#so i pulled out my sketchbook for the last half hour and doodled a little

[piplupod]

epic win at old lady group today: the group leader was struggling with a tangled up loose skein of yarn, so i scampered over to the other end of the table where was sitting and offered to untangle it and wind it into a centre-pull yarn bal for her since I remembered how to do it from just the other day fjdkdl and she was very confused why i would WANT to do that but she let me :3

so i got to untangle yarn AND wind a yarn ball AND help someone i appreciate, three things i love doing - YIPPEE !!!

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 16 all chapters

~AUTHOR'S WARNINGS: N$FW, SEXUAL CONTENT, COPIOUS SWEARING, TOXIC POSESSIVENESS , IF SOMEONE TREATS YOU LIKE THIS IN REAL LIFE RUN RUN RUN BC IT WILL NOT TURN OUT WELL U CANT FIX THEM~

-Aware that John Wick knows this city much better than you, you stick to the crowds. You manage to find your way to the Peggy Guggenheim collection, and you hang out there for hours, looking through the art works, but really only half seeing what is in front of you.

You are devastated.

You’ve had controlling boyfriends before, and it was not fun. They seem exciting at first, until the person you were before is eaten alive by their tantrums and their ridiculous expectations as they try to fit you into a box of their own making.

You can’t believe John turned out that way.

Or maybe you can. Maybe you have a fucking type, and you should have seen this coming.

You stay almost until closing, then grab a bite to eat before daring to wander the streets. You find a little walled in park, a courtyard filled with lush greenery and a tinkling fountain. By some miracle, there is only one other couple on a bench at the far end. You practically have the place to yourself, and you sit down on a wrought iron bench with a sigh and eat your sandwich.

You pull out your sketchbook afterwards to pass the time. Your doodling hand wanders, and perhaps its no surprise when you draw John Wick from memory, his proud lips and haunted eyes. There are tears running down your cheeks as you do so. When it gets too much, even though you’re in public, you hang your head and weep into your hands.

Darkness falls, and you know you should be getting back. The bench has long ceased to be comfortable, and yet it’s like you have grown into it, unable to move.

Even with your head down, when someone sits silently down beside you, you just know it’s John.

You do not look at him, and thankfully he does not try to touch you.

“It’s getting late, y/n. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Yes it is,” he insists, sounding almost tired about it. You hate it that your demeanor softens towards him, just a little.

“You broke my heart, Mr. Wick.”

“I was afraid I might.” He is sitting with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. “Would you let me make it up to you?” 

“I'm not sure that's a good idea.” 

“No?”

“No. I think you have a mean streak.” 

He had tried to warn you, you realize, in his way.

God, are you really such a fool?

“Doesn't everyone?” 

You make a sound between your teeth, and he nods like you have said something profound. 

“I'm not a nice man, y/n. But I would be good to you.”

“Like last night? I didn't like that.”

The corner of his mouth curves in a wicked smirk, and your heart skips a beat in your chest, damn him. Was the contrition all an act?

“Yes you did.”

“Not the last part.”

“Hmm. I tried to warn you.”

In the vaguest terms possible, maybe.

“My fanny.”

He raises an eyebrow to that, and you’re not sure why that little gesture wounds you like a knife to the heart all over again. Perhaps because he is beautiful, and even though you know he’s dangerous for you, you still want him so very much.  

You start to cry again, and try to get up from the bench. You need to get away from him, because you can’t think straight when he’s near.

“Y/n, wait.” He catches your wrist, and when you don’t really fight him, he pulls you down into his lap, and goddammit if this isn’t what you’d wanted all along. You feel small in his arms, cradled against his long torso and sheltered in the bend of his neck, even if in your hindbrain you know you are not actually safe at all. He strokes your hair until you quiet, and he kisses your temple like you are something precious.

How can this man be so sweet, just to turn on you?

“Why did you leave me, like that?”

You just do not understand. You could have had a lovely, fulfilling, mind-blowing if not vanilla night together. He’d laid all the groundwork like a master orchestrator, and you would have let him fuck you senseless. Fuck, you wouldn’t have even minded the tying up part, if he just hadn’t humiliated you.

“Because…” His lips ghost along the line of your jaw, and you fight not to squirm as his large hand slides up your thigh, his fingertips feather light on your skin. “Only good girls get to cum,” he says low in your ear, and you hate how it makes you ache between your legs, to hear him talk to you that way.

Outwardly, you do your best to keep your cool.

