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes flutter open to look at his guilty expression.

"Why are you sorry?" He doesn't even attempt to explain himself in words. He simply slides off his winter hat, showing you the original drawing on his skin. You inhale sharply, your mind trying to process what is happening in front of you.

He's your soulmate, the person that you ideally would spend your life with. You didn't think you'd find him anytime soon or even at all. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, and your cheeks get warm. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection. You take in the tousled curls on his head, a bit frizzy from his hat and his big brown eyes. Your heart pumps hard in your chest, just as fast as the boy’s heart in front of you.

A few people told you that you’d feel like the world will slow down when you meet your soulmate. You’ll feel complete, and all at once, you’ll fall in love. You thought it was a load of over-romanticized bull, but you found that it was true even with your strange circumstance.

You finally found him…

But he's done this.

Your anger somehow counteracts this "in love" feeling, and you momentarily hate him for starting your day off on a sour note.

"You!" Your arms lift to strike him in the chest, but before you could attack, he grasps your tight fists.

"I'm sorry! I can explain!" He says quickly. Your arms loosen up, and you narrow your eyes at him,

"Explain yourself then." Sheepishly Leo cowers and his hands remain around your fist, just in case.

"Well," he sighs, "I partied a little too hard last night, and um, my roommate, Percy, thought it would be funny to draw this on my forehead."

"Your roommate is an ass."

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he was just as drunk as I was, and he didn't realize that the marker was permanent. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, and how you’d have to walk around with this." He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I tried getting it off, but it won’t go away." You sigh, willing to forgive him since it wasn't his fault.

"So, we're gonna have this for a while?"

"Probably a couple of days or so." You groan and don’t say anything in return. You look down at your lap, still hiding your face from anyone around. "Oh, here, take my sweatshirt. The hoodie can keep it hidden.” He puts his hat back on and pulls his sweatshirt over his body, passing it to you. You smile softly as you take it from him. You pull it over your still soaked and cold frame, slipping your arms in and bringing the hood up. You mutter a small thank you, shoving your hands in the front pocket. He replies with a hum, allowing the sounds of the passing cars to fill your comfortable silence.

"Again, I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, and you turn your head. You smile reassuringly,

"It's okay. I'll forgive you this time,” you say teasingly, and he chuckles. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"Leo." You reach over, taking his hand, and you guys share a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

masterlists

[helliontherapscallion]

Warmth (Adrenaline Junkie Part 6)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: Self harm scars, mentions of panic attacks and hallucinations

Word count: 2,842

(A/N): This takes place about 6 months after the last chapter. Also, I was heavily inspired by Toothless’ prosthetic, I’m really excited to write more about it : )

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the cobblestone street of the village. The village was probably one of your favorite places to visit; it had quaint little shops and stalls decorating the main plaza that you adored, it was always interesting to see what’s being sold today. Though you always wore your cloak to cover your wings (well, wing and a now-feathered nub) whenever you visited to avoid the stares, you still regularly visited the main plaza for the shops. 

The first time you visited after the incident was about a month ago with Wilbur, you two were looking for something to cook for dinner. You were trying to get used to having your wings out again, so you were wearing the jacket with the slits in the back that you always used to wear. 

The feeling of people staring holes into you was a feeling you forgot about. You always got stares whenever you went into the village because of your wings, but now it felt like more and more people were staring at you as you passed them, probably because of your nub. Though some looked at you in pity, most looked at you with disgust.

You could hear children asking their mothers what happened to you. Their mothers would take one look at you and shield their children away from you staring at you with disgust. You even made one kid cry when he saw your wing; you didn’t blame him, you still couldn’t look at your nub without tearing up. An hour hasn’t even passed before you were asked by a police officer to leave because you were causing a disruption and being indecent in public.

Wilbur was pissed. “They’re fully clothed and they didn’t even talk to anybody, so how exactly were they being disruptive or indecent?”

The officer firmly held her ground, looking up to Wilbur’s tall form. “Sir, the people are complaining and it’s my job to make the public feel safe and comfortable. Look,” she sighed, “I really don’t want to have to ask them to leave, they’re not doing anything to directly threaten people. However, they are causing a disturbance with their,” she wrinkled her nose, “their thing, so I’m going to have to ask them to leave.”

“You have absolutely no right to tell them to leave. They-”

“Wilbur, it’s fine. I’ll leave,” turning back to the officer, you calmly stated “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She curtly nodded and stood watching you, probably making sure that you left the main plaza. Before you could turn to leave, Wilbur stopped you.

“(Y/n)-”

“No, Wilbur. It’s alright, I can wait outside the village for you.”

He sighed, looking through his leather satchel. “No, you won’t have to wait for me. We’ve got enough food for dinner anyways,” shooting one last heated glare at the police officer, he reached down to grab your hand. “Let’s go.”

He drug you quickly through the village with you having a little trouble keeping up with his long strides. Once you were out of the village, he slowed his pace and walked with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“(Y/n), I’m sor-”

“Don’t be Wil. It isn’t your fault. I honestly was expecting to get kicked out earlier.”

“Still, it’s not fair to you. You didn’t ask for this.” 

“I know Wil, I’ll just wear my cloak next time I visit.”

He didn’t say anything to you after that. The rest of the walk home was shrouded in an awkward silence. 

Another part of the village you loved was the library. It had tall shelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books and various cushioned furniture littered randomly amongst the maze of shelves. Whoever would walk into the library would immediately be hit by the strong scent of parchment and wood as soon as they would walk through the twin doors. You would usually browse books about redstone, but you had a different agenda today.

Today, you were looking for a book about leather working. You wanted to make a leather prosthetic wing so you could at least glide through the air. You weren’t sure if it would work though. From what you’ve read, nobody’s attempted to make a prosthetic wing. It made sense, being a hybrid was rare in and of itself, let alone a winged hybrid. 

You missed flying more than anything. You would give anything to be able to be in the air again. You felt jittery and restless without flight. Sure, Philza took you on some flights with him every now and then, but it wasn’t the same. You yearned for the independence and liberation it gave you to fly alone.

After you found a book and checked it out with the librarian, you hastily set out for home. You were walking with a giddy smile on your face and a bounce in your step. Several people gave you strange looks as you passed them, but you were in too good of a mood to care. You finally figured out a way you could possibly fly again. 

When you got home, you headed straight to your workshop to get to work on your prosthetic. Several blueprints were hung up around your desk, some for your TNT launcher (which you finished a few weeks ago) and others contained ideas for an automatic farm. Your pride and joy was hung up in the center of your bulletin board. It made you extremely happy just by looking at the prosthetic sketch.

Your redstone lamp illuminated the space in front of you as you focused on cutting a large strip of leather in front of you with great concentration. You needed to get the measurements exactly right, equal sized wings are integral for stability midair. The prosthetic was going to be about the same size as your left wing with thin iron rods giving the wing structure. You planned on making it identical to a bat’s wing with a few minor changes in shape to match your other wing. Once it actually was structurally sound and working, you would add proper joints so you could wear it around and decorate it. Until then, you’re making adjustments.

When you were done, you moved on to crafting and melding together the iron rods. Putting on your goggles and thick leather gloves, you used a bit of lava your family kept stored in another room in the basement to fuse the thin iron rods together. You carefully dipped one end of two rods into the bucket before pulling it out at a certain time to hold the molten ends together until they cooled. You repeated this process until you were melding the last piece on.

“HEY BITCH, DINNER’S READY. GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT!”

Yelping, you dropped the mold onto your desk. You picked it up in a panic without paying attention to where your arms went. Unknowingly, your sleeved arm was pressing up against the scorching iron of the bucket of lava.

“FUCK YOU YA FILTHY GREMLIN, A LITTLE WARNING WOULD’VE BEEN NICE!”

He started cackling. “FUCK YOU TOO! NOW GET UP HERE BEFORE I EAT YOUR DINNER.”

“YOU BETTER FUCKING NOT. I SWEAR TO- FUCK!”

You felt the nerves on the side of your forearm screaming as you yanked it away, leaving the crisp remains of a part of your sleeve stuck to the iron bucket. Two pairs of footsteps boomed down the steps and got louder as they rapidly approached you. 

Wilbur’s deep voice worriedly called out to you. “Shit, (y/n) are you alright? Let me see.”

Before you could protest, he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled the sleeve of your jacket down. Adjoining the light burn, small horizontal scars and some fresh cuts lined your forearms. Shit, they were never supposed to find out.

Wilbur’s hand froze, gripping your wrist with an iron grip. You hissed at the feeling of some of your cuts reopening, causing him to quickly retract his hand. He now had his hands hovering over your arm unsure of what to do with them.

“(Y/n), wha-” Tommy cut himself off once he saw the panicked look on his older brother’s face. Following his gaze, his wide eyes met with your cuts.

You sighed, prying the goggles off from your face and pulling the gloves off from your hands. You put on a calm exterior, contrary to what you felt on the inside. They were never supposed to know. “Listen, you guys weren’t supposed to find out about this. None of you were. Please don’t tell Dad or Technoblade, I don’t need more people knowing.”

Tommy spoke up with an incredulous look. “(Y/n), what do you mean? We can’t just not tell them.”

“I know. Please, do it for me? Everything’s finally going back to normal and this will just make everything worse again. I promise I’ll stop, I swear.”

The two brothers looked at each other silently contemplating what they should do. On one hand, you were their sibling and you were hurting yourself. They needed to tell their dad that you were cutting. You only had two lives left and you could kill yourself doing that. Philza and Techno could help. On the other hand, they wanted you to feel normal in your own home. You were right in the fact that everything was starting to feel like it did before the incident. Plus, they would gladly help you through it.

They looked back at you with apprehensive expressions, speaking at the same time. 

“(Y/n), we’re not gonna tell Dad or Techno.”

“We’re telling them.”

Tommy whipped his head up to look at his brother angrily. “Wilbur, we need to tell them.”

“Tommy, no-”

“Are you fucking stupid? Of course we have to-”

“Tommy. We don’t because I’ll be taking every sharp object away from them tonight. We’ll watch them and check their wrists to make sure that there’s no new cuts and they stay clean. We’ll help them.”

“But- they,” Tommy gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But we at least have to tell Techno about this. He can help us.”

Wilbur glanced at you with apologetic eyes. Before he could speak up, you interrupted him. “...Alright, as long as Dad doesn’t find out. He has enough to stress out about and he doesn’t need to worry about me again. Now, can we go upstairs for dinner? We’ve been down here for long enough already and Dad’s probably wondering why. Tell him that I’m gonna go clean up.”

Without giving them any room to argue, you speeded up the stairs and into your room. Closing the door and leaning your back on it, you let your calm facade drop into a panicked one. Shit, what if Tommy tells Dad? What were you supposed to do then? He’ll take away what little freedom you had left and you’ll be sinking into the depths of your depression again. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock and Philza’s voice. You held your breath as you prepared yourself for him to tell you that he knows your secret. “Hey hun, Wilbur and Tommy told me that you burned yourself,” you let out a relieved sigh. “Do you need me to look at it?”

Panic once again flared in your bloodstream. “N-no Dad, it’s just a little burn. I’ll be down in just a second I’m changing.”

“You sure? I can get you a potion.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“...Alright,” he sounded skeptical. “Just hurry up, dinner’s getting cold.”

The sound of his retreating footsteps sounded like music to your ears. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths before you moved to put on a long sleeved shirt. 

Dinner was uncharacteristically quiet without Tommy, you, or Wilbur talking. Philza tried to carry the conversation with you four, but only Technoblade gave full responses. You, Tommy, and Wilbur only supplied a few words to a conversation when prompted. 

Technoblade was suspicious. Sure, you and Wilbur were quiet sometimes, but Tommy? Tommy’s always loud and rambunctious. Something’s wrong, but what? What could’ve happened when Tommy and Wilbur went to go get you for dinner? They weren’t gone for long. He did hear you screaming profanities at Tommy for scaring you and overheard Tommy telling Philza about how you burned yourself, but how is that something that would shut you three up? He was going to confront his siblings after he finished tonight’s dishes. 

Meanwhile, you, Tommy, and Wilbur were in your room. You were giving them your iron dagger.

“Is this all?”

“Yeah, Tommy. That’s all, search my room if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t mind, I don’t have anything to hide from you anymore.”

They did just that. Looking under your bed, in your drawers, in your closet, and in the chest you kept for your supplies. You watched them propped up on your bed. While you were angry with yourself that you were so careless, you felt warm that they cared about you. They were great brothers.

After they were done turning your room upside down, Wilbur plopped down next to you and Tommy threw himself over your legs. You three laid there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence. It was nice to spend some time with your brothers, you didn’t get much free time to spend with them because you spent most of your time in your workshop.

The silence was broken by Tommy. “...So, how do you wanna go about telling Technoblade?”

“I’m… not exactly sure. Do we even have to tell him?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Even if you didn’t want to, I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up. He’s good at picking up on social cues.”

“Well if that’s the case, I might just wait until he comes to me. It’ll be easier.”

Your door swung open to reveal your piglin hybrid brother. He looked at you with a single eyebrow raised as his ear flicked. “What were you planning on telling me?”

Tommy and Wilbur looked at you expectantly. You shifted your body closer to the wall making room on your bed for him. He walked over and stiffly sat on the edge of your mattress. He gestured for you to talk to him. You slowly slid your sleeve down and showed him your arm. Besides his eyebrows slightly crinkling, he was as stoic as ever when he reached out to grab your wrist for a better look.

On the inside, the voices were almost as loud as when you died. They were nearly incoherent as several angry voices mixed together yelling at him for not noticing anything was wrong with you, the kid he vowed to protect when you first stole his crown and replaced it with a homemade paper one. Outside of the voices, he was furious at himself, he was supposed to protect you. He ran his fingers along the raised lines, gently tracing over every scar and scabbed over cut as if memorizing where every single one lays.

His monotone voice was gruff. “How long? Why?”

“About eight months now. I-I didn’t feel anything for a while after I respawned and I realized that pain helped me feel. It helped ground me when I hallucinated or had panic attacks.”

“...Do you feel anything now?”

“Yeah, I’m getting better Tech. I’m hallucinating less and I’m getting better at managing anxiety attacks. At this point, it's just a habit that I can’t drop.” 

“Do you want to drop it?”

You fell silent. You never really considered stopping before. Before, you would do it to give yourself something to focus on when you were overwhelmed, but now you would do it out of habit. It somehow felt wrong when you skipped a session and it usually threw your entire day off. You would feel drained for the entire day if you didn’t do it. It was one of the only consistent things in your life.

“(Y/n), c’mon you don’t want to keep doing this, right?” Tommy asked before Wilbur reached over and slapped him upside his head. 

“I think,” you breathed out, unsure of yourself, “I want to get better.”

Techno looked at his brothers. “Did you two take their blades?”

Tommy held up the iron dagger and wove it around haphazardly in the air. Techno reached over and pocketed the dagger before discarding his golden crown and placing it on your nightstand. He took off his weighted fluffy cloak and neatly draped it over a nearby chest. He maneuvered his body so that he was laying on your other side and wrapped a lazy arm over your chest. 

With Wilbur on your right side with your wing draped over him, Tommy laying on your stomach with Wilbur reaching down to hold him, and Techno pulling you close to his body, you were pleasantly warm. You were slowly drifting off, being lulled to sleep by Techno’s slow heartbeat. You blissfully fell asleep surrounded by your brothers’ love.

Inspo for the cuddle pile (credit goes to og artist, zillychu): https://zillychu.home.blog/tag/heart-squad-cuddle-pile/

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @ravennightingaleandavatempus  @dirtydiavolo  @yeiras-world  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity  @camisascam

@bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @jayistrash  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @appetiteofapeoplepleaser  @starchildnatalya  @kinismanditory  @dragons-lurk-here  @rinzyx05  @the-wandering-pan-ace  @sparkling-gayyyy  @angelic-scent  @shinipii  @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander  @izzydimensional  @used-avocado

[felix21im]

"Ice Cold", a Leon Kennedy x reader fanfiction

As an Art and Design student all you want to do is just knuckle down and finish that one goddamn piece you've been working on for months. Too bad your time is constantly stolen by your Waiter job with minimal pay, but hey, at least the tips are good if you unbutton your shirt that one more time.

Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Sketches

“It’s ten A.M. dumbass, get out of bed.” You woke up to the sound of your roommates voice and the feel of a pillow hitting your face. “We have our reservation in like fifteen minutes…”

The reminder of your scheduled fancy breakfast with your roommate managed to wake you up fully and you instantly ran into the bathroom to have a shower.

As you stood there with the water running on your skin you began to feel your head pounding. “Great, a fucking hangover.” You muttered as you turned the shower knob, stopping the water and leaving you cold. You stepped out of the shower with a towel hanging over your shoulders and sat down on the toilet seat. "Hey, can you maybe make me some tea or coffee or something? I got a headache, probably overworked or something" you lied, shouting to your roommate.

“Yea sure 'overworked', huh? Don't worry, I'll make something but get ready already!" You dried yourself with a small towel and put on some light clothes. A pair of shorts and a white shirt, it was hot outside due to it being summer and wearing anything other than shorts is a death sentence. You didn't feel like styling your hair so you just refreshed yourself, hoping you wouldn't look too bad. You stepped out of the small bathroom and were greeted by your roommate who handed you a glass of water with a pill. "I'm sure this will help more than just some tea.. after your 'overworking'". They winked at you and you feared they thought something different than what actually happened.

"Hey hey hey, that's not what happened okay? Imma tell you when we're eating, alright? But don't assume anything wrong, you hear me?" You laughed a little, but had to stop because of your headache. You took the glass of water and the mysterious pill, placing it in your mouth and then swallowing it with a gulp of water. You then saw your friend standing at the door, already wearing shoes and ready to go out. You sigh as you grab a pair of sneakers from under your bed, practically jumping straight into them.

“I read the reviews of this restaurant we’re going to and legit like all of them say that it’s super cold in there, you might want to grab your jacket.” They get the jacket off of the back of the door and hold it out for you to take.

“Thank you, thank you.” You accept the jacket and fold it over your arm as you place your phone in the pocket, but rather than it going straight in like normal, something is in there and blocks it from sitting perfectly. You place your phone in your back pocket and reach your hand into your jacket, pulling out a white envelope. The envelope was a little heavy and had a note written on it “This semester is on me, think of it as payment for agreeing to decorate my house - Leon S. Kennedy.” You slit the envelope open and it looked identical to your tips envelope, absolutely filled with cash. You let out a small gasp. "Holy shit."

You looked at your roommate who also looked at you and the envelope laying in your hand. "Yeah, holy shit. Are you working as a stripper now or how'd you get all the money suddenly?"

“Although I would be a great stripper… No.” You look at the cash, not knowing what to do with it. "I have to give it back. I can't just keep all.. this."

“Uh?! Yes you can!” Your roommate looked at you like you were an idiot. “That's like five grand there! If you’re not going to take it I will gladly take it for you!”

"No way! I can't just accept this money!” You close the envelope and place it on the desk on your side of your shared room. “This doesn't feel right, you know that." You thought about what you're going to do next. You looked between your friend and the money and decided you need to do the right thing. "I'm sorry, but I have to return it. As soon as I get my paycheck I will go out to eat breakfast with you, I promise! But I need to do this. Sorry." You grabbed the envelope again and walked past your roommate and out the door, giving them a look of excuse. They simply scoffed and slammed the door behind you.

As you sat outside on the curb you used your phone to look up where you were last night so that you could get Leon’s address. As you ordered your taxi it asked you for some contact details. “Kennedy.” You chuckled as you entered that as your last name, thinking it would be a funny joke. On your way you texted your roommate once again, apologizing for your behavior but not for your need to do the right thing. You sighed as you put your phone in your pocket and looked out the window.

After some time you arrived at what appeared to be Leon's home. You couldn’t really see it the night before since it was dark, but it looked even better during the day than you could have imagined before. You paid the taxi driver, with your own money this time, then left the car and went towards that big door. You looked for a bell but couldn't find one so you knocked against the thick wood, hoping someone would even hear it. After repeating this a couple more times and almost giving up, the door opens and you are greeted by a woman. She was wearing a white dress shirt and a black bustier over the top, followed by a black pair of trousers. Confused, you looked at her and then at the house, thinking you were wrong. "Can I help you with anything?" The woman asked, not even bothering to ask you inside.

"Uhm.." you stuttered, not knowing what to do in this situation. "I thought someone else lived here, but I guess I'm wrong. Sorry for bothering you." Something inside you actually hoped you typed in the wrong address. This couldn't be Leon's home, right? But it looked so similar? Maybe all the drinks added up over the night and made me remember this wrong..? You thought back to the day before and remembered how Leon was actually texting someone and didn't tell you a name or something. Maybe he actually has a wife or something and I misunderstood last night. Maybe he actually paid me to.. stay away? You shook your head. That's bizarre. Or is it?

"Who did you think lived here then? Maybe I can help you." You were taken back to reality from that woman's voice and looked at her.

Fumbling with your hands you tried to form a whole sentence, but all that came out was "Kennedy."

She looked at you. "Do you mean Leon Kennedy?" You nodded your head, still hoping you were wrong here. "Well, it appears you are right then. May I ask how you know him? I've never seen anyone like.. you here." It seemed to you she spit that 'you' out as if you were something less worthy than her. But maybe you were once again imagining things.

"Well, we actually met yesterday and he invited me to come over. I forgot to give something to him, so that's what I'm here for now. Can I see him now?" You looked at the woman standing in your way, trying to be confident.

“Mr. Kennedy is out of the house at the moment and he won’t be back for a few hours. I will tell him that you stopped by.” She stepped back from the door. “Bye now.” She practically slammed it in your face, the waft from the door causing your messy hair to blow backwards.

You rolled your eyes and sat down on the steps, exactly where you were sitting with Leon last night. You searched through your contacts and found Leon’s name. After tapping the call button it rang four times before you heard a rough “Hello?” come from the other side.

It took you back a little as it sounded like you had just woken him up. “Oh, hiya Leon.” You looked back at the front door as you began to talk. “I’m sitting on your doorstep right now…” You then looked back at the driveway, the pebbles and the green grass perfectly manicured. “I wanted to swing by to drop off that money you left in my jacket.”

“What, why?” He sounded confused. You could tell that he pulled the phone away from his face when he coughed, probably trying to clear his throat. “That money is for you, Buttercup.” He chuckled, making you blush a little. “You’re not supposed to give it back to me.” Sounds could be heard in the background as he talked but you couldn't tell what they were.

"Is there anyone with you right now?" You didn't even think about that question before it left your mouth.

"Don't worry about it. And also don't worry about the money. It's a gift, just accept it." You let out a small laugh.

"Just accept it? This is more money than I would make in two months! I can't just accept that, Leon! I can leave it with your girlfriend if you don't want to take it back, but I won't keep it." It was silent on the other side. You were worried you took it too far now.

But then, a chuckle and a full out laugh. "Girlfriend? I'm sorry, but you probably went to the wrong house. I don't have a girlfriend, partner or whatever, Buttercup." You could hear him still chuckle on the other side of the phone, but you didn't feel like laughing.

You felt kind of dumb right now. "Well, whoever that woman was, she just shut the door before me and left me sitting in front of it. So I guess I'm just gonna leave the envelope under the doormat." You looked around. There wasn't even a doormat. "YOU DON'T HAVE A GODDAMN DOORMAT? LEON S KENNEDY WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST THREE YEARS?" You heard him laugh out loud again and didn't even try to stop him from it. You just sighed and gave it up. "Well, Mr. Kennedy, I'm gonna find a place to put that money. And don't even think of sneaking it back to me, you hear me?" You didn't even wait for an answer and just hung up. You sat on the stairs for a few more minutes thinking about what to do next.

Just as you stood up to leave you heard the door behind you opening again. "Mr. Kennedy just called me. He wants me to let you inside. Please take off your shoes here and.. don't touch anything." There is not even a thing to touch here, what do you want? You went through the doors and left your shoes next to them. The woman looked at you again before turning her back and walking away. So now you just stood there, in this empty, big house with a woman who doesn't seem to like your company.

Just like the night before you went through the entire house looking around, but also trying your best to avoid that woman. At some point you even found some paper and a pen and began drawing some rooms with fitting, and for now missing, furniture. After a while you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket so you put your drawing away and checked your messages. Apparently Leon tried to call you a few times but ended up sending you a message instead. You opened and read it. I'll be back home in a few hours. Please just accept the money, but stay for as long as you'd like to. I wanna see you again later. - Leon. You had to smile. Who even puts their name at the end of a message nowadays? You just replied with a quick 'alright' before putting your phone away again. You went back to what you were doing: planning and drawing the interior design of Leon's big ass home, all from memory from your tour last night.

You ended up placing all of your designs and sketches on the floor in what you assumed was supposed to be a living room. It just had two simple fabric couches facing each other in the middle of a giant room. Each design was placed in order, somewhat resembling the floorplan of the house. You didn't know how much time passed, but you began to feel tired and had to take a small break. Since you didn't wanna cross paths with that grumpy woman, you just stayed in that room. After some time of relaxing you felt really tired and didn't have any more motivation to plan the last few rooms. It must have been the combination of lack of sleep and whatever that pill was that your roommate gave you, so you ended up sitting on one of the couches and you began to close your eyes. Before you even knew it you fell on your side and into a light sleep.

The sound of a door slamming against the wall scared you half to death. As you looked towards the noise, you saw the same woman from earlier looking at you. “My apologies.” She smiled as she looked to the other side of the room. You followed her eyes and noticed she was looking at Leon. He was sitting opposite you with all of your sketches in his hands. You rubbed your eyes, trying to look somewhat alive. Leon didn't even look at her or you, he was way too focused on your drawings. Next to him you saw a laptop, where he seemed to type a few things in separate to going through your sketches. You sat up and slowly walked towards him. Without looking up from the drawings he talked to you. "These drawings are amazing. When did you make all of these?"

You were flustered by his actual interest. "Uhm.. I just made them for fun while waiting for you.. I didn't even take it seriously.." You scratched the back of your head.

"Are you kidding me? You probably.. no, you DID more for the interior design in the past few hours than I or Angel over there did in the past three years!" You were kind of confused by the name. Angel? Her? Was that supposed to be an unfitting nickname or her actual name? You didn't want to ask so you kept that thought to yourself. After Leon's comment Angel looked at you even more disgusted than before, it's a wonder that was even possible.

You wanted to ignore the weird feeling that stood in the room, so you just sat down next to Leon on the couch. "What are you doing on your laptop?" You wanted to look at it but before you had the chance to make out what he typed in earlier he closed it.

"Nothing special, don't worry about it." You sighed but didn't push it. After a few seconds of awkward silence between the three of you Leon stood up from the couch with his laptop, walked towards Angel and gave it to her. You looked at him confused, but he didn't even notice that. He said something to the woman but you couldn't understand it since they were so close to each other. You didn't know what, but a weird feeling spread in your body. Jealousy? You had to laugh out loud, which made the two look at you.

"Is there a problem?" Angel asked you, to which you answered with a head shake.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking about... something funny." You saw Leon's lip lift up a little bit which made you smile a little bit, too. Angel turned back from you and Leon led her out the door to the main hall.

You could hear them talk for a few minutes before the door opened again and Leon came back in alone. "Soo.. now that you're awake, do you want to grab something to eat? We can drive somewhere or I'll just order something."

You thought about the offer, but instantly remembered why you came here in the first place. "No way, Leon! I can't take any more money from you. I actually came here to give you back that money you left in my jacket. It's good for you to have so much but I can't keep it! This doesn't feel right." You looked at him frustrated.

He just shook his head while laughing. "I told you it wasn't for nothing. You literally just proved me right with giving it to you after seeing your drawings. You earned that money."

You were kind of flustered but still couldn't just accept it. "Leon, it's really nice of you and I don't wanna argue. But you gave me way more money than these few sketches are worth! My roommate even thought I started working as a stripper!"

Leon looked at you with big eyes, then stepped closer to you. "Well.. have you considered working as one? They make a good amount of money and I'm sure you would do great." He winked at you as he laughed out loud and even though you knew he was joking you turned completely red.

"Leon...what. the. hell. No! Of course I didn't think about working as one! I'm happy with my current job.. I guess." You looked at him again, realizing how close he suddenly was to you.

"Well, if that's what you think, alright. But I'm not gonna miss that money and I'm sure you will bring it to good use. So please, stop arguing with me and just accept it." His smile had disappeared and his face was a little more serious, he really wanted you to take that money.

“I can’t, Leon.” You grabbed his hand from his side and placed the filled envelope in his palm. “It’s too much." He looked at you disappointed, as if all he just said meant nothing. "Whatever." He muttered to himself. It made you feel bad for your behavior but you knew it was the right thing to do.

You looked at him in a sorry way and wanted to walk past him. But he blocked the way. "That's all I came for, Leon. I think it's better I leave now. Your Angel is probably waiting for you already."

He scoffed at your comment. “I think you misunderstood something here. Angel is her actual name. If I had to give her a nickname it would be anything but Angel, believe me. She can be a pain in the ass, but she gets her work done. And that’s all that matters for me.”

You let out yet another sigh. Why were you relieved anyway? Whatever Leon is doing with women, or men, was none of your business. You’ve literally only known him for like a day and act like a jealous partner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say it like that.”

“You don't have to apologize all the time, sweetheart. I thought it was cute.” He gave you a little wink and you felt your face heat up again. You looked away shyish and waited for his next move. But it appeared he did the same since he was just looking at you, waiting for you to say something. “Ehem..Food, right? I guess that´s what you wanted. Soo... Do you have anything special in mind?” He looked at you with a childish smile and simply answered “Just you wait, I have something great in mind.”

“Pizza?” You chuckled. “I didn’t think a fancy man like you ate peasant food like that.” You picked up your phone and began looking up a place that would deliver to Leon’s house

“Oh come on! Who doesn’t like pizza?” He shuffled over on the floor so that he was sitting beside you, looking at your phone. “The third one down.” He pointed at a restaurant named The Broadway. “That’s the best one around here, trust me, I’ve tried them all.”

“Alrighty.” You tapped on the phone number and as it rang you held it up to your ear. “Oh hiya! I’m looking to place an order for delive-”

“Pick-up. They only do pick-up.” Leon interrupted you.

“For pick-up!” You corrected yourself. When the worker asked for your name you couldn't help yourself. “For Kennedy.” Leon chuckled slightly and shook his head.

You ordered food for the two of you and some simple drinks to go with it. Of course Leon would get wine for the two of you but there’s nothing wrong with soda, especially when you’re already eating a greasy pizza. “Do we get Angel anything?” You asked Leon in response to the other person on the end of the call asking if anything else was wanted.

“She loves garlic bread, just get her some of that.” Leon replied, looking up from his own phone.

After the guy on the phone told you a time to pick up the food both you and Leon put on some shoes and went outside. “You gonna drive up to that poor pizza place with your fancy Porsche?” You asked jokingly.

To your surprise he actually shook his head. “You can choose the car if you want to. If you got a driver's license, you can even drive it yourself.”

You looked at him shocked. “Yea, sure. I’m gonna drive one of your expensive cars. Even if I had a license I wouldn't dare to sit down on the driver's seat. If I destroy it there's no way I'll ever be able to pay for the repair!”

“What’s one car more or less?” As he said that and you looked at him with an open mouth you heard a garage opening next to you. The bright lights kinda blinded you at first but as soon as you got used to the brightness you saw multiple cars and motorcycles standing in the big garage.

“Wow. What the hell.” That was all you were able to say at that moment. “I’m guessing that this is like your passion or a hobby?” You said as you walked in. Each vehicle was spotless, so clean that you could see your reflection in each one.

“Yeah, something like that, you could say.” As he was moving past the different vehicles he told you a little bit about all of them. Even though you had zero knowledge of cars and stuff you listened to him closely, trying to understand what he told you. You could see it in his eyes how he loved talking about these things, which made you smile.

After a good twenty minutes however you had to stop him. “As much as I love listening to you blabber away, I really wanna get our pizzas now.” Exactly at that moment your stomach began to growl, making you and Leon laugh.

“Well then, I hoped you listened closely. Go on and pick a ride.” He gestured around the both of you. You were thinking for a few seconds before finding a car you liked. You pointed towards it. “I like this one.” He followed your gaze and walked towards the car.

“I see. So you like the big ones, huh? Well then this Jeep Grand Cherokee is perfect for your needs.” He talked like he advertised the car which made you laugh and shake your head. He opened the passengers door for you before taking a seat behind the wheel. In just a few seconds the car left the garage and you found the both of you on the main road. Leon drove the car with ease which really fascinated you.His left hand was on the wheel and he was leaning on his right arm, he probably noticed you staring because he turned to you. “You wanna take over? The streets are empty here anyway.”

You shook your head again. “I meant what I said before. Just you drive now, I'm starving.” He looked back to the street and the rest of the drive went on quiet but nice. “I’ll learn to drive another day.”

Once you got back to Leon’s house Angel greeted Leon at the door, completely ignoring you. Leon tossed his keys to her and she caught them with one hand. As both you and Leon kicked off your shoes Angel hopped into the car and placed it back into the garage with the rest of them.

Leon led you to the kitchen and placed the multiple boxes on the counter, rather than sitting down he reached into a cupboard and pulled out two wine glasses. “Red or white?” He asked you.

“I don’t really want to drink tonight.” You admitted. That small hangover you had this morning wasn’t all that bad but you didn’t want to repeat it.

“Are you sure?” He asked, filling up both glasses with ice cubes. “I would hate to drink alone.”

“Fine.. but only one glass!” You gave in, to which Leon held both of the glasses up in confusion. “Huh? Oh! Red!” You replied to his earlier question. Leon nodded and opened up a small wine refrigerator he had under the counter, he picked up a bottle and read the label to himself. “Only the finest huh?”

“The finest thing is sitting right in front of me.” He chuckled and winked at you as he poured the two glasses, placing the fresh cork on the countertop. “So is this a business date where I hire you to be my interior decorator?”

“I’m only a student, Leon.” You opened one of the boxes and a waft of the smell of the food hit your senses, making you feel even more hungry than before.

“Whatever you say, student. This doesn’t change the fact that you already helped me a lot today. So this one is on you.” He raised his glass and with a cling both of yours met. You took a small sip and then took out a piece of pizza. “Besides, wouldn’t furnishing such a fancy house like this look really good on your resume?” You nodded slightly.

“Yea, you´re probably right about that, too. But let's not talk about work now and just enjoy the evening.” He gave you a smile before eating and drinking too. That evening seemed to never end as the both of you talked and drank, with no end in sight.

Maybe working for Leon wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

A/N: hey guys! This fanfiction is a Collab from me and Qwertyyy12 on AO3. If you want to, you can also leave her some love over there :) thanks for reading!

----

Taglist: @trinswhimsys

[taetaespeaches]

“Wait, I’m nervous.”

taehyung x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 1.9K

a/n: Ok, lovelies, here is just pure wholesome fluff with Tae and Peaches. They are in their own little world again, of course, and they are just feeling real in love at this point lol. Very loosely based on ‘invisible string’ by taylor swift. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :))

p.s. if you want the playlist Tae makes in this, here you are. 

HIS hands were gorgeous as he dragged the pen across the page, etching lines to form an abstract piece straight from his vibrant mind to the drawing pad. The diner, one you were well acquainted with, was relatively empty, only a few other patrons besides you and your boyfriend as you awaited your best friends’ arrival.

Jimin and his girlfriend were unsurprisingly late, and as you waited, Taehyung suddenly stopped drawing, reaching for his phone that was attached to a set of earbuds from his pocket. Holding the left bud out to you, he positioned the right one into his ear.

“I made you a playlist,” he smiled softly, a tinge of bashfulness evident in his features. Your lips curving up happily, you eagerly put the earbud into place.

“Show me,” you told him in excitement, Taehyung chuckling as he started the first song, ‘Make Out in My Car’ by Moses Sumney and Sufjan Stevens. Your boyfriend leaned over to you, leaving a sweet kiss to your shoulder before sitting back upright, returning to the drawing pad.

As you took in the lyrics, Taehyung continued sketching the simple but interesting image, you watching ever stroke of the ink. The lyrics entering your mind reminded you of the shift in yours and Taehyung’s relationship, as you skirted the lines of friendship and romance, fighting yourselves, trying not to fall in love with each other despite desperately wanting to love one another fully.

I’m not trying to go to bed with you

I just wanna make out in my car

And though I’m dying to fall in love with you

I just wanna make out in my car.

Despite the public setting, as you sat with your boyfriend listening to the music only you two could hear, it felt as though you and Taehyung were sitting in a moment of time separate from reality, isolated from the other patrons and kitchen staff. A space that was made for you.

When Taehyung entered your life, he came unannounced, all his youthful vibrancy interrupting your daily routine and changing everything forever. He was eccentric, radiating an array of colors that everyone saw, and you fell in love with them easily. If someone were to ask you what your favorite color was, you’d reply with whatever color is shining from him today. The inner-child within Taehyung inspired you, reminding you of the little girl inside yourself.

As the days turned into weeks, building up to months and accumulating into years, Taehyung was still by your side. You’d watched each other grow up, make mistakes, achieve goals. It’s not that Taehyung completed you, or you him, but life, within your little world, just seemed a little less worth living without him in it.

The song ending, Frank Ocean’s version of ‘Moon River’ started playing, you resting your head on Tae’s shoulder as you allowed the music to penetrate your heart.

My dream maker, my heartbreaker

Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ the same.

How true that was. The man beside you was the one person who could both make your dreams come true, but held all the power to shatter your heart, but regardless, you were going with him wherever he went.

The song had a slow fade out, providing a nice transition into the next tune, ‘Early’ by Joy Crookes and Jafaris. The lyrics portrayed a relationship that is either doomed or is meant to be and meant to last. Much like how you and Taehyung viewed your relationship. The fear of failing as a unit plagued you for years until you and Taehyung mutually decided to take the risk.

I’m crossing borders of this friendship

You’re turning water into wine

I can’t believe it

Because, what if it works? You recalled asking him that very questioning, both of you choosing to throw caution into the wind, telling yourselves you were destined. You were either going to last forever, or it was going to crumble in front of your eyes, and you were both still aware of the risk that came with giving into your feelings. But you both decided it was worth the risk. He was worth it.

My ride or die

And I cross my heart

This is where we start when you walk my way

Left the baggage on the floor

You want us and we want more

Don’t you know I open door when you walk my way?

Lifting your head from Taehyung’s shoulder, his eyes drifted from the sketch to you, you smiling softly, matching his fond grin. “Is it ok?” He asked.

“The drawing or the playlist?” You asked, bringing your hand to his face to stroke his cheek with your knuckles.

“Uh,” he looked at the drawing for a split second before lifting his eyes to you again. “Both.”

“Both are great, baby,” you complimented. “You know what you’re doing,” you grinned, Taehyung chuckling.

“With the playlist?” He asked knowingly, both of you understanding the storyline of the songs he chose. You nodded, leaning toward Taehyung, the man dropping his head to gently rest his forehead against yours. “I can’t believe it,” he sang along with the song, moving his head a little bit to go along with the groove, you giggling at the cute action.

“Out of all the places I could have been that day,” you commented, Taehyung’s eyebrows raising as he pulled back a bit to allow his eyes to travel your face. “We could have so easily missed each other.”

“That’s crazy to think about,” he let out a breathy chuckle, his eyes falling to your hand that was resting atop his thigh. “I mean, I guess everyone we come across happens by chance, but not everyone ends up meaning so much,” he noted thoughtfully, you smiling at the comment.

As the song came to an end, Bruno Major’s ‘Easily’ starting, Taehyung wrapped his hand gently around your wrist. “If either of us had been walking by there just a few minutes, or maybe even seconds later or earlier, we would have missed each other completely,” your boyfriend realized, setting your hand on the tabletop.

Coming and going

Inside out and back to front

Oh, tangled and messy

That’s how we’ve always been and we’ll always be

And that’s alright with me

Just because it won’t come easily

Doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.

The song added to the story line, bringing you back to the fights and the jealousy, the falling out and ignoring each other, only to always end up back together. You couldn’t quit each other, and you didn’t want to. Taehyung was the easiest yet most complicated relationship you’d ever had, and he probably always would be.

Bringing the pen to your skin, you watched as Taehyung drew a little heart on the inner edge of your wrist. “You’re cute,” you smiled, Taehyung flashing you his stunning boxy beam. The smile you’d never tire of seeing.

“Don’t look,” he told you as he prepared to add to his drawing. “I mean it,” he smiled wider, you mimicking the expression as you covered your eyes with your free hand.

Anticipating the touch of the pen against your skin, you spread your fingers apart, finding a glaring Taehyung staring at you through the slits between your digits.

“No peeking,” he whined with a giggle, you chuckling as you apologized.

“Ok, I’m sorry, I won’t peek, do your thing,” you told him recovering your eyes.

“I knew you’d do that,” he complained as the pen touched your wrist, moving over your veins.

“I promise I won’t again,” you giggled, Tae letting out a huff of feigned frustration. When ‘Easily’ ended, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice soothed through the earbud, singing ‘In A Sentimental Mood’. Your lips formed into a soft smile at the song, swaying your body gently as Taehyung completed his work on your arm.

“You can look now,” he told you, you tentatively pulling your hand from your face, looking into Tae’s warm brown orbs.

“Yeah?” You asked, not wanting to jump the gun and ruin his surprise. The man immediately turned your hand over so your wrist was against the table, you frowning at him.

“Wait,” he smiled bashfully, “I’m nervous.”

“Nervous?” You asked in surprise, smiling at him. “Why? What did you draw on me?”

Taehyung giggled cutely, his eyes shaped in crescents, his smile wide and boyish, the man looking adorable as ever. “Nothing,” he said with the innocence only your boyfriend could convey.  

“Why are you nervous, Dearest?” You asked again, nearly cooing at how cute he was. Just as you were preparing to turn your wrist over, a knock on the outside of the window next to your booth startled you both, you and Taehyung jumping as your eyes darted to the noise, spotting your best friend standing with Jimin as they waved dorkily at you.

“Jesus,” you huffed, clutching your racing heart, Taehyung immediately letting out a noise of complaint. “I forgot they were even coming,” you commented, Tae letting out a low chuckle at the comment.

The surprise intrusion made you forget the ink on your wrist for a moment until you re-registered the song humming in your ear.

Rose petals seem to fall

It’s all I could dream to call you mine

My heart’s a lighter thing

Since you made this night a thing divine

The lyrics resonated so deeply with how you felt toward Taehyung, you found yourself rotating your arm to view the addition on your wrist, the air leaving your lungs for a moment as your heart skipped a beat, then pounding several times quickly to catch up.

Next to the heart he drew were the words, I’m in love with you.

Taehyung’s lips appeared near your ear, their soft plumpness just barely grazing your skin. “It’s true, Peaches,” he told you, making you turn to face him as Ella Fitzgerald continued to sing to you both, the song coming to a close.

In a sentimental mood

I’m within a world so heavenly

For I never dreamt that you’d

Be loving sentimental me.

Leaning toward Taehyung, you kissed him with intent and passion and love. So much love. It wasn’t the first time he had told you he loved you, or you him, but it was the first I’m in love with you, and it was definitely the first since the terms of your relationship had changed. You were both very careful in skirting around the word “love” since you crossed the line of friendship.