“And touching your hair made me a bad girl?”

“No.”

“Disobeying you did.”

“Yes.”

“That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Maybe.” He actually seems a little amused by you, which is not the reaction you were expecting. “I like to be in control. But you make me feel...unbalanced.”

“Me?” You sound incredulous. The thought that you could affect this powerful man in such a way seems absurd.

“Yes, you, kitten.”

The urge to demand he not call you that desiccates on your tongue. 

“So...what? You feel the need to take revenge for that?” 

“Maybe. I thought you knew the game we were playing, when you batted those big eyes up at me. Mr Wick, Sir, aren’t I a good girl?” His fingers dig into your thigh with the memory, and you can feel his growing erection beneath you. “But you’re just an innocent, aren’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’re used to boys just eating out of the palm of your hand. But I am a man, with a man’s appetites, and a man’s desires.”

He was a little more than that, you reckoned.

“You want to control me.”

“That’s part of it.”

“Why?”

He smirks. “Maybe I had a rough childhood.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“I want to take care of you.” He kisses your cheek again, and it is gentle and sweet and everything you had wanted from Mr. Wick, before this all went sideways. “I want you to be mine.”

You are not proud of the way those words unleash a fluttering swarm of butterflies in your belly, your breath quickening in your chest. You are proud when you manage to answer, “I don’t need taking care of.”

He just snorts lightly at that, as if it’s not even worth arguing over. “Come back to the hotel room with me. I promise I’ll finish what I started. With interest.” His hand slowly slides up your thigh, just beneath the skirt of your sundress, and you think you might die. You should not want this man, after what he did to you.

The ache between your legs suggests otherwise.

You give yourself some points, when you shake your head.

“No. I’m going back to my hostel.”

The shift in his demeanor gives you whiplash, a thunderhead of a frown pulling his handsome features. “Need to get back to your little friend Javi?” The jealousy in his tone hot as a brand. “Did he try to kiss you again?”

Your heart drops to your feet.

“How did you know he tried to kiss me?” you ask, your voice so small.

That was in Rome, after all.

What should have been obvious before comes crashing in, and you realize what a little fool you’ve been. That feeling that someone’s been watching you, and John’s so convenient and coincidental appearance outside the alley…

“Holy shit. You’ve been following me.”

“I’ve been protecting you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You have no idea what the world is really like, sweetheart. It’s a dangerous place.”

You frown at this.

“So…you think I’m stupid?”

“No, of course not.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself then.”

“I think I found you wandering around here like a lost little lamb. There are monsters here who would have gobbled a sweet little treat like you up in one bite.”

The fact that he sees you that way is more alarming than the thought of some unnamed threat in the shadows.

For some reason it makes you think of the men in the van back home—and how that van was found empty and on fire.

“How do you know about the monsters, John?”

“I just know.”

“You said you weren’t a cop. Were you FBI?”

He glares at you, which you take as a no.

“Interpol?”

You are met with silence, and you nod, mostly to yourself.

“You know about the monsters because you are one.” You think about those fierce looking Italian men with their scars and their bespoke suits. His previous words echo in your memory. Sono retirato.

“Were you in the mob?”

“Not…specifically.”

Then you remember he’d said he was from Belarus.

“Bratva, then.”

You should be terrified as you work all this out, trapped in the circle of this man’s arms, but you feel strangely numb about it all.

“My clever girl.” He sounds almost sad about it.

“Not clever enough,” you sigh.

You are not sure who is more surprised, you or him, when you burst to your feet. You actually manage to slip out of his grasp, though you only make it three steps before he captures your wrist again with a grip like an iron manacle. He gives you a dark look, annoyed that you would even try to play this game with him.

You remember what you learned in martial arts class a lifetime ago, pointing your thumb down towards the weak point of his grip and trying to jerk free. It’s worked before, with grabby men.

Not with John Wick, though.

“Stop.” Again, there’s that steely tone. The alpha voice one uses to reprimand a naughty dog. It only makes you angrier, and you struggle.

He pulls you hard against him, and you bite his hand. He doesn’t let you go, just adjusts his grip. “I didn’t want to do it this way,” he snarls low in your ear. “But you are so fucking stubborn.”

“Thank you.” You try to headbutt him behind you, but he ducks into the bend of your shoulder. You feel his chest trembling against your back, and only belatedly do you realize he is laughing at you.

“Enjoying this?”

“A little.”

“There’s no fucking way you can get me out of here without someone seeing. Let me go.”