Your hands were on both sides of his face, his gripping your wrists as his thumb brushed over the confession he scribbled on your skin.

“I’m in love with you,” you mumbled against his lips. “I’m so in love with you,” you told him again before falling back into the kiss, though Tae’s widening smile, which caused you to smile, made the kiss a bit harder to maintain.

“Jeez, you two, we’re in a public restaurant,” your friend suddenly spoke as she scooted into the booth, Jimin following behind her. Separating from Tae, you rested the top of your head against his chin, your boyfriend wrapping his arms around your body, holding you to him as he placed a kiss to your hair.

“Whatever, we’re in love,” Taehyung dismissed the girl, Jimin smiling widely at the scene.

In love. You were. And you couldn’t help but be beyond thankful that you decided to take the leap of faith with Taehyung. Because in that moment, it was absolutely the right decision. You were meant to find Tae, and love him with all of you. Your paths weren’t simply meant to cross. They were meant to meet and become one. You had no doubts. And you were in love.

[wonderful-writes]

8. Like reader drops of the face of the earth before graduation for like 4 years, and Charlie just realized his emotions in that time frame.

Disappear

Charlie Weasley x Female!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Charlie were best friends during their Hogwarts days, and there might have even been a time when she hoped for something more. But all those possibilities were dashed when she mysteriously went missing, leaving her best friend alone and confused.

Prompt:

8) I never forgot you.

“Race you to the castle?” Charlie Weasley challenged, looking over at his friend Y/N.

“Oh, you’re on, Weasley,” she replied, already getting a head start.

“Hey, no fair!” Charlie protested. He sprinted ahead, attempting to get in front of her. He easily passed her and jogged the rest of the way back to the castle.

Soon, she came up behind him, just as breathless as he was. They stood panting at the Hogwarts steps for a moment.

When he had regained his composure, he teased, “Even when you cheat, you still manage to lose to me.”

She gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “Well, I’m not the star of the quidditch team.”

Charlie laughed. “You’re right. Not everyone can be as great as I am.”

Y/N delivered another punch, this one harder than the last.

“Hey!” Charlie shouted, though he didn’t hit her back. “Come on, we’re going to be late for dinner.”

The two friends headed into the Great Hall and quickly found seats at the Gryffindor table.

“Where have you two been?” asked Percy Weasley, Charlie’s younger brother, upon your arrival.

“We were just visiting Hagrid,” Charlie replied. “He wanted to show me a new dragon book he found, and Y/N invited herself with me.”

“I did not!” Y/N argued, crossing her arms over her chest. “You were the one who asked me if I wanted to come with you.”

Charlie chuckled. He knew how to push her buttons. Teasing any of his friends was always fun, but it was especially hilarious to tease Y/N. She never failed to get worked up, or at least pretend to get worked up.

After dinner, the students headed to their dorms. Y/N walked with two of her roommates, and the three chattered about graduation and plans for the future all the way up to the Gryffindor common room. It was the second-to-last week of their seventh year, and the end of their Hogwarts days was fast approaching. It made Y/N sad to think that she would be leaving all her friends, professors, and memories behind, but she was also excited for what was to come. She had scored an apprenticeship at the Ministry of Magic, and she was set to start immediately after graduation.

As she was about to walk up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory, she heard someone call her name. She turned around to see Charlie waving her over from the sofa in the middle of the common room.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” she told her roommates. “I have to go see what that idiot wants.”

Y/N made her way over to the sofa, taking a seat next to Charlie. “What do you want, Weasley?” she asked with fake annoyance.

Charlie grinned. “What? I can’t talk to my friend?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“I can’t believe we’ll be leaving Hogwarts soon,” Charlie mused, staring into the fireplace. “Next week is our last week.”

“Yup. And after that, I’ll be heading off to the Ministry. And you’ll be going to Romania.”

He turned towards her. “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we’re growing up. I mean, you’ll be working at the Ministry, and I’ll be working at my dream job on the dragon reserve. It feels like it was just yesterday that we were boarding the train as first years.”

She chuckled. “Yeah, well, that was nearly seven years ago, Charles.”

Y/N looked at him. She would miss him. Sure, she would miss her roommates and all her other friends, but Charlie was different. He was playful and witty, but also kind and caring, and not to mention bloody attractive. She had to admit that she had developed a sort of crush on him during their fourth year, but she had suppressed those feelings because she knew he would never feel the same. He saw her as a friend and nothing more. But no matter how many times she told herself that, her feelings for him never completely went away.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N?” Charlie said, startling her from her trance. “You’ve been staring at me for an awfully long time. Makes me wonder if I really am that hot.”

“Oh, get over yourself, you git,” Y/N retorted, hoping that she wasn’t blushing like a tomato. “I was just lost in thought.”

“Uh huh, sure you were,” he said with a smirk.

Before she could say anything else, someone called for Charlie from the far side of the common room, the side by the portrait hole. She turned to see that a group of boys were beckoning Charlie over.

“We’re planning to sneak out,” he explained when he caught her confused look. “Well, I better go. They’re all waiting for me over there.”

With a wave goodbye, he was off the couch and making his way over to his friends — some of which were Y/N’s friends as well. She watched as the group disappeared through the portrait hole, a twang of sadness reaching her heart. At least at school, she could be around Charlie and spend time with him, even if they weren’t dating. Once they graduated, they would probably never see each other again, or at least not for a long time. She stood up from the couch and trudged up to bed, hoping that a good night’s sleep would ease the dread she felt about leaving Hogwarts and leaving Charlie.

The next morning, Charlie walked into the Great Hall with an extra spring in his step. It was Saturday, and he and his friends had planned on going to Hogsmeade. It would be their last Hogsmeade weekend of the school year, their last time going as Hogwarts students.

He sat down at the table in between Percy and one of Y/N’s roommates. “Hey, where’s Y/N?” he asked when he noticed she wasn’t at breakfast yet.

“Didn’t you hear?” the roommate responded. “She left early this morning. She must have wanted to start summer vacation early or something. She didn’t say where she was going.”

“Maybe her family is taking a trip,” another Gryffindor offered. “Once, in third year, I got special permission to end the term early because my parents had planned a trip to the Caribbean.”

“I’m not sure,” a third voice said skeptically. “She wouldn’t tell me what was going on when I saw her packing this morning. She just said that she was in a hurry and couldn’t talk.”

Charlie was flabbergasted. Why would Y/N leave so close to graduation? She never mentioned any trip with her family or any special event she had to attend. Had an unexpected emergency popped up? Did the professors know about her departure?

The rest of the day went on as usual. Professor McGonagall visited the Gryffindors after breakfast to discuss graduation protocol. A few students asked her about Y/N, but all she would say was that Y/N had a family matter to attend to. Even she did not know whether Y/N was to return for graduation or not.

After the meeting with Professor McGonagall, the Gryffindors made their way to Hogsmeade. Charlie chatted with friends, visited shops, drank butterbeer, and had an overall good time. But in the back of his mind, he still had questions about Y/N. Where had she gone? The professors seemed to know about her leaving, but they weren’t sure when she would be back. Was it a serious emergency? Was her family alright?

To ease his concerns, he decided to send her a letter once he got back to Hogwarts. He assumed she was with her family, so he sent an owl to her home address. He had never visited her home, but he knew her address from when they used to write each other over summers. In his letter, he asked what happened, if her family was okay, and when she would be back. But she never responded.

The last week of seventh year zoomed by quickly. Throughout the week, Charlie and the rest of Y/N’s friends waited for news. Most of them had written her, either asking about her situation or sending warm thoughts, but none of them ever received a reply. The professors did not seem to gain any new information either. It was either that or they were withholding information about Y/N’s whereabouts from the students.

On the day of graduation, exactly one week from Y/N’s disappearance, all the seventh years lined up on the lawn in order by house and last name. Y/N’s friends, acquaintances, and even those who only knew of her through the grapevine glanced around to see if she had showed up at the last minute. But she was nowhere to be found. The ceremony proceeded as usual, ending with the seventh years being rowed across the Great Lake in the same boats that had taken them to the castle in their first year. Afterwards, the students departed with their families, starting their futures as newly-graduated witches and wizards.

Charlie Weasley headed straight for Romania immediately after leaving Hogwarts. He was offered a job at the dragon sanctuary there, and he had never been more excited for anything in his life. He bade farewell to his family and didn’t look back as he left to pursue his dream.

In Romania, he lived in a quaint little house, one of many houses dotting the hills on the outskirts of the dragon reserve. He quickly became accustomed to life there, enjoying every minute of his busy work schedule. During his leisure time, he found himself sketching and taking walks outdoors. He never expected to be the artistic type — he truly wasn’t — but it was fun making bad attempts at drawing dragons and landscapes. But the most fun he had was working with the dragons. He loved every aspect of caring for them, training them, and spending time with them. He didn’t think he could ever be unhappy there.

But sometimes, his mind wandered back to his childhood and his Hogwarts days. He missed his parents, his brothers and sister, and his school mates. He found himself thinking of Y/N most of all. No one had heard from her since her disappearance, and her parents hadn’t contacted anyone Charlie knew either. He suspected that perhaps her family had moved to a new house, and that was why they weren’t receiving any letters. But why couldn’t she send a note informing her friends of her new address? The whole situation was bizarre.

Charlie realized that he had become lonelier during the time he was in Romania. He and the other members of his class occasionally wrote to each other, but letters were infrequent. Keeping in touch became more and more difficult as people grew up and moved on with their lives. His parents and siblings still wrote often, but wasn’t the same as having their presence with him. He had made friends with his coworkers at the sanctuary, and he of course had the dragons to keep him company, but it was Y/N he kept thinking of. Part of it was worry for her well-being, but another part of it was that he genuinely missed her.

But why? Why her? He hadn’t seen his other friends from Hogwarts since graduation either, but he didn’t yearn for their company the same way that he did hers. He supposed it was because he had gotten a chance to exchange proper goodbyes with his other friends. Y/N had left so suddenly that no one had the chance to say goodbye to her. That must be it. Why else would he be so hung over her?

About a year after moving to Romania, Charlie received a letter bearing good news. His older brother, Bill, just had a child with his wife, Fleur. Charlie immediately asked for leave and took a trip back home. It was his first time returning home since moving to pursue the career he had always wanted, and he was excited to see his family again and meet his new baby niece. The past year had been wonderful, but it had also been hard on him. What he needed the most was to see the faces of the people he loved.

Charlie spent a week at the Burrow and savored every second of his stay. He caught up with his parents, spent time with his siblings, and played with little Victoire, Bill and Fleur’s daughter. By the time the week was up, he was thoroughly relaxed and back to his joyful self. He was just packing up his trunk to leave when he noticed a knitted winter hat at the bottom of his drawer.

“Where’d you get that?” asked Ginny, his younger sister, as she came into the room. “I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

“That’s because it isn’t mine,” Charlie replied. He examined the hat closely and instantly knew where it came from. “It belonged to a friend of mine, Y/N. Remember her, the girl I told you about? She was the one who left school a week before graduation and never wrote back to anyone since.”

Ginny hummed. “Did she give that to you?”

Charlie nodded. “She let me borrow it one time in sixth year, and I guess I never gave it back. I must have worn it with me home for the holidays that year and let it sit in my drawer ever since.”

Ginny smiled. “You miss her?”

“Yeah, of course I do,” Charlie replied without hesitation. “She was one of my closest friends.”

His sister smirked. “And you’re sure she wasn’t more than just a friend? You sounded awfully sad talking about her and the hat.”

Charlie scoffed. “As if. I never saw her as anything other than a best mate.”

“You’re blushing, you know that?” Ginny teased.

“What’s this about blushing?” Fred, another brother, inquired as he sauntered into the room.

“Charlie’s got himself a crush,” Ginny informed Fred, making a point to emphasize the word ‘crush.’

“Ooh, has our older brother found himself someone to fancy?” Fred asked teasingly.

“Shut it, you gits,” Charlie replied before his siblings could say anything else. “I’ve never even thought about liking her that way. I just remembered her when I found her hat, that’s all.”

It wasn’t a lie. He had never considered Y/N to be anything more than a friend before. They were close in school, but he was close with lots of other people. She wasn’t in any way special. But now, he felt something he hadn’t felt back at Hogwarts. A new feeling, one that he wasn’t familiar with. It was close to that of having a crush, but he couldn’t be certain. Sure, he’d fancied other girls in the past, but he never had those feelings for Y/N. During their school years, he just wasn’t interested in her in a romantic way. Why would that change now?

When Charlie returned to Romania, he took the knitted hat with him. It comforted him to have a piece of her when nobody knew where she was. He spent the next few years of his life as a talented dragonologist. He devoted himself to his work, extremely happy to be in the profession of his dreams. He even attempted dating, going out with a coworker and a couple women he met in the nearby town. But his dates never went anywhere. No matter how interesting they were or how many things they had in common with him, he didn’t feel like starting serious relationships with any of them. Eventually, he stopped dating altogether.

A year after his trip to the Burrow and two years after his initial move to Romania, Charlie found himself sketching portraits in his living room. It was his day off from work, and it was far too cold to go outside. He had a cup of tea beside him and a fire in the hearth. He spent hours drawing from the comfort of the sofa, and by the end of the day, he had a hefty stack of sketches next to him. He leafed through the stack and discovered that a good number of the sketches were of a woman — one that looked strikingly similar to Y/N.

That was the moment when he realized that he didn’t just miss his friend. He had developed feelings for her, ones that weren’t just platonic. Maybe he had always felt that way, but he couldn’t see it. Maybe all along he had liked her, possibly even loved her, but was blinded by his own stupidity. He racked his brain for all his memories of her and remembered just how amazing she was. She was always so kind, so sweet to everyone. Yet she also had a biting sense of humor and could be brutally honest. He looked back on all their conversations and realized that perhaps he had been pining for her all throughout their friendship, but he had never admitted it to himself.

It was like he was finally receiving clarity. The reason why his dates never progressed into anything more was because he didn’t want anyone other than Y/N. His siblings had seen the way he looked when he thought about her, and now he was finally seeing it for himself. He was finally admitting to himself that he had fallen for Y/N. The only problem was that no one knew where she was.

For the next two years after his epiphany, Charlie tried to resume his normal life. He still cherished his work and adored the dragons. He still had friendly relations with his coworkers and even became close with some of them. He still kept in touch with his family and a few of his childhood friends. And he still couldn’t get over Y/N.

Everything about her occupied his mind. Her laugh, her compassionate heart, the way she listened to him like he was the only person in the world. But he would never be able to have her. She seemed to have dropped off the face of the earth, cutting off everyone he knew who knew her. Maybe there was a reason she didn’t reach out. Maybe after her family issue was resolved, she simply decided not to talk to any of her old friends anymore. Maybe she didn’t want to talk to him. And even if she did miraculously come back, there was no indication that she would be interested in pursuing a relationship with him. She had never mentioned liking him when they were in school, but then again, neither did he.

It had been four years since he started working at the sanctuary. Four years that seemed both incredibly short and torturously long. Charlie Weasley still had his zest for life and his passion for dragons, athletics, and the outdoors. In many ways, he was very happy. But he couldn’t escape the heartache of losing what he felt was the love of his life.

One night, it became too much, and he needed to drown his emotions. He went into town after work and purchased a bottle of firewhiskey. He had intended on getting drunk and using his day off the next day to recover. But when he arrived home, his better judgment decided that drinking away his problems would not be the best idea. Instead, he made himself a mug of tea and situated himself at the kitchen table, attempting to get his thoughts in order.

After a few hours of being alone with his thoughts, Charlie finally decided to retire for the night. Just as he was getting up from the table, there was a knock on the door. Puzzled, he approached the front door of his house. Who could be visiting him at this hour? It was nearly ten o’clock. Was there an emergency at the sanctuary? Was one of his coworkers coming to get him?

His mind reeling with possibilities, he opened ten door. When he saw who was there, his jaw dropped.

“Y/N?” he whispered, staring at the young woman before him. She didn’t look any different since the last time he saw her — same hair color, same expressive eyes, same soft yet defined features. She was unmistakable.

“H-hi, Charlie,” she stammered. She shifted uncomfortably, seeming to be looking everywhere except at him. When her eyes finally met his, she held her breath. She hadn’t seen him in four years, and she had no idea what to expect from him.

He was almost exactly the same as he was at Hogwarts. He still had unruly red hair and freckle constellations all over his face. Although, he was broader, more muscular, but she wasn’t complaining. After what felt like an eternity of staring at each other, he asked her to come inside.

Charlie made her a cup of tea and replenished his own. He set out some biscuits and fruit, apologizing for not having much else to offer. Y/N assured him that whatever he had was fine.

“Where were you?” Charlie blurted. It was the first question that came to mind.

“My sister got sick,” Y/N said quietly. “I received an owl in the middle of the night and left for home at first light. She...she’s no longer with us.”

Charlie nodded sympathetically, his heart lurching at her words. He remembered her talking about how close she and her sister were. He wanted to comfort her, but questions still flooded his head. “Why didn’t you tell any of us? And why haven’t you written anyone back?”

“I wanted to, I truly did,” Y/N said helplessly. “But I was hurting so much from losing her that I couldn’t even think, let alone write.”

He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “It’s alright,” he whispered.

“I had to postpone my Ministry job so that I could have time to grieve,” she continued. “But when I was ready to start working, they had already given the position to someone else. I was already distraught over losing my sister, so losing the job that was supposed to be the starting point of my Ministry career was a heavy blow.”

“I’m so sorry,” Charlie said, searching Y/N’s eyes.

“It’s okay,” she replied, offering a small smile. “Anyway, for the next year, I worked odd jobs all over Britain, trying to make enough to help out my parents in their difficult time. By then, I felt comfortable enough to interact with people but was too ashamed to write.”

“Ashamed?” Charlie asked incredulously. “Why? We’ve all been dying to hear from you! We were worried sick.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Y/N said. “But I had been avoiding the letters for so long as I mourned my sister that it felt rude of me to suddenly reply a year later. Plus, I didn’t want anyone to pity me. I didn’t want anyone to think I was only writing because I needed help either.”

“I understand,” said Charlie. “So what are you doing now?”

“Well, after that miserable first year, another internship opened up at the Ministry. I ended up working in the field I had wanted to get into after all. My internship ended after a year, and I applied for a permanent position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation right after. That’s where I’ve been ever since.”

“International Magical Cooperation? That’s your dream job!” Charlie exclaimed. “I’m so happy for you!”

“Thank you,” Y/N said shyly, suddenly bashful. “I see you landed your dream job as well.”

Charlie grinned. “Yeah, working here is better than I could ever have imagined. I never want to leave.”

Y/N looked down and noticed that both of her hands were now in Charlie’s. Her breath hitched. After all these years, her feelings for him never completely subsided. That was part of the reason why she had decided to visit him. She couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, even if he only ever wanted to be friends.

“Something the matter?” he asked when he caught her glancing away from him.

“No, not at all,” she managed. “I’m just a little tired. It was a long journey getting here. Your parents accidentally gave me the wrong address, if you can believe it.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like them, all right.”

Something about her writing to his parents made him feel warm inside. They had met her before, usually at the train station when they picked him up or dropped him off for school. But the fact that she was comfortable enough to talk to them all these years later made him feel unusually happy.

“I’ll go prepare the spare bedroom for you,” he said, letting go of her hands and getting up from the table.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully.

When he walked away and disappeared into a hallway, she let out a breath. She was relieved to see that he didn’t have a wife or children, though she already knew that much from his parents’ letters. But there was still the possibility that he had a girlfriend. She realized that her hands were shaking as she though about it. She was in love with him but had no idea if he would reciprocate her feelings. When he returned from the bedroom, she decided to pluck up her courage and ask him.

Standing up and taking a shaky breath, she began, “Charlie?”

“Yes, love?” he answered all too quickly. He instantly realized what he had said and blushed furiously.

Y/N took his response and reaction as a sign that maybe he did feel something for her. Or maybe it was an honest mistake, and he was just embarrassed at having called her ‘love’ without meaning it. Either way, she proceeded.

“Do you...do you have a girlfriend?” she asked timidly, almost inaudible.

“No,” he softly replied, meeting her gaze.

“Why not?” she asked, not breaking eye contact. She felt as though she could stare into his warm, brown eyes for all of eternity.

“I couldn’t...I couldn’t move on with my life,” he admitted, “because I never forgot you.”

And just like that, Y/N had heard enough. She swiftly closed the distance between them and connected her lips with his. He was shocked at first, but his hesitation was brief. He kissed her back, matching her intense passion with fire of his own. The moment was electric, but it was over too soon, as the need for air caused them the break apart.

“I love you,” Y/N breathes, her hands still tangled in Charlie’s hair.

He grinned. “I love you, too.”

“Oh, and guess what?” she said, a smile forming on her lips. “My department has a branch in Romania, and they’re willing to let me transfer.”

Charlie returned the smile, his cheeky and mischievous. “Well, then, that calls for a celebration.”

Not a fraction of a second later, his lips were on hers again, and neither wanted to ever let go.

[kjack89]

Impasse (Pt. 2/3)

Continued from here. 

E/R, Modern AU, former relationship. Slightly heavier angst this time.

Between Grantaire taking a nap and Enjolras getting surprisingly engrossed in the complicated geopolitical reality of the novel he had picked out, they managed to mostly avoid each other for the rest of the day, which was truly an impressive feat, considering that the only other room in the tiny apartment was the bathroom. But after Grantaire had woken up and made himself some instant noodles (Enjolras had already eaten a granola bar while Grantaire slept), he started working on some sketches, and Enjolras knew from experience that the man could lose himself for hours in that.

Enjolras, in the meantime, eventually got bored with the novel and decided to work on drawing up some plans for an upcoming demonstration. It was a comfortable, well-worn silence that stretched between the two as they worked. They had done this many, many times before, though usually Enjolras would punctuate the silence by asking a few rhetorical questions out loud that Grantaire would be unable to stop himself from answering.

There was none of that this time and yet still, the silence was more companionable than either man had managed to be in...well, since they ended this relationship, or arrangement, or whatever you wanted to call it.

Which was probably why it was never going to last.

“I’m going to bed,” Grantaire announced, and Enjolras looked up, blinking owlishly at him before turning to glance at the clock. He was surprised to see it was already midnight, and he shook his head once to try to clear it. “Sure,” he said, “I’ll be there—”

He broke off, realizing in an instant that he had almost automatically responded, as he had hundreds of times before, ‘I’ll be there soon’, followed inevitably by an off-hand, ‘I love you.’

His eyes met Grantaire’s, and he knew in an instant that Grantaire had been thinking the same thing, that his mind too had immediately leapt to all the nights they had spent like this, to the times when Grantaire would come up behind Enjolras and drape himself over his shoulders to whisper in his ear that he was going to bed and that Enjolras should join him, or when Grantaire would simply drop a kiss onto Enjolras’s head as he walked past, or even to those nights when they’d had a fight but Grantaire would show up at Enjolras’s apartment unannounced anyway and let himself in without a word of apology or explanation, because he had never needed one.

But there was none of that this night, and Enjolras quickly looked away, feeling his face color. He cleared his throat, trying to cover what he had been about to say. “I mean, uh, I’m sure I’ll be going to bed soon, too.”

Grantaire jerked a nod and quickly peeled his hoodie off and shucked his jeans before burrowing under the blanket on the couch in just his boxers and t-shirt. “Night,” he said, and Enjolras glanced over at him.

“Goodnight,” he said, though his voice sounded strained to his own ears.

This time, Grantaire quite quickly fell asleep, but when Enjolras finally gave up on his own attempts a work not long after, the same couldn’t be said for him, and he was left staring up at the ceiling for a long time before sleep finally took him.

----------

For the first time in longer than Enjolras could remember, he wasn’t woken by the alarm on his phone, but instead by the smell of eggs cooking. He sat up slowly, and it took him a minute to remember where he was.

Grantaire was standing in front of the hot plate in the little kitchen area, still wearing just a t-shirt and boxers, his tousled hair indicating he hadn’t been up long either. “Morning,” he said through a yawn. “Hope you don’t mind scrambled – we didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Scrambled is fine,” Enjolras said, feeling like the exchange was unusually formal, since Grantaire had made him breakfast more times than he could count and knew that Enjolras wasn’t picky when it came to how he liked his eggs.

Then again, that was probably the reason for the formality.

He had barely managed to sit up before Grantaire handed him a plate, seemingly avoiding his eyes. “Eat up,” he said gruffly. “And be prepared – whoever was in charge of restocking this place after the last riot forgot to get coffee.”

Enjolras groaned. “That’ll make for a fun next few mornings,” he said with a sigh.

“You think we’ll be here that long?” Grantaire asked glumly, and Enjolras just shrugged.

They again lapsed into silence as they ate, and as soon as Grantaire finished, in seemingly record time, he told Enjolras, “Dibs on the shower.”

Enjolras blinked. “Sure,” he said, “that way I can do the dishes since you cooked—”

But Grantaire had already disappeared into the bathroom, and Enjolras groaned and flopped back down on the futon. He scrubbed a hand across his face before sitting up again and finally getting out of bed. “Note to self,” he muttered, “next time you get stuck in a safe house for a few days, make sure it’s without your ex and with some coffee.”

Grantaire took an unnaturally long time in the shower – and Enjolras tried not to think about what he could be doing in there – and by the time he did emerge, Enjolras’s mood, exacerbated by lack of caffeine, had showered. “Took you long enough,” he muttered as he brushed past Grantaire. “Hope you left me some hot water.”

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t purposefully sabotage your perfect hair like that,” Grantaire shot back, though he paused, his expression unreadable. “Shame there’s not enough hot water in the world to do something about your face, though.”

Enjolras glared at him. “Same could be said for you,” he said curtly.

Grantaire’s eyes widened, and Enjolras realized a moment too late that he had crossed a line, and he flushed. “I – I didn’t,” he mumbled, wincing, “I mean, uh, that was uncalled for. And mean, even for me.”

To his surprise, Grantaire barked a genuine laugh. “No, it was a good one,” he said, a little grudgingly. “Besides, I set myself up for that one.” 

Enjolras managed a tentative smile. “Well, I’m sure you’ll return the favor at some point,” he said bracingly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, this hair takes some time.”

“I’m well aware,” Grantaire said with a smile that was a little too soft, and he quickly recovered, his smile disappearing.

Enjolras slipped into the bathroom, catching sight of his reflection in the fogged mirror. Grantaire hadn’t been lying – his face was a mess, courtesy of the black eye that had swollen overnight to take up almost a quarter of his face. He shook his head and huffed a sigh before getting into the shower and hoping that what remained of the hot water would be enough to relax him and get the weird interactions from that morning out of his mind.

He was mostly right – the hot water did soothe him, and he was in a much better mood when he got out of the shower than he had been going in. But all it took was one look at Grantaire perched on the couch, sketchbook balanced on his knees, and he was right back where he started.

Which meant the only option left was to retreat to the futon and return to his own work and ignoring Grantaire as best as he could.

But his resolve was tested sooner than expected. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet when Grantaire threw his sketchpad down, clearly frustrated. “I need a drink,” he announced to no one in particular, not waiting for Enjolras to respond before making his way over to the cabinet where the liquor was stashed.

Enjolras bit back his automatic response of ‘isn’t it a little early to start drinking?’ because he knew it wasn’t worth it. And besides, it almost certainly wouldn’t stop Grantaire, who apparently decided to forgo a glass and swig bourbon straight from the bottle.

That in and of itself was distracting enough, but it was made worse when Enjolras finally straightened, glanced at the clock and reluctantly asked Grantaire, “Do you want any lunch?”

“Want,” Grantaire repeated, his eyes already glassy. “Want is a peculiar word, don’t you think? Want...desire...and that’s not even getting to what we need, need for life, need for love, need for…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras sighed and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Is that a no to lunch, then?” he asked, a little grimly.

Grantaire blinked as if just realizing what Enjolras had asked, and laughed. “Liquid lunch for me, I think,” he said cheerfully, raising his bottle in a salute.

“Fine with me,” Enjolras muttered, in no mood to put up with Grantaire when he was like this.

By the time he had made himself some cup noodles, Grantaire had all but drained the first bottle of bourbon, and Enjolras arched an eyebrow as he watched Grantaire lurch his way into the kitchen to procure a second bottle. “Normally I know better than to say anything about you’re drinking,” he remarked, “but are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I am stuck,” Grantaire said through gritted teeth as he attempted to screw the bottle cap off, “in a 250 square foot box, with my ex-boyfriend, and no window to the outside world. What’s the worst that could possibly happen?”

As if to emphasize his point, the cap came flying off of the bottle and ricocheted across the room. Grantaire looked vaguely surprised before he almost doubled over with laughter. 

Enjolras wished he was remotely as amused. “Fine,” he muttered, “but I’m not cleaning up your puke. Again.”

“You say that now, and yet…”

Grantaire trailed off ominously before swaying his way back to the couch, where he plopped down with a sigh. Enjolras shook his head but went back to work, or tried to, anyway, until Grantaire decided to start monologuing. 

“I am thirsty,” he announced, taking a large swing from the bottle. “I am thirsty, and yet I drink. Is this not a conundrum? And yet, maybe what I’m thirsty for isn’t more to drink. But why drink at all, if not to satisfy thirst for something?” He flung a dramatic hand across the back of the couch, hitting the cushion with a thwack. “I drink to forget life, to forget every cruel twist that brought me here and that makes me go on still. What’s even the point? Day in, day out, we wake, we work, we sleep, we do it all over again. If I wish to make some indulgences in between, whether food or drink or fucking, who can blame me?” His eyes rolled over to Enjolras, and a small smile lit his face. “Well, you can blame me. You, with your perfect morals, and perfect fucking hair…” He trailed off before shaking his head again. “But us mere mortals aren’t like that,” he said with a sigh. “The people you fight for? They’re much more like me. Is that why, then? Save the cheerleader, save the world, or whatever? Though forgive me for casting myself as a cheerleader in that little parable, such as it is.”

He took another swig of bourbon. “Men are fucking trash,” he said. “Humanity, really. Might as well wipe us all out and start over. Maybe we’d do it better. Maybe we’d make every fucking mistake all over again. But one thing’s for sure, we can’t keep going like this. Not when it’s broken. Not when all I want is to put it all back together again but it’s in five thousand pieces and all I’ve got is chewing gum and an overwhelming sense of futility.”

Enjolras sighed and rubbed his temples. “I have never in my life met someone who loves the sound of his own voice as much as you do,” he said tiredly, and Grantaire just grinned lazily at him.

“Who else would love my voice if not me?” he asked. “You used to, once, or maybe you didn’t – I can never be sure.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras sighed, really not wanting to get into this now, especially with Grantaire like this, but Grantaire ignored him.

“‘Course, maybe that’s why things ended the way they did,” he mused. “Maybe this is how it was always supposed to be. Or maybe—”

Whatever other option he was going to present was cut off by him tipping forward off of the couch. “Grantaire!” Enjolras half-shouted, jumping to his feet and rushing to Grantaire’s side. He turned Grantaire over and let out his breath in a huff when he saw Grantaire still grinning up at him, a little dazedly. “Jesus Christ, I thought—”

He broke off when Grantaire reached up to cup his cheek with one calloused hand. The touch was so gentle, and so familiar, that despite himself, Enjolras leaned into it. Grantaire searched his eyes for a moment before telling him, “I think...maybe you were right.”

“About what?” Enjolras asked.

“This isn’t a good idea.”

Before Enjolras could respond, Grantaire surged forward, kissing him. Enjolras was so surprised, he didn’t pull away at first, which Grantaire clearly took as an invitation, his mouth opening against Enjolras’s with a sigh, his hand cradling Enjolras’s cheek like it still belonged there.

For one extremely tempting moment, Enjolras almost let him continue, his baser instincts arguing that there was no harm, that they had done this so many times before, once more couldn’t possibly hurt.

And he was probably right.

It wouldn’t hurt him.

But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would hurt Grantaire. Which was all he had been trying to avoid in the first place.

So despite how much he really didn’t want to, he caught Grantaire’s wrist with his hand, and he pulled away. “I am right,” he told Grantaire, as gently as he could. “This is a bad idea.”

“But those can be the best kind,” Grantaire told him, his eyes dark.

Enjolras shook his head. “Not this time.” He stood and reached down to help Grantaire to his feet. “Not like this.”

Grantaire made a face as Enjolras pulled him to his feet. “If this is because I’m drunk, let me remind you, that hasn’t always stopped you in the past.”

“It’s not just because you’re drunk,” Enjolras told him. “Even though you are, and if I let go of you, you’d fall over again.”

“Calumny and lies.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Grantaire’s head lolled against Enjolras’s shoulder as they shuffled toward the futon. “Bed,” he agreed, his eyes fluttering closed. “I like bed.”

“I know you do,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire cracked one eye open. “I like bed better with you in it.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I am, as always, impressed by your dedication to shooting your shot at the worst possible time.”

“It’s the only kind of shot I ever want shot at you.”

Grantaire’s voice was suddenly very small, and very serious, and he sounded more sober than he had at any point that day. Enjolras swallowed against the lump that rose unexpectedly in his throat. “Well,” he said roughly, “you don’t have to worry about that in here.”

Grantaire looked relieved, and he curled up on the futon, his eyes fluttering closed. “Good,” he murmured. “Then let’s stay here and never leave.”

Enjolras laughed lightly, automatically reaching out to gently stroke Grantaire’s hair like he had done a million times before. “You won’t be saying that tomorrow when you wake up with a hangover and remember that we have no coffee.”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand without opening his eyes. “That’s future Grantaire’s problem,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Enjolras laughed again. “It sure is,” he agreed. “Now get some sleep.”

He turned to go, but Grantaire caught his hand. “Enj—” he started, his voice breaking. “I miss you.”

Enjolras swallowed again before carefully detangling his hand from Grantaire’s. “I know,” he said, his voice so low he was pretty sure Grantaire probably couldn’t even hear him. “So do I.”

>>Read part 3 here>>

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

Astor just sighed to himself as he walked down the castle’s long hallways.

The windows on this level of the castle spanned from the floor to ceiling, with natural sunlight dripping in through the gold trim. His eyes squinted at the light, and he let his hair fall closer to his face. I should get a hood one of these days.

His footsteps were mostly quiet and unnoticable, which unfortunately for him, led to a less than ideal collision with someone as he turned the corner.

“SON OF A—”

The man ran straight into Astor, his papers scattering across the floor. He shook a fist at the prophet, angrily—he was some old soul with blond hair with bits of grey, and a weathered round face with a set of furious blue eyes. 

“Watch where you’re going, you clod!” Ligero yelled. “I have half a mind to report you for interfering with sensitive documents!”

Astor leaned down, picking up the papers—seemingly just full of various recorded tax benefits—and rolled his eyes, mumbling. “Yes...and we wouldn’t want you to stress yourself working on only half a brain…”

“What was that?”

“Mm...nothing…”

“You youths...I hate mumbling…” 

Astor fitted the papers into a neat stack before handing them back to Ligero, which he snatched up, flipping through them carefully. The prophet gave a shallow, shallow bow. 

“My deepest apologies...Lord Ligero.”  

Ligero suddenly stopped reading, raising an eyebrow and looking him up and down for a moment. “Do I...know you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “If the stars had aligned correctly, this would be our first and last meeting.”

The Lord wagged a finger at him as his eyes lit up. “Ahhh...you’re that crazy star seer. The one aways snuggled up in the queen’s shadow…”

“Gh…...I’m not—”

“Yeah…” Ligero rubbed his chin. “You’re that sickly twig that’s been whining about our deaths and such...always making a fuss since Elane died.” He chuckled to himself, while Astor scowled.

“Her Majesty’s...passing, puts the future of Hyrule on a path of certain doom. I believe I’ve made my predictions of past clear, that the princess will not awaken her power in—”

 “Ayap-yap-yap-yap-yap-yap…” Ligero opened and closed his hand like a mouth in mockery. “Listen boy, you won’t win any favours by spewing your miserable thoughts at every meeting.”

“Maybe I don’t desire your favour.”

“Well then who are you looking to please? Cause I’m afraid it’s a little late to cuck His Majesty any further.”

“Excuse me?” Astor took a step forward, but the Lord stood his ground with a smile, cocking his head to the side. 

“I mean, that’s the only reason some nobody like you is here in the first place, isn’t it? Royal connections? Lovely pity on a scrawny useless orph—”

“I’m here to do my job.”

“Aw, don’t live in denial, boy. I have an eye for this sort of thing. And I’m always partial to helping a lad in need…”

Astor was already turning to move past Ligero, but suddenly stopped. He smirked to himself in amusement. “Is that so…?”

“Oh sure. My own son I’ve raised to be the peak of perfection. Striking young man, dashing blond—like me—and skilled. Rising up the knight’s ranks faster than an octo balloon! That’s all me, all my parenting right th—”

“And which son is that?”

“My oldest, my…...one, son.” He glared at him with a frown. 

“Hmm…” Astor could barely hold back from snickering. “And what do you think of this oldest son then?”

“Oh, too much of his mother’s child, if you ask me. But much better than I in some regards, though of course, not all of them. Ohoho…”

“Yes…” Astor smiled to himself. “You’re a funny man, Ligero Hartell…”

Ligero finally stopped laughing to himself. “But you see, perfection like that isn’t born. It’s made and nurtured, you have to coax it out of them.” He poked Astor’s chest, and he flinched away in disgust. “Quit your mumbling, your babbling, your little grief stricken dreams, it’s all useless. No one cares for it.”

The Lord went to pat his head, like a puppy, but Astor dodged out of the movement with a verbal “nope” as he whipped behind him. Ligero just shrugged. “If you can’t churn yourself to be a better man, then you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. You want to be something more? Something of actual merit? Taken more seriously than some child that was dragged up these polished steps out of a late woman’s mercy?” He flicked his wrist, adjusting the cuff of his pristine white sleeve. “Stop chasing the dead. Don’t be blinded by replaceable things like compassion and the sort. Find a wealthy friend or something, get rich, get power.” 

Ligero turned to continue walking down the hall. “Besides, even if it is like you say—then all the more to ride the sayings of, ‘You only live once.’”

Astor glowered, watching Ligero walk away. He scoffed, and started to turn back towards his own destination, before the Lord called out once more—  

“And cut your hair or something! You’re no Rito, quit with the braids. It’ll get all greasy and frizzy...Trust me, I knew someone with hair like that, once.”

Astor’s expression softened just a bit—nearly undetectable—before immediately being replaced with a darker scowl.

He kept walking, his deep purple robes dancing just a finger-widths above the stone polished steps. He opened and closed his hand to himself, miming Ligero’s speaking.

“Always partial to helping a lad in need...gods, seems childhood memory has still captured him to perfection.” Astor came up on the wooden door, and walked inside. 

The ceiling was a stone dome, littered with old parchment maps, and Sheikah charts, along with chalk that outlined ancient constellations and designs. There was an old chalkboard—stolen, from the Sheikah department—with further sketches and notes, torn out pages from old journals and texts pinned to the board and walls. Even the window was covered by hanging gyrospheres and astrolabes, twirling in infinite suspension. Since they blocked the window’s hinges, they were probably the reason why the room smelled so musty.

Astor closed the door, and flopped down on an old velvet bench, staring at the ceiling in silence.

“BOO!”

“GAAaaAAAh!” Astor shot up, whipping his head at the dangerous intruder, only to find a giggling, blonde girl.

She was doing her best to muffle her laughter by holding her hands to her mouth. “Gotchu again, Mr. Astor!” 

He sighed. “What are you doing here?”

The princess shuffled towards his desk, hands already bored and ready to play with the nearest pointy object. “You took so long to get heeeeree….why was that old guy even talking to you?”

He fixed his hair behind his ears, not really paying attention. “Oh? You heard all that, then?”

“Yeaaah, the halls are—” she cupped her hands over her mouth, “—ECHOEY, Echoey, echoey...echoey….” Her voice grew fainter at each repetition. 

“Stop shouting in my study. You’ll attract the rats…”

“I like rats!” She ran back up to Astor, sitting on the other end of the bench. “They’re like dogs! But small!”

“They’re rodents. Think more possums and mice.”

“Like that old guy, right?” She played with a loose thread on her dress. “Last week you called him a gross...virgin? Vermin… Velvet…? I forgot the word—”

Astor suddenly scooped the young Zelda up under her arms, holding her out in front of him like she was a disease. “Don’t tell anyone I said that, alright? That’s our secret.”

“Put me doooooooown!!”

“No. Get out. I’m working.”

The princess struggled in his grip so much that by the time he reached the door with her, she was nearly upside down. He opened the door and she craned her neck up, pleading at him with an upside down frown.

“Pleeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase let me stay??? Dad never bothers to look for me here….and your room is so cool! Even mom hung out here a lot…” Astor physically flinched, and Zelda took that as an opportunity to let loose some puppy eyes. “Pweaaaaaaase????”

Astor was so ready, so ready to shake her off his arm and let her possibly break a bone tumbling down the steps. “Oh! It was an accident, Your Majesty. She was so busy talking and talking and bouncing off the walls she forgot how stairs worked! I tried to stop her but she used her superglue prank again! Oh what a shame!” It would have been so easy…

Instead, the prophet just sighed, turned around, and let her topple onto the room’s floor. She yelled a “Yay!” before scuttling towards the windowsill, adorned with sparkly objects. Astor made his way to his desk, muttering.

“You can stay for five minutes. But don’t touch anything.”

Zelda immediately started touching and spinning the gyrospheres around in her hand.

The princess pranced and sat and played and pondered around the room—five minutes, ten, fifteen, and twenty. Finally she hobbled up to Astor, her arms full of shiny orbs and trinkets. She peered at his desk.

“So whatcha working on?” Zelda asked, looking at the weird sketches. “You seeing the future and stuff?”

“Something like that,” he replied stiffly. Silence resumed in the room.

Zelda set down her arm full of collectables, before standing on her toes to catch a better glimpse. “So what’s gonna happen? What’s gonna happen in the future?”

The prophet rolled his eyes, still trying to focus on his work. “Oh, you know. Death, doom, destruction. You’ll fail to awaken your powers, everyone perishes...the usual sort.”

Zelda crossed her arms and sat on the ground with a huff. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

“Oh yeah? Well if you can see the future, then WHAT am I gonna do next? Betcha can’t tell!”

“You’re going to attempt a backflip.”

“I’m going to do a b—” Zelda had jumped up, her arms already in the air, before she let them drop and sputtered angrily. “H-Hey! How’d you know that?!”

“Because that’s what you always do to try and disprove me.” He nodded towards the broken chair beside the door, along with a broken shelf, and a broken footstool.

“Hmph!”

“But that’s not how telling the future works anyways.”

“Oh yeah, well how am I supposed to know if you never TELL ME!” She suddenly scrambled into Astor’s lap, trying to steal his papers. 

“H-Hey! Get off you insolent—”

“Tell me what your jooooooob issssss you never doooooooooo anything despite having the coolest room…” Zelda palmed her face on his papers, refusing to move.” 

Astor was just about pulling his hair out, before taking a deep breath. “If I tell you, will you get off me?”

“Maaaybe.”