He just sighs into your hair, like you’ve said something extremely naïve.

The arrival of newcomers into the park catches both of your attention. You lift your head, ready to ask for help, when you recognize the besuited tough guys from before.

Well, fuck.

“You've got some balls, showing your face around here, John Wick. Gianna d’Antonio’s son sends his greetings.”

“This isn’t a good time,” he snarls in return.

“Sorry, are you too busy fighting with your little girlfriend?”

He actually releases you then, pushing you to stand behind him. They are blocking the exit, so for now, you comply.

“You know how this will go,” John says, assuming a ready stance, his feet spread. He almost sounds regretful about it. “Do yourselves a favor, and leave.”

“Can’t do it, John,” says the one in the lead.

“For fuck’s sake,” curses John under his breath. The lead Italian makes a move, and John bursts into action. He is like a tornado of carnage upon them, throwing punches and breaking arms, cutting tendons and stabbing throats.

You are absolutely frozen as you watch all this unfold before you.

That is, until one of the thugs throws a knife at John, and you watch it bury in his chest. This is the thing that breaks your spell, and you run towards the fray with a scream, though who the fuck knows what you intend to do.

However, like he wasn’t just stabbed in the heart, John takes another attacker’s gun, pistol whipping him with it before shooting the knife thrower, then the last one standing. It cannot have been more than minute, before all of them are dead at his feet. He leans on his bent knees for a moment, catching his breath.

“John?” You hardly recognize your own voice as you rush to him, certain he’s taken a lethal blow and somehow fought through it with the surge of adrenaline. However, when you peel back his suit jacket you find no blood. He lets you look him over with frantic hands, maybe enjoying the fact that you don’t wish him dead, before pulling the still protruding knife from the breast of his jacket.

When he produces the little leather journal you’d gifted him from his inside pocket, now gravely marred with a puncture through the cover, you understand.

“Holy fuck.”

“You saved my life,” he says with an odd little smile down at you, as though all this is normal and what you just saw is totally ok.

Utterly horrified, you run.

“Y/n, wait!”

You throw yourself into the dark winding streets, taking any turn you can, trying to stay out of sight. Your feet fly beneath you; even in your shitty strappy sandals, it’s the fastest you’ve ever run.

It’s not fast enough.

When strong arms close around you, lifting you from the ground, you try to scream. A big hand clamps over your mouth, and you find yourself pressed hard into a stone wall. “Please, calm down,” he pants in your ear, out of breath from killing four people then running you down.

Your answer of, “Are you fucking kidding me?” is nothing but muffled syllables.  

“Goddammit,” he sighs behind you, rifling in his pocket for something as he pins you with his body. “This is not how I wanted this to go.”

Your pitiful plea of “Let me go,” is cut off by an evil-smelling cloth shoved into your nose.

[sondepoch]

HC: They see MC’s sketchbook!

Art. It’s a private thing. Showing someone your work is akin to showing them a piece of your soul, an insight into who you are and everything that lies within. So when the Obey Me! boys get a glimpse of your sketchbook, they find themselves wanting for more—and all in different ways.

Word Count: 6.0k

*Mild NSFW themes for Asmo & Diavolo

Characters: All Brothers + All Undateables + Luke

MASTERLIST

Lucifer

At the beginning of the year, there is 0 trust between the two of you

Not only has he actively tried to kill you, but he’s already so suspicious of the pacts you’re making with his brothers that he can’t help but be wary every time you cross paths

So when he realizes that you’re always absentmindedly scribbling in a notepad every time you interact, he’s more than a little perturbed by it

100% thinks you’re secretly taking notes on his and his brothers’ behavior to use it against them

So, obviously, when he next sees you using it in his presence, he wastes no time in snatching the notebook from your hands

“Oh hey, Lucif—what are you doing?!”

“Nothing you should be concerned with, human.”

“That’s my sketchbook you’re holding!”

“Sketchbook?”

Instantly flips it open and sure enough, inside there’s nothing but doodles and sketches

luci.is.confuzzled.exe

He’s still convinced that there must be something incriminating in the book, so he continues flipping through it. But the more he sees, the more he realizes how wrong he is

It’s only when he flips to the section with his family that he begins to feel guilty

In the beginning, you just draw basic poses. Mammon, glancing at you over his shoulder. Asmo, posing for a camera. Beel, about to bite down on a hamburger. 