“Ugh. You’re insufferable…” Astor leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

“Well it’s like this. Every choice and possibility exists. Every universe and timeline with every outcome and conclusion you could imagine exists in the grand unknown. There’s a universe where you’re a boy, there’s a universe where you don’t exist, there’s a universe where you’re quiet and don’t bother me all the time—”

“Is there one where my mom’s alive?” Zelda leaned her head back and looked up at him.

He was silent for a moment, pondering his words. “...Yes. There is.” 

He finally raised an arm, gesturing to the decorated ceiling. “See now, predicting the future is all a matter of trying to identify exactly what kind of universe you’re in. You look to the stars—gifts from the spirits, who roam as a constant in all timelines. You look to dreams, and magic, and visions...your surroundings, the people...there’s a pattern and predictability that I can use to identify what universe we’re in, and how the future will play out.”

“So you think we’re in the one where the Calamity wins?” Zelda raised an eyebrow.

“From what I’ve seen, I’m almost certain. Yes.”

“That sucks.”

“It does...suck.”

Zelda jumped up and went back to playing with the gold and silver trinkets. “Why don’t we just go to a universe where we don’t lose?”

Astor turned back to his work. “Because that’s not possible.”

“Really? You sure?”

Astor stopped, pondering for just a moment, before shrugging and continuing to work. 

“Probably anyways. I imagine millions of people have tried before, millenia ago. And from the looks of things, nothing’s worked.”

Zelda fiddled with an Ancient Core. 

[clockwork--artist]

“But that’s not how it works!”

“Okay, but get this.”

I have two morons Professor Layton OCs that I’d love to introduce to you all! Meet Tom and Davina! If I could draw them in the PL artstyle, I would. Unfortunately, I cannot not. :pensive: 

Prepare to see more of these losers in the future!

More information on the two below the fold!

“Though seemingly reserved and not very expressive, Tom is a sharp-tongued and witty English boy living in America. He has a bit of trouble with reading, but this doesn’t affect his ability to read sheet music and his excellent piano playing, nor his puzzle-solving skills. Despite being a brilliant bluffer, he doesn’t hide his feelings for a certain friend very well.”

You heard the blurb! It’s Tom Clarke, a character I once described to a friend as “a British dumbass with smartass energy.”

Some basic info:

His full name is Thomas Mark Clarke. His parents (and me, lol) made it rhyme on accident.

He’s 13 in Unwound Future.

He’s supposed to be 5’7”, but I feel bad for Layton when I draw Tom taller than him.

He thinks he’s straight, but he’s probably some amount of Demi.

He’s from the Northern UK. His hometown will appear in a story I swear I’ll write.

Some fun facts:

He’s not one to become invested in any media, instead opting to engage in what his friends enjoy. As such, Davina convinced Tom to learn the entire soundtrack of The Eternal Kingdom on piano. He went above and beyond, translating the entirety of The Eternal Diva into melody-compliant German as a joke.

Tom takes fencing classes and formerly took dance classes. These aren’t the most beneficial skills in the world, but his dad made him take them.

Speaking of dance, his six years of dance class never made him hate the activity. He loves to dance when he has the chance. He’s surprisingly good at waltzing.

He’s way too good at ice skating. It may be on account of his six years of dance, but either way, he’s way too good. Just because you lived in an icy climate for the first ten years of your life doesn’t mean you get to be a show-off.

His parents forgot his middle name. They keep calling him Michael, but he’s adamant that it’s Mark. They don’t listen. Davina is conscious of this but calls him Michael to piss him off.

Tom likes the more riddle-y kinds despite his literate ineptitude. He’s good at math puzzles but doesn’t like how much you have to think about them.

Tom plays chess and is surprisingly good at it, maybe even falling into the tryhard category. He doesn’t play for fun but will let inexperienced players clown on the craft to get used to it and have fun. He primarily plays black.

He’s not really one to visually express his emotions. The most you’ll ever get out of him is a small smile, a raised eyebrow, or the look you get in a restaurant when you’ve been waiting for your food for 20 minutes and are very peeved, but you don’t want to look impolite as you wait for 40 more minutes. When you do get emotion out of him, it’s usually when he’s speaking and is very distinct.

He moved to California (Japanifornia?) just after Last Specter. He– very distinctly– did not want to move. Tom’s fine with America, now.

He’s related to Flora. They’re third cousins, to be exact. No one knows/has realized it and won’t for a while.

Luke and Tom have been friends since around the age of 5, and they’ve been pen pals since about the age of 7. Even after Tom moved, they kept in close contact!

When he met Randall, he (without hesitation, mind you) said, “The Masked Gentleman is a twink?” It’s the hardest Davina has ever laughed.

-------------------------------

“Underneath a timid and aloof demeanor, Davina is a bright young girl invested in the arts and humanities. She has an eye for art on par with the professor’s and is an artist herself, taking any time she has to draw the things around her. Her love of music and ancient civilizations has led to an admiration for The Eternal Kingdom and the work of Desmond Sycamore.”

Yep, it’s Davina Alavara! She’s Tom’s best friend and occasional travel partner! Every adventure she’s been on wasn’t planned, and she didn’t sign up for any of this.

Basic info:

Davina is 13 in Unwound Future.

She’s just a bit shorter than Luke, so like 4’10”.

She is very ace.

As stated in her blurb, Davina is from America, specifically California (Japanifornia?), and is Latina!

Some fun facts:

As stated in the blurb, she is obsessed with The Eternal Kingdom. She has sketchbooks upon sketchbooks filled with the costume designs, the set, Janice Quatlane, etc. She even memorized all the songs.

She has an interest in Mezo-American-related archaeology, as well as the obligatory Azran. Davina was never too invested in Azran-related study until she found out about Sycamore, and then it spiraled out of control from there.

She got obsessed with the legal system for some reason. She knows tons of penal codes and general strange law knowledge off the top of her head now. She still seems pretty interested in a certain attorney and his prosecutor rival.

Tom roped her into fencing. She thinks it’s payback for making him learn all the Eternal Kingdom songs.

Davina was super scared of Layton (and Emmy, but less so) for a while, not exactly knowing why. She didn’t trust him and found him intimidating. She warmed up to him, eventually.

To be fair, she’s not really a social person— not as of late, at least. She’s good at talking to new people, she just has trouble finding enough confidence to approach. Getting Davina to trust you enough to start making meaningful conversation is another story.

Strange insults and threats are Davina calling card, so prepare to be told to jump off a microwave or whatever non-anachronistic equivalent to a microwave is.

Davina’s very good at slide puzzles but has no idea if that’s because she’s insanely perseverent or if it’s a genuine skill. To be fair, she never really solved puzzles before meeting Tom and had no idea what a hint coin was until meeting the professor. 

She’s a living storage unit, thanks to the massive bag she carries everywhere. Davina clears it out occasionally, but it just gets filled back up again. She always has her current sketchbook, a folder of loose blank paper and sketches, her pencils and pen, a glasses cloth, a pocket dictionary, and a handkerchief.

Davina plays chess with Tom sometimes and isn’t very good at it. She “developed” a method of play she calls “Ammunition Chess.” Whenever she takes a piece, she will either forcefully knock it off the board or pick it up and chuck it at her opponent/spectators. It has gotten her in trouble multiple times, but she doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon.

Davina loves drawing portraits of her friends and people she meets and has a folder full of pages upon pages of them. She doesn’t seem to like to draw herself, though.

If Davina is in a car that isn’t going incredibly fast, has windows she can roll down, and at a level she can comfortably look out of, she will stick her head out. You cannot stop her; you can only advise her when it’s a good time to stick her head back in. Also, prepare to hear commentary about how pretty the landscape is if you’re going somewhere rural.

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chatper 8: Boundaries

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 8: Boundaries

Ronodin hadn’t returned, and said that he wouldn’t until tonight. Kendra had another day to whittle away. She read more in her book on the Fair Folk over breakfast, then sat in front of her crafting materials again.

Kendra had no idea if her medallion even worked, but at least it dried nicely. The wooden texture came through the paint, but that made it look functional. Like, hey, this is a wooden medallion meant to weaken my enemies, not be a high school shop class project.

Did she take woodshop class? Did she ever go to high school? From Ronodin’s story, Kendra probably had tutors. Why did she feel like she knew more about the American public school system than she did about monster hunting? Or even tutoring schedules?

Trying to figure out her past by evaluating what bodies of knowledge she possessed and what she didn’t left her with a headache.

Kendra refocused on the fabrics in front of her. She did okay with the medallion, maybe her body had remembered something her brain didn’t. Hopefully that subconscious knowledge would help her do what she wanted to make next: create a jacket.

Ronodin assured her that the clothes in her wardrobe were all hers, taken and given to Ronodin from her own closet for exactly this time. Pieces her family didn’t approve of and wouldn’t know to find missing. But old Kendra’s clothes…left a bit more exposed than she liked. Aside from also being mostly black and red, and she was really growing tired of those colors, the dresses were low cut at the top, and high cut around the thighs.

She looked sexy in them, but with Ronodin continuing to ‘forget’ that she had only met him two days ago, sexy wasn’t the look she wanted to wear. She’d start with a simple cardigan, covering up her shoulders and back, then see what she could do about altering hemlines.

Looking over the fabrics, she wished she had pink. She thought she liked the color. Pink wasn’t among the fabric options. There was more red and black, and white, silver, dark blue, green, orange, and dark purple.

Because it would clash horribly with the red and the black, she selected the pumpkin orange fabric. If she was enough of an eyesore, maybe she could convince Ronodin that they needed to pop into a shopping mall for a real wardrobe. Something she was comfortable with now. The orange fabric was a wool/giant hair blend, dyed with pigment from the Fala plant, that produced its own distractor spell to convince people that it was dead until they forgot what they were looking for.

Sewing was a lot harder than she thought, especially without a sewing machine. Did she do this by hand the first time? The needle felt so awkward, her stitches were uneven, she was approximating the designs in the book, but some of them had her folding fabric before cutting? What did it mean by grain? She tried to incorporate ‘make me look hideous!’ magic intentions as she sewed, imaging Ronodin cringing away from her, refusing to look at her in it, but it was a little hard when most of her focus went to not pricking herself.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Kendra had to undo a seam, because apparently clothes were assembled inside out, but by referencing the book every few minutes, and working through hand cramps, she managed to at least make the pieces stick together.

It was early afternoon when Kendra finished her uneven hems. Some of the tools in the basket might have helped her, but her books didn’t reference any of them, so she left them alone.

Holding up the final product, Kendra giggled. She’d done everything on larger estimates, figuring that her goal was to be covered and folds in fabric were easier to have than one side not fitting, and cutting down was easier than adding. The result could generously be described as an orange tent. Kendra had to see herself in the monstrosity. She rushed to the bathroom, passing Mendigo in the hall, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

She slung on the cardigan over the black lace dress, and cracked up.

“Hi Ronodin!” Kendra waved to the mirror with both hands, one sleeve reaching halfway up her palm the other so wide it fell back against her elbow at the motion. The ruby necklace looked like it was suffering, trying to hide from her attempts at sewing.

“Oh, er Kendra, I see you tried sewing,” Kendra mocked in the mirror with a low voice.

Kendra twirled, then did an impression of herself with a higher pitch than normal, “I did, do you like it? I love it! I put soo much effort into it! I love the pumpkin look, don’t you?”

She imagined Ronodin’s face, the horror, the strain not to insult his girlfriend, and burst out laughing. Kendra couldn’t wait to see his face for real. She would insist on wearing this until he took her to the mall.

Kendra stopped laughing and frowned at her reflection. That really didn’t seem right. Even if she had arranged all of this herself, why would she arrange a hideout she couldn’t ever leave? If old Kendra had wanted to live a free life with Ronodin, why didn’t she pick a hide away that let her go outside? Her family couldn’t be powerful enough to search the whole world. If she had been able to pick anywhere, a remote island seemed like a much better hiding place than where she was.

Maybe she and Ronodin had had a disagreement over how long she should stay underground. He might be capitalizing on her memory loss to keep her extra safe; it’s possible Kendra had never intended for herself to remain sealed away. That seemed like something Ronodin would do. Slip in a little lie amongst the truths to save himself battles.

Well, wherever they were, Kendra wanted out. Now that she wasn’t dressed for a cocktail party, she would find her way to a window at least. She went back to her room, and decided to arm herself with the bow she had brought with her through the barrel, even though she didn’t have any arrows. She hadn’t had anything else on her, so she slipped on her shoes and went to the door that Ronodin usually walked out of.

She turned the heavy knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Jiggled it some more, but didn’t move. She searched everywhere for a key, but couldn’t find on. What kind of front door could be locked from the outside?

“Mendigo?” Kendra called, and her puppet came forward. “Open this door.”

Kendra stepped to the side as Mendigo started straining his wooden hands at the door. He turned back to her and shrugged, showing his wooden fingers. Duh, no way could he get the grip he needed that way.

Should she order him to break down the door? These rooms were rented to them by their mysterious ‘host’, who apparently had Ronodin working like a slave. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her busting his door down. She decided against it until things looked more dire.

The last hasty, destructive action she had ordered had almost killed her fiancé. She would demand a key from Ronodin when he got back before resorting to property damage.

“Thank you Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Let’s see what else there is in this place.” Putting her hand on the wall to the left of the door, Kendra started walking, never lifting it. She discovered three different storage closets: one for cleaning supplies, one empty, one for linens. Kitchen, Ronodin’s bedroom (extremely frugal, disappointingly empty) (he had a couple of robes Kendra considered using to augment her own wardrobe, but decided that would send the wrong message), Library, bathroom, craft room, Kendra’s room, Kendra’s bathroom, Kendra’s closet, sitting room/front room, and back to the main door.

That was it. The entirety of her existence, done up in blacks, reds, and gray stone and drenched in blue firelight. Some of the carpets had cream accents, but that was it.

Kendra knew what kind of front door locked from the outside.

She wandered back to her craft room and picked up a canvas to draw. This was about passing time. Next time she wouldn’t let Ronodin leave without her. Kendra just needed to stay sane until he got back. Even if practicing her magic with nicer emotions would create a less effective item, she wanted something nice to look at. Something peaceful. An outdoor scene, and she’d try to work peace into it. It was for herself anyway, and she’d do it in blue and green and white, and it would look beautiful.

Unfortunately, Kendra couldn’t visualize what ‘outside’ looked like. She knew the sky was blue, it had a sun, and grass was green and flowers came in all colors, but the pieces wouldn’t put themselves together. Kendra had never seen ‘outside’, she had nothing but rote facts. She put her pencil to canvas anyway, figuring that if she drew the pieces, it would all come together eventually.

Her hand refused to move. It had no direction on what to draw. Were horizons bumpy or straight? What color blue was the sky? What did sun look like on plant leaves?

Glaring, Kendra started sketching her craft table, in front of her, with the wall behind it turning into prison bars. She’d seen those in her mad-dash self-kidnapping.

Sketching came easier than sewing or carving. Maybe because more art principals were known by the public, the curse wasn’t able to remove them as personal memories. It was nice to have something come together, even if it was only a picture of her cell.

When she got to painting, she ignored the descriptions of materials and focused on colors. Easier than before, she took threads of magic, threads of the flame from the candle inside her, into her hand and turned them to her own emotions, mixing with the paint materials. She wanted people to look at the painting and know that she was trapped. She wanted them to know the suffocation, and the feeling of crafting little trinkets while sun and stars roved the heavens unseen. Not being able to draw the sun or the sky. Not knowing what those looked like. Not knowing what anything looked like outside of six people, a puppet, and her prison. It was a nice prison, possibly one of the nicest in the world.

Kendra painted black beyond the bars. Even gilded cages birthed insanity.

[xcactusarto]

Heaven Help Me

an Aoyama Yuga x Iida Tenya university au fic

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33615358

Summary:

What would happen if you found out the person that ordered art prints from you is the guy you’ve been interested in and lives 2 dorms away from you?

Poor Aoyama is denying his feelings from all the times boys broke his little heart, but this guy seems different and became even more special after Aoyama finds out this dude is a big fan of his art! Will he deliver the art prints himself or just leave the package at his door?

Part 1 / ?

Chapter 2 -

Aoyama was anxious to spill the tea on what had just happened to Bakugou once he could go back to his dorm. Even if he was excited to spill the beans, his stomach was not in good shape. He knew this feeling all too well.

He wanted it gone.

Aoyama arrived 5 minutes late after having to change routes and hiding between the bushes next to the art building to throw up dramatically. Thankfully his teacher was late so he could calm down and sit down. Aoyama felt seasick despite only having butterflies. Throw up could happen or the shits. ‘Not in this outfit’ Aoyama thought as he gripped his phone. The class only lasts 30 mins. Since his teacher was late probably less. Maybe he could text Bakugou about how sick he felt maybe they could walk together to the dorms.

.

.

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Baku dear! My stomach is being very bitchy ~(>_<~) could you pick me up???

.

.

.

.

5 mins passed and Bakugou didn’t answer. Nor did the teacher show up yet. Aoyama looked around and his classmates looked confused as well. Aoyama looks a little to his right and whispers to his classmate.

“Dear, uh do you know if we had class today?”, his classmate looked at him and whispered back.

“Gurlie I’m not gonna lie, this is the first time in the semester I have come to class”, The classmate giggled and said,” Oh, but dude your outfit is hella cute”. Aoyama smiles at his classmate. A girl with a pink afro, a pink headband that made the knotted ends look like horns on her head, and hazel eyes.

“Oh thank you! But I gotta say you look absolutely dashing! Love the colors!”, Aoyama looked at his classmate up and down scanning her outfit. A blue tie-dye crop top with purple spots that went down to her chest. A black bralette under and some pastel yellow sweatpants that gave Aoyama the idea that she could be a dancer. White sneakers with colorful shoelaces. “What’s your name dear?”, Aoyama asked smiling. A small link formed and it was the start of a very nice and stylish friendship.

“Mina Ashido! And you?”, Mina said excitedly as she almost jumped from her seat. She could see this dude could be a great way to pass the class without having to show up. “Yuga Aoyama. Pleased to meet you.” Aoyama and Mina chatted as they waited for their teacher to show up. Slowly the people around them would get up and leave or just chat with each other. The silence of the room cleared up as Mina and Aoyama laughed and talked about their passion for fashion and their hobbies. Aoyama’s perception of Mina was right, she was a Dance major. She was currently doing ballet because she didn’t want her parents to know she was an underground street dancer. On the other hand, Mina learned Aoyama was a digital artist and even got to see some of his pieces. Both were very passionate and frankly, they could be each other’s moral support.

“Hey how about we exchange numbers?”, Mina said and quickly looked around. They were the only ones in class. The classroom was empty and the clock ticking at the front of the class. The class had just ended. Maybe coming to class wasn’t so bad since Aoyama was here. They both looked at each other and laughed. Aoyama’s butterflies were gone and Mina took away his anxiety of shitting himself.

“Yeah that would be wonderful”, Aoyama and Mina then tapped their phone and so they could now talk to each other without having to be in class. Maybe even hang out sometime. As they walked to the door and parted ways Aoyama could notice Bakugou never replied, but his bitch ass left Aoyama on seen. Aoyama was used to it and knew Bakugou would come. Bakugou often forgot to reply , but would do stuff Aoyama texted him to do or asked.

Aoyama waited outside the building for a while. He then sat down and looked at his phone. Scrolled down on his Twitter and Instagram timeline for some time. Aoyama then let out a sigh and got up. He then plugged in his earphones and as he was about to walk away his dorm neighbor called out to him. “Aoyama-kun! Wait up”, A slightly freckled buff guy with green fluffy curly hair called out to him. He wasn’t very stylish , but was always kind to Aoyama. Even though at one point our little Aoyama stalked him because he wanted to be friends with him. I mean he needed a reference for his styling assignment and he was perfect for the outfit. Aoyama stood there and waited for him to catch up to him. “Did class just finish for you too?”, The green-haired hunk asked Aoyama. Aoyama looked at him and explained his situation of waiting for Bakugou.

“Ah, Kacchan didn’t come to pick you up? I can walk you then since we are going to the same dorms!”, his dorm neighbor was always a lifesaver. “Denki is probably at our dorm so I can text him if he can check if Kacchan is there”.

“Please Midori! I’m worried he is oversleeping again. Which I doubt it...He’s probably working out”, Aoyama said as he locked arms with his neighbor. Midoriya Izuku or as Bakugou called him, ‘Deku’, shared a room with Denki Kaminari. Both Midoriya and Denki were his dorm neighbors and often came to watch movies or just help Aoyama with styling assignments. Midoriya was known by the fashion majors as the guy that wore weird shirts. Today he was wearing a pastel blue pullover that had ‘tiny weenie baby’ on it. Aoyama wanted to chuckle , but decided to hold it in. Midoriya’s boyfriend could probably say that was true. They walked to the dorms and as soon as Aoyama got close to the door he slammed it open.

“BITCH YOU HAD ME WAITING FOR 20 MINS OUTSIDE!”, Aoyama said hand still on the door. Midoriya looking over Aoyama’s shoulder. They had caught Bakugou at a...uh special moment.

“CAN’T YOU KNOCK?!”, Bakugou shouted back as he was making out with a purple-haired dude that looked exhausted. Bakugou was still in pajamas while the other was dressed like an e-boy that had just come out of hot topic after his mother had given him an allowance of $10 to spend on my chemical romance merch. That emo boy was Shinso Hitoshi, Bakugou’s boyfriend, and Aoyama’s ex-boyfriend which actually ended well with no heartbreak. I mean they lasted 1 week. Midoriya sneakily walking away then bumped into Denki who was joined by his dark-haired friend. Aoyama looked behind him and immediately then pulls Midoriya as to show proof in an Ace Attorney game.

“I can’t believe poor little Midori had to take time out of his day to walk me back!” Aoyama said as he hugged Midoriya with puppy eyes.

“W-Well uh technically I was walking back so might as well accompany him, right?” Midoriya nervously smiled as Denki walked into the room and held in the laughter he had from seeing Bakugou slightly flustered from being caught getting it on with Shinso. Bakugou then of course starts arguing with Deku as if Deku was the one at fault. Oh well, Aoyama needed to spill the beans on the guy he saw and interacted with so he gathered Denki, Shinso, and Denki’s friend who was just watching the chaos happening in a room full of gays. Except for Denki he had a girlfriend. I mean he isn’t straight, but bisexual so yeah a gay too. Aoyama shoved them to the other side of the room onto his bottom bunk. They all proceeded to sit down and let Aoyama sit cross-legged in the middle while he held a pillow.

“Oh my gosh, guys please help me snap out of these feelings I’m having! I’M GONNA DIE!”, Aoyama said as he swung his arms around dramatically.

“Is he gonna scooter ankle or is he being dramatic?” Denki’s friend leaned over and whispered in Denki’s ear.

“No Sero, he is just being dramatic about something .”, Shinso said as they looked at Aoyama giving them puppy eyes. Sero Hanta, Denki’s friend who was wrapped up in this situation. Sero is a black-haired dude with a nice wide smile. He often just wore pullovers and looked like those dudes that sits right in front of you in computer class and just watching memes or editing Shrek on Ronal McDonald’s body. Those dudes are pretty chill once you start talking to them.

“Just let him spill the tea guys. I wanna know what made him so anxious”, Denki said as he nudged both of the boys to listen.

“So I was walking to class alright?? And then and then I bumped into this guy while I was checking the time on my phone! And then bam this dude was holding me so sweetly and he was so strong might I add!!”, Aoyama said excitedly as he gripped the pillow close to his chest. The boys on the other hand looked at him. Maybe he’s being dramatic, Denki thought. The room of course was still noisy while Aoyama spilled his feelings on the hunk of a man that literally held him as if it was a shojo manga.

“And then he even HELD MY HAND!! MY PRECIOS HAND TO HAND ME MY PHONE!! He also told me to be careful and walked away as if nothing happened!!”, Aoyama sighs after this and just lets his body lay on the boys legs as he dramatically puts his left arm over his face.

“Well, that was something. How did he look like wey?”, Sero asked as he held Aoyama’s arm away from his face. Denki and Shinso nodded. Aoyama then puts a finger on his lips and thinks for a little. “Mind if I sketch him out?” Aoyama says as he signals Shinso to pass him his sketchbook.

After a few minutes, he then shows the boys as he had decided to sit between Denki and Sero. “He looked like this!! He had some weird eyebrows that looked like the Nike symbols!”, Aoyama pointed at the drawing. The boys felt like they had seen him before. They just couldn’t find this dude’s name in the glossary of their minds.

“Isn’t that Iida-kun?”

[clan-sayeed-fic]

It’s just a moment (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios) Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they’re the property of Pixelberry Studios as well.) Warnings: fluff

Author’s note:  I’m not a native English speaker, I’m sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

Hi, it’s been a while since I posted 😄

It’s a one-shot story, yeah, I know, you can be angry at me for not continuing Meant To Be, and instead, writing something new haha 😅  

I hope you’ll enjoy this short story 💕 

~ 1900 words  

————————

It’s just a moment

A sound of quiet scratching of the pencil on the paper filled the air in Central Park in New York.

It was dark outside, as almost everyone in the city was sleeping for a long time, except for Amy. Instead, she was sitting there near the lake, with her earphones on, lost in her drawing.

A delicate gust of wind was brushing her blonde hair from time to time, making it fall on her face. That was the only thing interrupting Amy’s creative process as she had to every couple of minutes tuck her hair behind the ears to see anything.

Beyond that, everything around her was peaceful, as always.

Recently she had been spending most of her evenings out there. She usually went to the park after her classes at college or her part-time job finished. Then, she used to stay there until the evening, writing down her thoughts next to the drawings she made during the day.

That night would have been no different, except something happened.

Amy was in the middle of sketching the panorama of the city when she noticed a slight change in her surroundings. Maybe it was her sixth sense that people keep talking so much about… perhaps not.

It had to be so much more… fate?

She looked up from her work to see someone walking far away from her in a different direction. Because of the faint light of the lamps, she could only recognize the shape of a human. Someone who, like a shadow, was hidden behind the darkness of the night.

The girl took out her earphones. The sweet music faded away, making it possible to focus on the quiet sounds of the park. But as soon she did that, the shadow disappeared, impossible to find anywhere.

“Weird…” Amy muttered to herself.

But since the person she saw was walking in a different direction, she decided there was nothing to worry about. Just to be more cautious, she left the earphones alone, turning off the music and focusing back on her work.

Another few lines appeared on the drawing, creating shadows of the buildings. Amy wanted to check something in her notes, so she put the current sketch and a few previous ones aside. Suddenly, the wind got more powerful, and even if the girl managed to catch in time most of the sheets of paper, the one on the top went flying in the air.

Her eyes followed the journey of the drawing until she saw it landing on the ground a few matters ahead. The girl let out a short sigh of relief as the sheet of paper might have as well landed in the water.

But her relief faded away when she noticed someone bending over to pick it up.

Amy stayed in one place stiff, but luckily it was just a strange woman that probably went out for a walk in the dark of night.

She was wearing a fancy, and probably expensive, burgundy suit. When she stood up straight, Amy was able to look closely at her features. They were absolutely perfect, creating a beautiful image that left the girl speechless.

“Out of pure curiosity,” the woman spoke aloud, an intoxicating sound of her voice certainly wasn’t helpful at that moment. “What a young artist is doing here at this hour?”

Corners of the woman’s mouth curled up a little, making Amy finally stop staring at them. Instead, she moved her gaze up, meeting those beautiful chestnut eyes, getting lost in the view… again.

Say something, the girl scolded herself, prying for her own voice to sound natural.

“Um…” she slowly got up, gathering her things. “I’m no artist.”

The woman looked at her confidently, taking Amy’s whole appearance in. For a moment, the girl could swear that she saw a red spark among the warm brown shade inside her iris. That’s when another gust of wind appeared, messing Amy’s hair, causing her to blush a little.

“Alright, No-artist,” the woman said when the wind went down. “That doesn’t alter the fact that it’s still late,” her eyes squinted, “and dangerous for you to be out here.”

This time Amy was the one with the confidence in her green eyes. She didn’t like to be bossing around, and despite aura this woman had around herself, she felt like the stranger was crossing the line.

“Well, I’m not the only one out here,” Amy smiled teasingly, pretending to sound like her, “at this hour.”

The woman raised her left eyebrow at those words, quite impressed. But even this small gesture caused Amy to lose all of her previous confidence, making her cheeks turn pinkish.

“Fair enough,” finally, the brunette spoke, giving Amy a short break from her intense stare. “My name is Kamilah.”

She took a few steps toward the girl, reaching out her hand. In the other one, she was holding the drawing of Amy’s. But the girl completely forgot about that, paying all her attention to this intriguing person she had just met.

“I’m Amy,” she shook the hand, feeling the electricity coming through her body as their skin touched with each other.

Again, this spark in the woman’s eyes. Amy was almost sure that she saw a crimson shade inside of them, but… that’s not possible, right?

“Haven’t you had enough art for one day?” Kamilah took her hand away, keeping eye contact with the girl.

“Excuse me?” Amy stiffened slightly, a mistrust building inside her chest.

But the woman only smiled softly, noticing this change in her appearance. She was able to easily sense her muscles tensing, breath getting lighter before it would, as the opposite, become heavy from fear.

She knew the pattern of her victims.

“Can you see this enormous building?” Kamilah pointed in the direction, making Amy’s eyes follow. “That’s my company, Ahmanet Financial,” she said, still noticing a misunderstanding in the girl’s eyes. “I can easily see you from my office, sitting here every day, drawing.”

Amy looked once again at the building, measuring the distance inside her head. After a moment, she laughed shortly, looking back at the woman.

“What do you have there, a telescope?” Amy laughed again, but seeing that her joke made no impression on the woman, she bit her lower lip to shut herself up.

“Let’s call it,” Kamilah stared for a moment at her mouth before she looked into her eyes, “good eyesight.”

“Sure…” Amy let go of the topic, but inside her head, thoughts were fighting with each other.

How good eyesight she had to have to notice her from such distance? To recognize her?

“And now,” Kamilah went back to the question, “why, pray tell, are you still out here?”

For a moment, Amy considered if she should answer this question. But, after a while of searching for a hint of bad intentions inside the woman’s eyes, she gave up.

“I…” the girl wasn’t sure what words to use, but Kamilah’s encouraging nod helped her keep going. “I like drawing during the day because I can capture the moment of people’s life. The one and only moment from my perspective, as the couples sit by the lake, talking. Children play around after finishing school. Owners come out with their dogs for a walk…” she smiled, reminding herself all sketches that she had of those situations. “I like it a lot, but what I truly love…” she paused, looking at the surroundings, “…is cherishing those moments. Improving them on the paper, maybe adding something new, taking something away… it depends.”

A short silence fell between them, as Kamilah was listening, lost in this answer. After a while, she lifted the piece of paper that she held in her hand all this time. And for the first one, she looked at the sketch.

“So,” her voice full of curiosity, “what kind of moment do you capture by drawing the city that will remain the same for years?”

Amy laughed sweetly at this clueless tone of the woman’s voice. But in return, Kamilah only gave her a small smile, nothing less, nothing more.

“The city will stay the same,” the blonde started patiently, “but I won’t. It’s about capturing how I see it tonight. Tomorrow my eyes might see this building differently. I might focus on different aspects, "she looked at the panorama covered with darkness. "What if I can’t come here tomorrow, and today is the last opportunity for me to catch this memory?”

Their eyes met again. Brown with the green ones, looking into each other’s souls. The invisible connection was growing between them with every second.

“I know,” Amy laughed again, looking down, “it sounds crazy, I’m sorry, I got lost in this explanation.”

“No, it does not,” Kamilah’s confident voice made the girl lift her gaze. “And don’t ever apologize for being passionate about something,” she returned the sketch. “And this is really a good drawing.”

For a while, they stood in front of each other speechless, but there was no awkwardness between them. The silence seemed natural until Amy interrupted it after catching herself on getting lost in the woman’s eyes once again.

“So…” she started quietly. “What about you, Kamilah? Why are you here tonight?”

The question clearly caught the woman off guard as she moved slightly, composing herself. She wasn’t expecting Amy to ask her anything, she wasn’t expecting anyone to be curious about her at this point.

And for sure, Kamilah didn’t plan on telling the real reason for her visit to the park.

“I wanted to get some fresh air after work,” a lie smoothly escaped her mouth.

“At this hour?” Amy tilted her head to the right, smiling.

“Yes,” Kamilah smirked at this adorable human being. “I work late, and I really appreciate the night air. There is something calm about being outside when everyone around is sleeping, waiting for the next day,” she closed her eyes for a second, taking herself out of those thoughts. “See? You’re not the only one talking crazy,” Kamilah laughed nervously.

“You’re not talking crazy,” Amy was listening to her mesmerized.

Another gust of wind picked up, breaking the tension between them.

“I should get going,” the woman spoke after the wind calmed itself.

“Wait,” Amy’s voice sounded more panicked than she wanted. “I mean… why don’t you stay with me a little bit longer? I could use some company.”

She didn’t want to scare the woman with her invitation, so she added a little smile, patiently waiting for an answer. Kamilah studied her face for a few seconds, considering her options.

She could stay there with this charming young woman, enjoy her company, learn more about her. Maybe even let her in. But it wasn’t hard for Kamilah to predict how it would end up for both of them.

The vampire knew too well how this whole situation would have turned out if not for this one piece of paper landing in front of her, interrupting her previous plan.

“I really appreciate the invitation,” chestnut eyes looking deeply into hers. “Maybe some other time, Amy.”

The wind picked up much more, making Amy’s hair fall on her face, leaving her struggling with it for a moment.

“I’m looking forward…” the girl finally regained control over her hairstyle, just to find herself alone in the park, “…to that.”

She looked around, but the mysterious woman was nowhere to find. Amy was confused, but she decided to not overthink the situation too much. Instead, she sat down on the ground and took out a new sheet of paper.

The graphite of the pencil left several lines on the white surface.

As Amy was capturing another moment.

[thetriggeredhappy]

if ur still taking them... 28 pyroscout 🥺

pyro tf2 said trans rights and scout tf2 said disaster bi rights and the team said queer rights and that’s what’s up, sis. (warning for discussion of past transphobia and other queer issues)

#28: First kiss.

It wasn’t that Scout was all that surprised to have Pyro end up as basically his best friend. He’d secretly been hoping that he’d get to be friends with a few of his coworkers when he’d taken the job, and Pyro was pretty close to him in age and shared a few of the same interests as him so it wasn’t unreasonable to expect to get along. It was just…

Maybe it would be more accurate to say that it was a little bit of an honor.

They hung out in plenty of places—watching TV or playing card games in the common room, hopping into a car and heading into town to watch the latest movie once or twice (or like eight times if they both really liked it), sometimes out back to start a bonfire or something for the hell of it.

But Pyro’s room tended to be his favorite hangout location of theirs, because that was the only place where they were okay with taking off their mask and suit.

Pyro had tried very hard not to make a big deal out of it the first time they’d unmasked in front of Scout. He’d been confused about what they were doing unclasping the bottom of it, since they didn’t have any food with them or anything and that was the only reason they usually did that—to sneak bites of food beneath. But then they shucked the whole thing up and over their head, shaking their head to re-orient themselves, sending their hair—he’d never thought about what Pyro’s hair had to be like before, how had he never thought of that?—bouncing around their face loosely, half-flattened but clearly very naturally curly. Pyro had to take a moment to fish something else out of their mask, a cap of some kind, probably to hold their hair down, and they clearly were trying very hard to avoid eye contact, nervous.

Scout, for once, was at a loss for words, mouth flapping in a way that was probably pretty similar to a fish for something like thirty seconds straight.

“Hey,” he finally managed, pointing at his own face where assorted freckles dotted his cheeks. “We match.”

Pyro glanced up at him, a little startled, then barked a laugh, and it sounded so much better when it wasn’t muffled. They hesitated a few more moments before they pulled off their gloves as well and set all of the newly-shed pieces of uniform down on their cluttered desk, fidgeting severely. “I guess so,” Pyro confirmed, and Scout had never noticed before that they had a very slight accent, too light for him to pick out what it had to be. “I’d never, I couldn’t tell before. With the…”

They pantomimed something up near their eyes, words stalling on them. It took Scout a few seconds to get what they meant. “With the mask?” he asked for confirmation. They nodded. “Oh. Huh. So it’s kinda like your first time seeing me too, huh?”

Pyro laughed. “I guess so,” they repeated, scratching at their stubble self-consciously, or maybe just because they finally could, and then Scout made an effort to both just move on with the rest of what all they were planning on doing when they hung out and also with not staring too much.

The jump to stripping off their suit as far as the tank top and thick-but-tight sweatpants they wore underneath was done a few weeks later when Scout had demonstrated that he wasn’t planning on saying anything, and he was only a little surprised by the plethora of burn marks and scars dotting their skin. He’d noticed an awful lot of scars all over Pyro, and he figured it was probably from when Pyro had been working as a mercenary before Mann Co., something he was aware had happened but hadn’t been able to coax Pyro into talking about. But it was nothing heinous, nothing that he figured warranted a full-body suit to hide it.

He tried to work out how exactly to ask Pyro why they wore the suit without being weird or rude. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“I appreciate it, you know,” Pyro said one day unprompted, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. They were sat a foot or so apart on Pyro’s bed and drawing, Scout sketching out a dramatic rendition of a particularly funny pose he’d seen the enemy Sniper land in when he died and Pyro apparently drawing yet another unrealistically bright technicolor landscape.

“What?” Scout asked, glancing over at them, more obviously than he’d been occasionally doing the whole time they’d been drawing together. They tended to do this really adorable thing where they stuck their tongue out a little bit when they were concentrating, and Scout had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling every time he saw it.

“That you don’t…” They hesitated. “…I dunno. That you don’t try and guess, now that you’ve seen me.”

Scout tilted his head. “Huh?”

Pyro’s gaze flickered to him and back down again almost too quickly to see. “You keep… not calling me anything,” they said. “Except for dude sometimes, but, you call everyone that anyways. That you still try and use “pal” or “buddy” instead of “man” or “lady” or whatever.”

Scout blinked.

Admittedly, there had been a good month or two right after he joined the team where he didn’t know how to refer to Pyro, and had just gone with using “he”, figuring it would be the less offensive assumption for someone in a mercenary career. Then at some point Engie finally sat him down and explained things to him, and after about a week of stumbling he finally got in the practice of using “they” and other words that weren’t particularly for a guy or girl. He couldn’t say that he really got it in a lot of ways, but he’d worked hard to learn the rules on how to be polite, because he figured he owed them that at the very minimum, if nothing else.

“What do you mean?” he asked after a second.

Pyro turned the marker in their hand over and over again. “Back before I started wearing the suit,” they started to explain, gesturing loosely at the suit in question, laid down on the chair at their desk like a deflated second Pyro (and admittedly sometimes scaring the shit out of Scout when he forgot it was there and noticed it in his periphery). “I would try and tell people I worked with that I wasn’t a guy or a girl, and they’d say sure, whatever, who cares, as long as you can kill people. But they’d look at me and start referring to me as a guy anyways. Sometimes a girl, but not usually. And only as… as neither, or both, or whatever, when I corrected them and maybe for a little while after.” They scratched at their stubble again. It was getting longer, and they’d probably shave pretty soon, if Scout knew them. “And it’s just… I always wondered what it was. I’d try and go clean-shaven all the time, wax, I wore makeup once or twice even to try and balance it out, but all that did was make them refer to me as a girl more, or look at me weird. I couldn’t seem to find the middle. So eventually I just put on the suit so nobody would… get hints anymore.”

Scout frowned, but didn’t know exactly what to say. “That’s the fuckin’ worst,” he decided on.

“I know, right?!” Pyro gushed, as if the dam had broken and they were finally allowed to feel mad about it. They sighed hard, pushing their hair out of their eyes, even if they just bounced right back into place a moment later. “They always respected me professionally, but what’s it take for a person to get called the right name, y’know!? Did they want me to wear a stupid t-shirt with instructions on it!?” Another sigh, then they looked up at Scout with those deep brown eyes of theirs, the ones that flooded Scout with an inexplicable sense of comfort. “And I guess I just wanted to say thanks. For not… I dunno. Being weird.”

Scout nodded, hesitated. “So I’ve been doin’ that right?” he asked suddenly, unable to stop himself.

Pyro smiled at him warmly. “You’ve been doing great, probably the best job anyone’s ever done,” they assured, and Scout knew his own smile was probably goofy and stupid looking, but he couldn’t bite it back.

“Thanks,” he said, having to look away, and Pyro laughed.

“And, I dunno. There was also this weird thing where I tried to date for a while and people kept not taking me seriously, then one day someone finally gave me a shot but got all weird and just straight up asked me what equipment I had on the second date and it was the worst.”

“I mean, none’a their fuckin’ business is what unless they’re asking if they should pack a condom,” Scout scoffed.

“Right!? It just sucked because most people would say “oh, I’m just into girls” or try and like, swing it as if I’m a guy and therefore it was totally cool, and only twice did I find someone who would go for whoever and one got weird about it and the other one is the person I took on two dates. Only person who ever gave me any real respect about it could only go on one date with me, and she was only cool because she kind of had some special circumstances going on too, then she had a contract abroad and we had to cut things off. And I just—I dunno. I wish people who went either way would… I dunno.”

“Hey, I fit that bill, and I’d totally date you,” Scout said, and then realized what he’d just said out loud.

Pyro was staring at him openly, mouth a little agape. They tried to start talking twice without success before finally managing it on the third attempt. “You’re bisexual?” they asked, a little surprised.

Scout immediately began backtracking. “I mean, I, I dunno,” he said quickly, looking away, face on fire, “I, it isn’t like I’ve ever really even gotten to date any, anyone but a couple girls and stuff, and, I, thinking and doing are kinda two different things, and y’know, labels and, and…”

They raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay, yeah, I think I’m bi,” he finally admitted. “But you can’t fuckin’ tell anyone, got it? The guys already get all up in my grill about callin’ me gay all the time and, and Medic asking when the coming out party is and, and Sniper going all “what’s with the pride meeting?” and shit like that, I just, I don’t need any more of that fuckin’ nonsense, okay?”

“You know half of them do those jokes because they’re not straight either, right?” Pyro asked flatly.

Scout blinked. “The Doc and Snipes are gay?” he asked, surprised.

Pyro gave him a look.

“…Okay, I guess that’s, that tracks,” he admitted. “But—how many, who all’s…?”

“Far as I know, just Medic, Sniper, Heavy, and Spy, and those last two are also bi or something like that, and I think Demo doesn’t really swing any way,” Pyro said. “You really didn’t know? I thought they were pretty out about it.”

“Nobody tells me anything!” Scout said defensively.

“That’s fair. But… I dunno, I’m obviously not gonna go out and break out the news with confetti and streamers for you, but… I think they wouldn’t really care,” Pyro shrugged. “If anything they’d just try and wingman for you more.”

Scout thought about that for a while. “Man, what are the odds that we’d get a goddamn queer collective out in the middle of a fuckin’ desert?” he asked suddenly.

“Have you maybe considered that the people who’d go out into a desert away from civilization might be queer people trying to be more themselves where they can’t get as much backlash?” Pyro suggested.

“…Shit. That makes a lot of sense actually,” he admitted.