But the further he goes, the more elaborate the sketches get, and as he flips through the pages, he can feel the amount of work that has gone into each piece

And then he gets to the page where you drew him

Keep it lowkey, but he thinks his heart stopped for a second

He stares at the picture and wonders if that’s what you see every time he shifts into his demon form, because for the first time since his fall, he can’t help but think about how beautiful he looks. Everything looks so right in your art style, from the diamond on his forehead to the way his wings flutter out of his back.

It’s perfection

“I’m confiscating this,” He says quickly, not looking you in the eye.

He then escapes the room faster than you’ve ever seen, and never speaks of the incident again to you

But roughly a week later, you find a small red book on your pillow, and you know that it's a sketchbook from him, to replace the one he took

And even later—after the two of you grow close—you find your old sketchbook stored in his most secure drawer, locked away with a key he keeps hidden. And you know that he’s spent hours looking through the book on rough nights, through the doodles of him and his brothers and everything else you’ve ever drawn

And though he’s too proud to admit it, you know he loves your art 

Mammon

He found it when he was going through your stuff, absentmindedly checking to see if you had any valuables on you

And the moment he flipped open to see your little notebook of doodles, his mind went B I N G O 

He loves your art the second he sees it, spending a whole hour just sitting on your bedroom floor, flipping through the pages

Adores everything about your art style

And when he starts to see the little doodles you do of his brothers, he’s even more enraptured

You draw all the things he’s imagined but never seen: a sketch of Lucifer dressed in a onesie, snuggling a giant teddy bear. Beel, using a sleeping Belphie as a food tray for a pile of snacks as large as the sixth-born himself. Asmo with cat ears, being chased by Solomon, who appears to be a wolf.

And yet, there are no pictures of Mammon

Man is hurt by the fact that you’ve drawn all his brothers but not him. He’s your first man, after all. You should have been the first person he drew!

Gets a bit upset about it and throws your sketchbook back into the drawer he found it in, stomping back to his room with childlike indignation

Is just a bit petty about it afterward

“Hey, Mammon, can you walk me to school? Class starts in half an hour.”

“Huh? Oh, so now ya want me to do it, huh? Well, why don’t you ask Asmo instead?”

“Okay? I will???”

Soon everyone in the house has realized that Mammon’s being a bit off, and while it was nice at first to have peace and quiet from the resident troublemaker, you guys grow concerned pretty quick

And eventually, you go to his room to talk things out

Let’s just say that when you found out he’d been going through your stuff, you were not pleased. But seeing that he wasn’t going to be the mature one, you sucked it up and whacked the demon on the back of his head, telling him to “wait a second” while you went to “get something”

Cue the retrieval of your second sketchbook 

And when Mammon sees it, he’s not sure what he feels more of: guilt or happiness

Every single page in this second notebook is of him. Only a few are colored, but Mammon finds himself enraptured by even the casual doodles in the corners, where he’s doing little things like eating a banana or flashing the viewer a few Grimm

Man is touched. He’s never had anyone do this for him, and certainly not out of their own volition. So suffice it to say that when he tackled you for a hug that night, he didn’t let you go for a long time

And maybe some other stuff happened too. Who knows? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Leviathan

TSL

The second Levi sees you sketching in your artbook (after an incoherent stumble of words which you assume are synonymous with praise), the only phrase coming out of this man’s mouth is TSL

Begins begging you to draw fanart of the Shadow Lord, asking you to sketch him in different outfits, draw him in different poses, put him in various backgrounds, etc.

Basically wants you to bring his imagination to life

“Oh! Oh! Can you draw him baking a cake now? Wouldn’t that be so cool?!”

Absolutely does the wwooooooOOOOOAAAHAHHHHHHH sound effect every single time you show him your work, even if you’ve only made minor changes from the last time you showed him

He takes you on a spending spree, pulling up Akuzon and offering to pay for whatever supplies you want if you’ll just make him a super fancy poster

And so you start

It actually gets to be a pretty good way to grow closer: every day, after school, you head up to Levi’s room to work on the poster he asked you to make him. In exchange, he lets you borrow his manga and you guys watch anime together

Eventually, boi gets the idea of throwing Ruri-chan into the poster, and the second he thinks it he won’t shut up about it

“Oh, come on! You can do it—look, just put her in this little corner right here!”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Levi?! Ruri-chan and the Shadow Lord are two completely different characters who are meant to be drawn in completely different art styles! If I mush Ruri-chan into the corner, it’ll ruin the poster’s dynamic!”

“But pleeeeeaaaassseeeee?”