Quiet for a few seconds. “Let’s circle back around to that part where you said you’d totally go for someone like me,” Pyro said suddenly.

Scout pulled his hat down over his face, feeling it go red again. “Shut the fuck up, dude,” he protested, annoyed at how whiny it came out. “I didn’t mean to say it out loud.”

“Do you think about making out with me a lot?” Pyro asked, tone clearly teasing now, and Scout groaned.

“Oh my god, shut up,” he muttered. “I come out to you and you just start fuckin’ bullying me? That’s the play?”

“Duh,” Pyro laughed, and pinched his cheek, making him flush further as he batted their hand away.

“I’m just sayin’ that you’re good-looking and funny and anyone would be lucky to date you, okay?” Scout finally said, trying not to let more embarrassment flood through his voice.

That got Pyro to grin sheepishly, picking up their drawing again. “You’re sweet,” was all they managed to reply with, quieter now.

“The sweetest guy on the planet,” Scout agreed, picking up his own drawing as well, and Pyro elbowed him in the ribs, making him squawk.

He ended up coming out to Engie offhandedly during their lunch break about a week later, and he only even managed it because Pyro was sitting and eating next to him, their knee pressing into his own and bringing him enough comfort to broach the topic. Engie was immediately supportive, and ended the conversation with a pat on his shoulder and by saying he was proud of him for having to courage to say something.

That gave Scout a burst of confidence, and he ended up dragging Pyro around for the rest of the day as he came out to other teammates as well, first Demo and Soldier right after battle (Soldier needed an additional few moments of explanation but overall they were both glad to hear the news), then Medic and Heavy where they were sitting playing chess in the common room (once Heavy got past the language barrier, he offered Scout a solemn high-five in solidarity, which he accepted gratefully). Sniper was reserved for the next day, outside where he was setting up the grill to take his turn making the team dinner (he was a little awkward for a moment, clearly a bit confused and not having expected anyone to come talk to him, but once he caught on to what Scout was saying he offered one of his rare smiles and a few supportive words). 

Oddly enough, Spy was the one that made him the most nervous for reasons he couldn’t pin down, maybe partially because he didn’t bring Pyro along, but he probably handled it the most easily, treating it as no big deal at all, simply pausing for a moment before giving a flippant “Alright. Was that all, mon ami?” and shooing him back out of his smoking room shortly after.

“Look at you,” Pyro said appraisingly when he showed up to hang out in their room, clapping him on the shoulder, clearly noticing the fact that he was practically glowing.

“Didn’t even get beat up or shoved in a locker,” he said cheerfully.

Pyro looked at him for another second or two before they finally just swept him up in a hug, squeezing him almost too-tight in their excitement. “I’m so proud of you!” they exclaimed softly, and he returned the hug, burying his face in their hair when he became sure that he wouldn’t get in trouble for it, surprised and delighted by how very nice it smelled. Vanilla-y and a little coconut-y, warm like everything else about them.

It was only through the combination of circumstances—riding the nervous high from being newly-out for the first time in his life, and being all wrapped up in a hug with his best friend, and his nose being greeted by the smell of the very appealing shampoo they apparently used—that he got the exact level of confidence to do what he did next. They pulled away from the hug finally to look up at him with that same proud smile, and he leaned down and kissed them square on the mouth.

It was three or four seconds before he pulled away again with a tiny, almost-inaudible little smeck. He smiled down at them, feeling the wildly spinning combination of euphoria and fear and excitement and apprehension and thrill and terror swirling around in his chest. Their lips were slightly parted, and they stared up at him with wonder. If he ever drew the moment, he would probably draw Pyro’s pupils in the shape of little hearts, the way they were looking at him just then.

“Oh,” they said breathlessly, and laughed a little. “So you were serious when you said you’d go for someone like me, then?”

Scout laughed, couldn’t stifle it, rising up through his chest alongside his heart. “Yeah, duh,” he said, voice tinted a little higher than usual.

“Well shit, then get back down here,” Pyro said, and tugged on his shirt, and he readily obliged.

[spaceskam]

The kissing booth (part 2)

part 1

"I can't stop thinking about him."

"God, you're such a sap."

Michael ignored the pillow to the chest that Isobel threw, happily focusing on the man in his mind. It'd been hours since the kissing booth ended and Michael had kissed 50 girls after that guy, and yet he was the only one he could think about. He didn't even know what he looked like.

"You don't get it, Iz, he was amazing."

"He talked to you for two seconds, made out with you, and then left, how amazing could he be?" Isobel asked. Michael just hummed. "I still can't believe you manage to kiss a guy in the 5 minutes I left you alone. You were blindfolded and you still found a guy."

"My skills are unparalleled."

"Shut up," she laughed. Michael hugged the pillow tight and tried to construct a face in his mind by the way it felt. It was much harder than it sounded. He rolled onto his stomach and looked up at her.

“Do you think you could find him for me?”

Isobel scoffed, “How on Earth would I do that?”

“I think I could probably know him if I heard his voice, you know, so... Help me find guys that go to your school who it might be,” Michael suggested. Isobel rolled her eyes. “I’m serious! He had this, like, really soft voice. His hair was kinda short-ish, super soft. Had great cheekbones. Maybe he’s athletic? He had a great body.”

“Oh my God, Michael, you are insane,” she groaned. He gave her a wide smile anyway. “What if he doesn’t even go to my school?”

“He has to! He was at the fundraiser,” Micahel insisted, “Please? Please, please, please, please.” 

“Jesus Christ, fine! I’ll try to talk to all the out guys at my school,” she caved. He almost jumped on her bed to give her a hug, but he decided against it since she had a gross facemask on that he wasn’t really eager to get on his shirt.

“Thank you! You won’t regret it!” 

-

“You owe me your life for this illegal shit I did for you,” Isobel said as she made her way into Bean Me Up. Michael always made it there first since it was closer to Roswell High, but they never failed to have their after-school coffee.

Where they went after their after-school coffee depended on the day.

“Ooh, tell me,” Michael said excitedly. It’d been three days since the kissing booth incident and Michael was still stuck on that mystery man. But, since it was now Monday, Isobel finally had some feedback from her explorations.

“I was talking to a few out guys around school and probably coming off as super creepy, but I was talking to one and he had the high cheekbones and was kinda thin and was soft-spoken... so I recorded him,” Isobel admitted. Michael smiled widely.

“You’re the best sister I’ve ever had, let me see!” Michael insisted, leaning over to see. She pulled up a video of a guy with pale blonde hair that was shot from a very unflattering angle.

“I swear, he’s cute in person,” Isobel promised. Michael held the phone to his ear and listened to the guy talk. “Well? Is it him?”

“No,” Michael said, pausing as he listened closer, “I don’t think?”

“You don’t think?”

“I’m pretty sure my guy has a deeper voice,” Michael said, frowning. But, the problem was, he wasn’t sure. The guy had only spoken a few sentences and then kissed him senseless and three days had passed, so the memory of that voice was fading. “Fuck.”

“Caramel macchiato for Michael,” a barista said. Michael stood with his frown still in place.

“Look, if you don’t remember his voice, we’re kinda stuck,” Isobel said. He sighed and turned to go grab his drink, smacking straight into another body.

“Oh shit, sorry,” the guy he ran into said.

“Sorry,” Michael said at the same time, looking over the guy to make sure he didn’t spill his coffee. He was in the Atherton uniform like Isobel with his coffee safe in hand. Michael got to his face and saw his bright smile slowly fade as recognition set in. Which was wild because Michael had never seen the guy before. “Sorry, do I know you?”

“Uh…” he trailed off, “No, I don’t think so.”

For a moment, Michael wished he did. He was fucking gorgeous, tan skin and dark hair adding to his stunning face. Michael slipped on his charming smile.

“That’s too bad,” he said. The guy gulped visibly and his cheeks started tinting a little red.

“Right, well… See you around, I guess.”

Michael turned to Isobel without even getting his coffee. “Who was that?”

She rolled her eyes. “His name is Alex and, before you ask, he’s straight. You got over mystery kiss man awfully fast.”

“I’m not over him,” Michael protested, looking out the window to see Alex stopping to put his headphones in. He was even pretty from afar. “I’m just… exploring my options.”

“Yeah, well, go get my coffee, Zeus.”

“Oh, that’s just cold.”

Michael got the drink and waited a few seconds for his own drink to be finished, bringing them both to the table. Isobel grabbed her macchiato like it was a lifeline. Which, knowing her, it kind of was.

“So, like, how do you know that guy is straight?” Micahel asked, his eyes drifting to the window again to see if Alex was still there. He wasn’t.

“He’s on the football team,” she answered simply. Michael raised his eyebrows.

“Are you telling me queer dudes don’t play football? Izzy, that’s just plain willful ignorance,” he said. Isobel snorted and rolled her eyes.

“Look, it’s not about him. I just spent all day talking to all the out guys in my school and I don’t know how we’re even going to find him if you don’t remember his voice,” Isobel said. Michael pursed his lips and got to thinking. There had to be some way to identify him. “Is it possible he’s not out?”

“If he’s not, then it’s pretty ballsy of him to just kiss a stranger from a different school who was blindfolded and--” Michael paused as the event started sounding less sexy and more like a crime of opportunity, “I”m beginning to think he might not be out.”

“Then I don’t know what you want me to do,” Isobel said, “I can’t hunt down people and out them.”

“Well, no, but maybe if he knows that I’m looking for him, he’ll come out on his own,” Michael suggested. Isobel didn’t seem to buy it. “Listen, if I kiss him again, I’ll know it.”

“Michael. No. You can’t go kissing random guys,” Isobel scolded. He rolled his eyes.

“I can hold another kissing booth for guys!”

“If he’s not out, he’s not going to go to a kissing booth,” Isobel pointed out. Michael sighed and slumped into his seat. Before he could come up with anything, Isobel got a bit serious and leaned closer. "Where are you sleeping tonight?"

"Don't worry about it," Michael replied, giving his sweet smile. She eyed him but nodded without another word.

They stayed and talked for another hour and a half before Isobel had to go home. The sun was in the beginning stages of setting, the sky turning pretty shades of pink and purple. He sat in his truck in the parking lot until it got dark completely.

Then he drove to the Crashdown, parking on the side of the building as a semi-decent way to hide the fact that his truck would be there all night. He knew Mr. Ortecho had probably noticed it, but he never said anything. Michael walked in and saw Liz behind the counter. She'd gone to Roswell High through her freshman year before getting a scholarship to Atherton. Michael had been offered one once upon a time, but then he got in a couple fights and surviving became a lot more important.

"Hey, Ortecho," he said, walking up to the counter. Surprisingly, Alex from the coffee shop was already sitting there. Michael gave him a smile. "And guy who I ran into."

"Michael, this is Alex. Alex, this is Michael," Liz introduced. Alex gave a two finger salute.

"Hey."

"Hey," Michael said, "I've never seen you before and now suddenly I see you twice in one day. Must be fate." Alex's neck and his ears slowly started turning red, his attention going to the basket of fries before him.

"Stop harassing my friends," Liz laughed. He just grinned even wider. "Rosa's upstairs, go around back though because my dad's in the kitchen."

Michael shot her a pair of finger guns. "Gotcha. See you around, Alex."

Michael gave him one last glance before heading out the door and going around the back of the building. He quickly scaled the fire escape that led straight into Rosa Ortecho's bedroom. He wondered how thought-out that placement was.

He felt through the window with ease, landing on a pile of clothes. Rosa was sat on her bed with a sketch pad in her lap and didn't even look up at the commotion.

"If you break something by climbing that one day, I'm not gonna help you," she said. He just smiled and stood up, flopping down on her bed. She kicked him, scolding him in Spanish for fucking up drawing.

"You'd help me," he said, pulling her pillow beneath his head, "You like me too much."

"Don't get it twisted, I like that you punched Jake Thibodaux for grabbing my ass two years ago. Doesn't mean I like you as a person," she told him, but the smile on her face said otherwise. Hell, the fact that she gave him a place to stay three times a week said otherwise. He made a personal rule not to stay more than three times a week with her or the Evans' strictly so he wouldn't overstay his welcome. That meant only one night a week in his truck which, at this point, wasn't the end of the world.

"So, I met a guy at the kissing booth I told you about," he grinned. Rosa raised her eyebrow, putting her sketch pad to the side.

"Spill."

"So I was on break and I still had my blindfold on and he came in back and kissed me. Like, really kissed me. Like, I forgot my name for a minute kissed me," he said. Her eyes widened and she grinned, teasingly prodding his ribs with her socked foot.

"Who is he?"

"I don't know," Michael sighed, "I was blindfolded and he just left. And now I have no idea how to find him. All I know is he goes to Atherton."

"Ah," she said, her smile fading, "Then maybe you don't want to know him."

"Why not?"

"Most of the guys there are assholes, trust me. They think they deserve the world because of their parents being rich. They have no fucking respect for anyone," she informed him. Michael frowned. "The only one I've ever met that I didn't want to punch was Alex."

"Oh, that guy downstairs with Liz? He's unfairly hot."

"He's sheltered as hell," Rosa said, "Sweet guy and super smart, but his dad is on his ass. His curfew is 8 PM and he's got, like, concerningly low self-esteem. I asked him if he'd ever had a girlfriend and he's just like 'girls don't like me'."

"Maybe he's not straight," Michael offered. She rolled her eyes just like Isobel.

"He's on the football team."

"Why do you guys think that's a straight indicator? Your gaydar is severely flawed," he said, "He blushed when I talked to him."

"Yeah, because he's sheltered. He blushes when anyone talks to him."

"Crushing my dreams one hot guy at a time."

"Hey, your mystery kisser might not be hot."

Michael gasped dramatically, "How dare you insult the love of my life like that?"

"You're ridiculous," Rosa laughed, shaking her head, "You don't even know him."

"I will," Michael insisted, "I can't pass that up."

"Well, go to sleep and dream about him. The bags under your eyes have bags," she said. He stuck his tongue out, but didn't retort as he let his eyes close. He'd spent the night prior camped out behind the public library. The ladies there never checked. However, he still only got a couple hours.

"Thanks, Rosa," he said, kicking off his shoes. She threw her blanket over him, engulfing him in darkness and her distinct scent. He didn't mind.

"No problem, papi."

[lovelylogans]

are we ever getting dee’s backstory in the wyliwf verse? or actually are we ever getting more dee logan interactions?

alliance

“all warfare is based on deception. hence, when we are able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must appear inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.” —sun tzu, the art of war

dee usually tries to subscribe to some of the life lessons in the art of war. he has no idea why, today, he has flubbed it this badly.

(or: dee accidentally spills a secret, and those sanders’ might not be as bad as he thought.)

part of the wyliwf verse.

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: deceit, snake mentions, mention of a fight, allusions to an unhappy home life, let me know if i’ve missed anything

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 4,515

notes: thank you, anon! this references this ask i answered a while ago about dee’s backstory; not super necessary to read, since i cover a lot of it in here, but it does give some general background that might be nice going into the story. takes place after the black parade. happy birthday, deceit!

patton’s not usually home when logan gets back from school.

if paton did see logan right after a school day, it was usually because patton went to virgil’s for a mid-afternoon hot cocoa/coffee, or if logan walked from the bus stop to the inn. they don’t meet at home right after school.

today was different, though. because today, logan was bringing home his partner to do a project for the gsa.

logan had been kicking himself for not getting more involved as soon as he’d set foot at chilton. so, in the aftermath of the “I AM NOT DOING ENOUGH TO GET INTO COLLEGE” frantic list-making session of winter break, logan had joined a slew of clubs and activities; the cross-country team, with the intent of joining the track team in the fall, as long as it didn’t interfere with the newspaper, chilton’s book club, chilton’s quiz bowl team, the science club, photographing for the newspaper, when mel needed him to, backstage crew for the spring play, the debate team, and, of course, chilton’s gay/straight alliance.

that hadn’t been around, when patton went to chilton. patton likes to think that means that things are way better now—well, he knows things are a better now, there’s been so much progress since patton was a teenager—but, well. to patton, chilton’s always going to have that memory, to him. of being excised and bullied because he was trans.

but. anyway. logan’s part of the gsa now. logan’s bringing home a designated partner from the gsa, to help make some posters to put up around the school. so patton has some ulterior motives for being home right now. 

because, well, patton knows that logan’s mostly signed up for everything because it looks good on a college admission form, but. patton can’t help but think about logan’s not-super-hidden concern, the night before he’d started chilton—“what could he possibly be scared of? he’s the one staying at sideshire high. he’s always had other friends. he’ll probably make more friends now that i’m not going to be at school taking up all his time.”

and, well. involvement in things he’s interested in. which means other kids who are interested in the things he’s interested in. which means potential friends. 

with roman as the sole exception, logan’s always been slow to warm to people—he’s very particular about who he lets to be close to him. but once he does warm to them, he’s fiercely, intensely loyal, defensive, a good friend. a fantastic friend.

so maybe patton’s hovering a little to make sure that things go well for logan. sue him. but he can be a cool dad, that’ll help, right? he can offer snacks! and supplies for poster-making! and… and more snacks! 

so patton had been a whirlwind of activity, shoving most of the clutter out of sight so that the house looks slightly tidier, stacking outer layers on his coat rack that seems to wheeze under the pressure—patton practically has to tie things to it with his trans pride scarf, just to make sure that things wont fall down—and shoves dirty dishes in the dishwasher, out of sight, out of mind. he’ll wash them later.

he straightens up the bin of markers that he’d dug out of various desk drawers, and ensures that the glitter and glue are all grouped together, and that they’ve got pencils to sketch out a starting idea, because knowing logan, he’ll want to sketch out the idea first. 

he runs through the list of names that he’s heard logan mention as he straightens everything out—maybe it’ll be kai, logan had mentioned him and his interest in video games. or there had been a set of boyfriends the grade above him, corbin and… and sloane, wasn’t it, maybe it’d be one of them! or maybe someone that logan hasn’t mentioned. 

there’s the sound of a key at the door, and patton glances at his phone. right on time. he’d really expect nothing less, from logan, oh goD he should look like he’s being totally natural act natural patton!!!!!

so he quickly pivots and starts rattling around in the cupboards, and starts scooping coffee grounds into the coffee maker as he hears the door open, two thumps of backpacks hitting the ground, a mutter of “you can take your shoes off here” from logan.

“hey, kiddo!” patton calls, and a mumble of “my dad” from logan, and then the sound of two pairs of socked feet approaching.

“i wasn’t sure if you wanted some coffee too, so i figured i could ask you and your—“

he pivots, and the word “guest” dies on his tongue.

because, standing in yellow socks in the midst of his kitchen, with his strange, sneakily altered version of the chilton uniform, looking supremely uncomfortable, is dee slange.

the same dee slange that has been logan’s de-facto rival at chilton. the same dee slange that told logan he’d never catch up to the rest of his class. the same dee slange that goaded someone into hitting his son. that dee slange.

this is the worst outcome for “logan could be bringing home a potential friend!”

patton swallows, setting aside the scoop of coffee, and glances at logan.

“we were randomly assigned people to get to know them better, since it’s the start of the new semester,” logan says, a brusque explanation.

“right,” patton says. “okay. um. hi.”

“hi,” dee says, voice tight, tilting up his chin.

“do you want some coffee?” patton says stiffly.

a long pause. “sure.”

“right then,” patton says, and turns to the coffee machine.

dee slange. dee slange! god, it probably is a good thing that he’d decided to hover, because honestly if logan and dee had had to work alone patton probably would have come home to the house in shambles. 

but he has to be polite, patton tells himself. so patton wracks his brain for his (probably outdated) etiquette lessons, and, once he gets the coffee machine going, he turns, leaning back against the counter. 

“it is dee, right?” he checks. “i’d hate to be calling you something that you don’t particularly want to be called. is it short for something?”

“it’s dee,” he says. he doesn’t answer the other question. he’s busy glancing around the kitchen.

right, patton figures. time to move to the next small-talk topic.

“your grandmother’s friends with my mom,” patton tells dee. “evelyn, right? i always liked her.”

honestly, a lot of his mom’s friends had been a wild gamble, if he told them he was trans, and evelyn had probably taken it best out of all of them. that had been enough to earn his affection, even if evelyn’s general kindness hadn’t done that already.

dee’s dad, on the other hand… well, he’d been a flip side of that coin, but so had a lot of people, back then.

but dee smiles, ever so slightly, at the mention of his grandmother, so patton figures he hasn’t made any major social missteps. 

yet.

“yes,” dee says, refocusing from where his eyes had been briefly fixed somewhere beyond patton, back toward the entry hall. “she’s doing well. i’ll tell her you said hello.”

another long pause. patton clears his throat, tapping his fingers on the counter, before he says, “how was school?”

“fine,” logan says, with a slight grimace.

“there was that, um. the thing in latin today, right?” patton says. “the recitation thing? tempora cum causis Latium digesta per annum lapsaque sub terras… i can’t remember any more.” 

frankly, it’s a miracle he can’t. logan’s been reciting the first part of ovid’s fasti for the past week. he was pretty sure “scilicet arma magis quam sidera, Romule, noras, curaque finitimos vincere maior erat” would be running around in his head for a month, since logan had been chanting in his room like he was conducting some arcane ritual.    

logan scowls, a dark look flitting across his face even as he finished patton’s line, “ortaque signa canam. yeah, that was today.”

“and?” patton prompts. 

logan scowls. “he thought my pronunciation was over-rehearsed.”

“over-rehearsed?” patton says. “i mean—it would be, wouldn’t it? it’s not like you walk around and latin just casually tumbles out of your mouth.”

“precisely,” logan says.

“the man is an idiot,” dee says, brusque, turning his focus back again—patton didn’t think he’d done that bad of a job, tidying things up in there.

“i—well, now,” patton says, unsure of exactly how to step but he’s a dad it’s practically an instinct to instill manners, “don’t be mean.”

“no, he’s right,” logan says, looking at dee thoughtfully. “he is an idiot. he forgot to teach us the imperative verb tense and only remembered when all of us got it wrong on the imperative-centric quiz.”

dee rolls his eyes, the yellow one glinting. “i nearly forgot about that. my god, did the man get hired just because he plagiarized some old myths from percy jackson during the job interview?”

“those are greek,” logan says, “unless you’re referring to the later series.”

“my point,” dee says, “you cannot deny that charleston is a simpleton, look at the way he handled the moreno/watts situation.”

patton blinks. “what moreno/watts situation?”

logan also looks confused, but really the only way he can tell is because patton is his dad and knows when he’s covering up an emotion. well. most of the time. some of the time. more than most other people, let’s go with that one.

dee sighs, put-upon, before he says, “janey watts and sarah moreno were both taken to our esteemed headmaster’s office yesterday because mr. medina caught them about to claw each other’s eyes out in the alcove near the hidden rear staircase of the senior’s lounge. when attempting to discover what was wrong, mr. charleston’s first guess on what they were fighting about was that they were fighting over the same boy.”

logan allows his confusion to show. “but janey watts is a lesbian.”

“yes,” dee says, “and now you can see one of the many reasons why charleston is a simpleton.”

patton sighs. “well, charleston’s always been… a product of his time?” he says, and tries to elaborate. “you know, he backed up giving me a month of detention once because i refused to respond to my chosen name and pronouns.”

dee’s eyes darken. “bastard,” he spits out, filled with more venom than patton was expecting.

“hey, now,” patton says, even as startled as he is with… that. it’s not like dee and patton are particularly close, to warrant this level of defensiveness. well, patton guesses he’s in the gsa, so it makes sense that he’d be defensive of trans rights. “i could bust out the swear jar.”

“you’ve never had a swear jar,” logan says.

“i could start,” patton says. 

logan turns to dee. “i didn’t know you were friends with janey watts.”

“oh, i’m not,” dee says, and then, matter-of-fact, “she thinks i’m a slimy jerk with no morals and who would sell out his own grandmother if it meant getting further ahead.”

patton feels a little stab of hurt, the way he usually does whenever he hears someone talk bad about themselves.

“then how did you know what charleston said?” logan says, and hey, good point! but logan’s always been more observant than him.

“oh, please,” dee says. “logan, you’re a journalist, you should know that we all have our own sources.”

“in the headmaster’s office?”

dee shrugs. “to secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but theopportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

“sun tzu,” logan says. “art of war. you could do with the seem humble part.”

“but you’re already so filled with conceit,” dee says, and patton’s about to burst in with a hey now, but logan just shrugs.

“i know myself,” logan says.

“so you can win all battles?” dee says. “i didn’t know you read had an interest in ancient chinese literature.”

“mostly just that one,” logan says. “do you have an interest in ancient chinese literature?”

“mostly just that one,” dee parrots. “shall we get started?”

“may as well,” logan says.

“you kids want coffee while you do that?” patton says. “oh, and would you mind if i did my homework, too?”

“for your business degree,” dee surmises, and really, patton probably shouldn’t be surprised that he knows that, but he’s surprised anyway, darn it. “fine. it’s your house.” 

so patton pours everyone some coffee and sets out cream and sugar, since he doesn’t know how dee takes his coffee, before he gathers up his own homework and settles in, listening absentmindedly as the boys sort through various options that’s been offered to them.

dee, it turns out, milks and sweetens his coffee to a frankly absurd degree—patton wouldn’t be surprised if dee would be met with a few mouthfuls of sugar-sludge at the bottom of his mug—and picks his way through snacks, eating them so swiftly and unnoticeably that patton doesn’t realize it until he goes for a pretzel and realizes the bowl is near-empty.

“i don’t suppose you want to do the ‘how i knew i was gay’ one,” dee says briskly. they’ve sorted through most of the list—this is the last suggested poster theme option—and then they’ll narrow down their yeses.

“certainly not,” logan agrees. “there isn’t particularly much to tell, anyway. boys were always just… pretty.”

“one boy,” patton murmurs slyly, grinning down at his homework even as logan half-heartedly stamps on his foot.

“not much for me, either,” dee says. “girls always had cooties, and i always knew i was a boy, so—“

everyone at the table freezes. and then things start to click.

the altered, strange uniform, as if to say look here, look directly here and nowhere else—hadn’t patton practically lived in too-baggy chilton sweaters, to hide his chest and later his binder from anyone who could have possibly seen it?

dee’s continuous glances toward the entry hall—not just at the clutter, but at patton’s trans pride scarf on display.

dee was short, and patton had been too—patton hadn’t even been 5′3″ before he started t on a more consistent basis, after logan was born.

dee for short, and nothing else—an unusual name, but it wasn’t like he could throw any stones with a name like patton, could he?

dee’s face shuttering in too-great anger, at the news that charleston had given patton detention for sticking up for himself—because he’d had experience with that, maybe?

and then:

patton thinks, oh.

as he stares at dee’s yellow-gloved fingers, curling into fists, he thinks: you’re like me.

the lashing out at other people. the isolating himself. the particular taste in clothes. the new name. the upper-class society. the potential clashing with parents.

oh, oh, oh.

if it weren’t for how perfectly, perfectly still dee was, patton could almost believe that he came out on purpose.

“okay,” patton says, when he realizes it’s probably been a too-long pause. “hey, it’s okay. me too, you know? we won’t say anything if you don’t want us to.”

dee dips his head in a nod, tongue darting out to lick his lips. 

“right,” he says hollowly, before he clears his throat and tries for his usual, arrogant tone. “of course.”

“we won’t,” logan agrees, and frowns. “i’m your academic rival, not some asshole that would out you without your consent.”

it’s at that that dee relaxes, fists unclenching. he smooths his hands over the poster.

“right,” he says, and clears his throat. “fine, then.”

patton hesitates, before he says, tentatively, “your grandma was really cool about it, when i came out. back in the day.”

dee’s lip quirk up, and patton knows he’s said the right thing.

“yeah,” dee says. “i mean, i can’t really remember it, it was back when i got adopted—”

“you’re adopted?” patton asks.

dee gives him an almost patronizingly amused look, gesturing to his dark skin, the vitiligo on his cheek. “yes, that’s such a shock, i’m sure, because my parents definitely match my coloring.”

patton flushes. “well, i’ve never met your mom.”

dee mutters something like what a blessing for you, and patton feels a flare of worry that he can’t really expand upon before dee continues, “yes, i’m adopted, from haiti. i was… i don’t know. four, five. i can’t remember it very well. but grandmother’s… yeah. grandmother’s the best.”

it’s the most fond patton’s ever heard him sound, and, from the look on logan’s face, it might be for him, too.

“i might try and get coffee with her soon,” patton says, casual. “and if, you know. if you want advice about, um. this. just let me know. yeah?”

dee’s eyebrow quirks at him, and he gives him a look full of quintessential teenage amusement and, potentially, embarrassment.

patton can relate. he was the same, a lot of the time, whenever people offered advice or help when he first came to sideshire.

well. maybe he was less sassy about it.

“can we focus on the project?” logan says tiredly. 

“what, are you jealous you can’t contribute to the discussion about various nicknames for testosterone?” dee says.

patton grins. “the testoster-zone.”

“the t-party,” dee offers.

“ooh, good one,” patton says. “um—”

“can we please focus on the project?” logan says, more pointedly.

dee rolls his eyes, but turns back to his poster.

patton tries to focus on his homework, but he just can’t help it, and—

“anti-cis-tamines.”

“dad,” logan groans, and patton and dee share an amused glance, and—

well. maybe dee wasn’t the worst potential friend that logan could have brought over.

⁂

this place might as well be the twilight zone.

dee has his bowler hat on, and logan’s tall enough that they’re probably at a decent angle that he can’t tell that dee is looking around everywhere he can.

if only dee had managed to shake him off—but mr. sanders (”please, it’s patton, mr. sanders is my father!”) had insisted that either logan or patton walk dee back to the bus stop and, well, honestly, logan was the lesser of two evils.

not that mr. sanders is evil. he seems removed from that. too removed, if you get dee’s drift. no one could possibly be that deeply nice. there had to be something going on there. a ploy to get people to trust him, or something. the defenseless little puppy defense, or something. playing sweet and kind until it suits him.

even as he’s thinking this, something in his brain refuses to let it click into place. dee shakes it off. he’ll investigate later—whether it’s an opossum defense or a ploy or something—there’s too much to see here.

it’s like a group of tv set designers got together and thought, right, what are all the clichés of a tiny small town, added some overgrown ivy and picturesque worn red brick, and the entire place reeked of domesticity. he means, really, who even has a town center gazebo? dee’s seen flyers advertising for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon. for charity. “costumes and periodwear encouraged.” what kind of periodwear did one wear for a twenty-four-hour dance-a-thon?

the buildings have those twinkly lights all around it. the streetlights are wrought iron instead of the stark poles that are near the streets of his neighborhood. there is a community garden. there is a punnily named cat-themed store. 

seriously. what planet is this?

they get to the bus stop.

(also—the bus? what was this, the middle ages?)

“right, then,” dee says. “you’re bringing the posters tomorrow?”

logan nods his head in assent, hands stuck in his pockets. apparently, that’s not a clear enough hint, but his research shows that logan doesn’t respond very much to subtleties.

“you can go,” he adds, bluntly.

logan shakes his head. “i’m just going to go to the diner for dinner, anyway, and not being there means that my dad can get sappy with virgil without my bearing witness. and besides, my dad would kill me for leaving you here alone.” 

dee stares at him. “you do realize the likelihood of someone attacking me here is approximately on the same level as greedo being the one who shot first?”

logan blinks. “you’re a star wars fan?”

dee shrugs a shoulder, before he says, “more when i was a kid. i’ve got three snakes named—”

“rey, finn, and poe?” logan says, with a twist of his mouth.

“luke, leia, and han,” he corrects. “i said when i was a kid, sanders.”

“kid is an unclear term,” logan says. “for instance, i could argue that your viewpoint on the superior space western is childish, since the clearly superior space western franchise is—”

dee scoffs before he can finish his sentence. “of course you’re a trekkie.”

“so you admit it,” logan says, and dee rolls his eyes.

“i was just narrowing down the number of popular space westerns, spock.”

“i prefer data,” logan says. 

another pause, before:

“snakes?” logan asks.

“garters, all three,” dee says. he hesitates, before he says, “luke and han are trans.”

“i wondered,” logan says. “since snakes can often eat each other, but if all three snakes were, ah—“

“afab?” dee provides.

“right, yes.” logan says. “may i see?”

“i don’t have them on me,” dee says, before he says, “yeah, all right” and digs out his phone, swiping for the latest photo of his snakes.

it turns out to be the one of grandmother, amused, looking just enough off-camera that it’s clear it isn’t candid, wearing leia as a necklace, luke and han in her upraised hands. logan smiles at the photo. well, smiles as much as he’s capable of smiling. dee thinks that the whole i prefer data thing might be a cover-up for the fact that logan might actually be a robot.

“the checkered one is leia, the one with the yellow stripe is luke, and the one with the brown stripe is han.”

“nice,” logan says. “and that’s your grandmother?”

“yes,” dee confirms, tucking his phone away. 

“do you spend much time with her?” logan says.

“frequently,” dee says, and lies, “she lives closest to chilton, it just makes the most sense.”

well, the first part of that sentence isn’t a lie. it’s just that that isn’t the whole truth.

but partial truths are what he works best with, and he notes that logan nods, seeming to accept it as a whole truth, before his eyes turn elsewhere.

dee follows his gaze. 

the window’s lit, gleaming softly, a wide window that allows a view.

there’s a boy in there, alone. he’s shirtless, and wearing red leggings typical of a dancer. even at the distance they’re at, dee can see his muscles straining as he moves, graceful and limbs elongated as he reaches and spins, slowly, achingly slowly, everything so precise down the slightest twitch of his finger, and logan is staring, eyes gone soft and awed and sweet, and—

“didn’t realize i was boring you that much,” dee comments, even if he is a little relieved that logan’s attention is off the question of his home life and on his pretty dancer. “that’s the boytoy, isn’t it?”

logan looks at him, eyes sharpening. “roman’s my boyfriend.”

“right, right,” dee says, waving it off. he’s distracted, good. “so that’s still a thing, then?”

“yes,” logan says. “that’s still a ‘thing.’”

he doesn’t use airquotes, but it’s a near thing. it’s basically implied in his tone of voice.

“do you like him a lot?” dee asks.

“i love him,” logan says simply—as if it’s a fact, indisputable, absolute. 

dee nods, turning his attention back to the bus stop. it should be coming soon.

“are you going to tell him?” dee says abruptly and oh, now he’s done it, losing control of his mouth just once today isn’t enough, he really needs to make himself look like a fool, doesn’t he?

logan turns his attention more fully back to dee. “no.”

dee scoffs. “right.”

“i won’t,” logan says. “really. roman would understand, he’s—well, clearly he’s gay too, he understands the importance of coming out on your own terms.”

dee glowers at the ground, scuffing his shoe over the cement, before—

“my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six.”

dee pauses, and turns to look at logan.

logan isn’t looking at him. he’s got his hands clasped behind his back, still staring ahead, as if he’s keeping an eye out for the bus.

“my dad worked at the inn—he’s manager, now, but back then he was a housekeeper. he worked his way up. we could only afford to live in the poolhouse because the manager, maria, gave him a major cut on rent. i was bullied about it, when i was a child. my dad doesn’t know that.” a pause, and then, “my grandparents don’t know about the poolhouse, either. they thought we lived in the inn proper and got an apartment much sooner than we actually did. they’re paying for me to go to chilton. it comes with the condition of going to their house for weekly dinners.”

dee stares at him. “why would you tell me that?”

logan shrugs, and turns just his head to look at dee.

“i know you’re trans, you know where i lived and that i can’t afford schooling,” logan says simply. “if either of us feel tempted to let it slip…”

“then we know the other one has something in hand,” dee finishes slowly, not admiringly. “mutually assured destruction.”

it’s a sound strategy, really. logan takes the assumption that dee won’t listen to promises, and uses a shortcut. it’s a dangerous move, a gamble. not one he’d have expected, from logan. this day’s just full of surprises.

“precisely,” logan says. “for whatever reason, i don’t think you hold very strongly to the sense of the honor of giving someone your word.”

that last part is said in the closest tone to sarcastic that he thinks he’s ever heard logan use. 

“you’re right, i don’t,” dee says, and swallows. “homeless?”

“i didn’t really put the pieces together until i was older,” logan says. “it still doesn’t seem like it, to me. we were happy.”

dee wonders what that’s like.

“well,” logan says, peeking down the way. “i think i hear the bus coming. i’ll bring the posters tomorrow.”

“right,” dee says. “so. are you going to suggest we dissolve the academic rivalry, then?”

logan hums, and tilts his head. “you know, you’ve been my only real competition since i showed up at chilton.”

dee does not preen.

“we’re the only ones who’ve ever challenged each other. without this, we’ll get lazy.”

“i’ll achieve nothing, i’ll become my mother,” dee quips, and logan smiles, just a little.

“right,” logan says. “so.”

dee pauses, before he says, “allies?”

logan smiles. “allies.”

as the bus rolls up, logan offers his hand, and dee shakes it, once. logan knows full well that he doesn’t hold to the honor of giving someone their word, but it still feels like they’re making a deal, anyway.

so dee clambers onto the bus, and settles in a window seat.

and if he smiles and turns details over his head the whole drive back, well. it’s not like anyone will know.

[chromium7sky]

The Devil wears Armani | chapter 8

A/n: lol resume the fashionista au yay. By the way, it was actually after this part https://xaphrin.tumblr.com/post/189956299511/chromium7sky-asked-for-some-smut-for-her-fic-the by @xaphrin

Please follow #damirae , #devil wears Armani , and #fashionista au tag and enjoy!! ❤️❤️

It's been a while Jon haven't seen his best friend since hes working at daily planet at metropolis. He did send message with him but he seem so busy.

Then what puzzled him is Damian in a sudden asked him how to woo a girl. Woo? Who the hell use that word in this era? Jon chuckled. Ohh, Damian has found a girl!

It's lunch time and he already told to his superior that he's going back early. He use this free time to pay a visit to Damian for a talk. 'Oh, What a good friend he is.' He compliment himself.

As he walk into the building, he walk towards the receptionist. "Hi, Is Mr Wayne in his office?"

"Mr. Wayne currently having meeting but I think it would be over soon." The receptionist answered him.

"Oh? It's okay, I'll just go up there and wait for him." Jon smiled as he went to the elevator.

"But sir... He-" before the receptionist finish her words Jon has already step into the elevator. He press the button that lead to the top floor, to Damian's office.

-------

Raven were tidy up the sample of colors including her tools on wooden desk. She straight up her blouse and jacket, try not to look obvious including her braid.

As she's busying herself, Damian with shirts without his blazer stood behind her and kiss her nape which makes she gasped.

"Damian..." She eyed on him as his hand rested on her waist, facing her.

"What?" He smirked. "Don't tell me you want another?"

Heat start to creep on her cheeks as she remember what happen before. She looked away and nervously tug her loosen hair behind her ear. "Well, I should probably going."

"Ah..." Damian smiled then caress her cheek. He gives is a quick kiss on it then her lips. "Don't get lost, alright?" He teasing her.

Raven blushed then realise his word, she puffed her cheeks. " I'm not a kid, Wayne."

Damian scoffed. " I know." Then he kissed her forehead.

Raven take one last look at him then she walked out from his office.

As she walked out, Damian sighed, feeling full and stupidly happy humming towards his desk to continue his As he looked at the file beside his computer, he saw something.

Her necklace. Must be she forget about it. Damian close his eyes and smiled. "Guess I have to see her again."

---

Raven walked down the alley toward the elevator then she suddenly stop. She realise Her neck felt lighter than before, so she put her hand where it used to be.

Her necklace wasn't with her. She begin to panic and tried to find it in her tool bag.

"Who knows it was so good that you tend to forgot your necklace?"

Raven turn around as she heard a voice.

Damian smirked as he stood behind her with her necklace in his hand.

Raven sighed in relief then walk towards him. " I thought I've lost it." She bit her lips.

"Come here. Let me put it on you."Damian beckon her to come closer. She followed.

As Raven stand closer to him, Damian open the lock of the necklace and put it around her neck.

"Thank you." Raven sheepishly gratitude as her cheek stained with rosy tint.

"Don't I have a reward?"

"Reward?" She absent minded repeat his word.

"For returning your necklace?" He got closer.

Raven bit her lips as she thinking.

Damian smiled as his hand touched her waist bringing them closer.

Raven slowly reached his face with her hands and chastely brushes her lips with his. "Dinner."

"Oh?"

"After I finished your suit, we'll have dinner at my place." She wet her lips.

Damian stared at her then give a quick peck on her lips. " Deal."

----

He can't believe what his saw. Jon was at hidden corner besides the elevator. He witness his grumpy best friend just having a moment with a girl!

Last time he remember when Dami talk about girl is when they were in the same dorm at university. He said that, he might not see her again as soon as he went to the Middle East.

Jon did advice him to find the girl, ask her out , let her know his feeling at least before it's too late but the last thing remember as he send Dami to airport, Dami has her notebook at the lecture hall. He looks solemn though he tries to deny it.

After he got accepted into Daily Planet, a place where both his parents used to work, he started to keep in touch with Wayne Enterprise community project by constantly interview Damian which always end up with no comment whenever he tried to ask about finding new girl.

On a certain occassion, he's in fashion section as he cover one of his colleague who went on maternal leave.

Jon protest at first because it's not his in his 'field' to write fashion inspire but editor said it's for his experience. Jon of course has to accept it to broaden his style in writing.

At some point he has been invited to a fashion competition to write an article about the latest issue about how fashion inspired by innovation based on common problem.

Lenore collection clothline gained his interest as it involved with winter season apparels. Coincidence, the collection has gaining favors from the judges and won the award and Jon were eager to write about it.

By that time, He meet the mysterious designer, Raven, as she collaborate with a newly establish company, AMZ.

Shortly after he wrote about the winning winter apparel collection, Damian contact him about the article.

"Hey, Dami! Haven't heard you since I've interview about Wayne's community project! How are you?" Jon excited as he answer his call.

"Miserable as always."

"About being in middle east?"

"About mother always asking who's the one drawing me on the notebook." Jon can hear Dami's heavy sigh.

"You should be lucky to have secret admirer who has same talent as yours."

"There's a sketch of me, nude on the page."

"... Well, she tried." Jon tried to hold his laughed.

"Anyway, since I'm reading your article about the winner for Fashion award, do you have any information about Raven?"

"As far as I know, she has associate with the company called AMZ." As Jon read his interview before.

"A newly operated company."

"Yeah." As Jon skimming the article. " You are interested in the clothing apparel design right? Perhaps thought for a collab?" His voice slightly higher as he excited.

"It's for the refugee and besides, it's someone from the same class with me."

"Let me guess, fashion drawing?"

It was along pause but Damian make a "hm" confirmation noise.

"Was it that girl?"

Another silent on the phone.

"I knew it!!!" Jon shouted.

"You're not helping, Jon." Damian grumbled.

"And I fucking hate you."

Jon making sound of victory as he figured out Damian's mysterious girl during their study time.

"Don't EVER tell Maya and Colin about this." Damian give a fair warning.

"I don't know, maybe it'll spill accidentally." Jon teasing him.

"I swear I --" the line cut off. Jon looked at the screen then shrugged.

Now, he has seen the girl and he recognise her. Rachel Roth, The head of AMZ company also speculated to be the mysterious rising star designer, Raven.