Cue extra pouty Levi

Eventually, you agree to make a separate drawing of Ruri-chan for Levi to hang up next to the poster, because you think that otherwise, he’ll go crazy

When the date rolls around where you’re almost done with everything, Levi formally sends out an invitation to everyone of importance

Man invites everyone from Luke to Diavolo over for the “revealing ceremony” where he plans to hang the poster on his wall

Actually tried to get the demon king to come as well, but Lucifer stopped him before he could get an invitation out

When everyone sees what you’ve been working on for so many weeks, they’re all MEGA impressed because hello??? they did not know you were this skilled???

It quickly turns into a competition, with each one of them trying to outdo each other with how vigorously they can compliment you

And soon enough you find yourself swamped with requests from every other demon in the room, begging you to make them something as elaborate as you did Levi

Satan

It’s a system you guys have set up, where every Tuesday and Thursday night, you’ll sit in the common room on the couch facing each other and will simply open your books to do what you will

You always draw, and Satan always reads

And neither will bother the other until the grandfather clock chimes twelve times, whereupon you both bid each other goodnight and wait for the next session where you do it all over

Except for today, that is

“What are you drawing?” 

Ah, there it is

The one question you were hoping Satan would never ask

You subtly (incredibly awkwardly) change the subject, commenting on the color of Satan’s jacket to distract him from his inquiry, and he picks up on the hint, quietly huffing as he turns back to his book 

But the mild irritation he feels doesn’t let him fully delve back into the realm of the nonfiction novel he was reading, so he’s more than a little distracted as he goes back to reading about human anthropology

And it’s in this state of distraction that he notices the little glances you’re stealing every so often, before returning to your sketchpad

Yeah, it doesn’t take long for Satan to put two and two together

“Are you drawing me?”

An incredulous question, asked in such an offending tone

He sounds so irate by the fact that you can’t help but helplessly deny it, muttering something about drawing plants and flowers instead

But Satan doesn’t believe it, and in an instant he’s standing behind you, staring at the sketch in your hands which has oh-so-beautifully captured the essence of him on the couch, engrossed in a book with the light from the flames in the fireplace flickering gently against his skin

The anger at being drawn without having agreed to it quickly melts into a quiet awe for your skill

“Can I see your other drawings?” He asks gently, no longer irritated but actually impressed

“I-I’m not sure if you’ll want to—”

“Nonsense. Show me.”

And so you do

You hand him the sketchbook, avoiding his eyes as he flips to the very first page—and imagine his surprise when he sees that even that is a sketch of his face, though the artwork is significantly less advanced than the piece he just saw. Satan flips to the next page, and then the next, and the next, and sure enough: they’re all of him

“I-I just needed a model to practice my artwork on,” You mumble, gaze fixated on the couch. “And you were right there, so I couldn’t resist...and then I needed a model again. And again. And you were always there, and I know I never asked, but I’m sorry, and if you don’t want me to, I won’t—“

“Nonsense,” Satan murmurs, pressing a finger to your lips. His smile has never looked as sincere as it looks now, his gaze flickering back and forth between your face and the sketchbook in his hands

“I’ll be your model, if you so desire it. Just tell me how you want me to sit.”

Asmodeus

Your model for everything

You’re trying to draw the Hulk and you a good frame of reference? And you need a really muscular model? And Beel ABSOLUTELY fits the bill? 

Yeah no, Asmo’s your model

You want to draw a child? Someone small and short, roughly the exact same height as Luke (who is an ANGEL and would absolutely help you)? Yeah no, Asmo’s still going to be your model.

Want a cute guy? Asmo. Cute girl? Asmo. Cute animal? Still Asmo.

Man refuses to leave you alone - the second he learns that you’re an artist he insists on gracing your work with the holy sight of his body

Highkey wants to model nude

And you’d be lying if you said that he was a bad model—man can hold a pose for hours without moving even a little, his only fault is that he talks incessantly—but you can easily quiet him by saying that you’re drawing his lips - and the moment you do so, he’s suddenly he’s stiller than a statue,  doing his absolute best to remain frozen so that you can capture his perfection

Boi posts 100% of your content on his Devilgram, and while you were hesitant about it at first, now you’re just used to it

Thanks to him, you’re a lowkey celebrity

Like demons love your art style 

It’s apparently very refreshing and human-like as compared to the dark and dreary art found in the Devildom, so people go wild over Asmo’s Devilgram page for it

Man thinks that they’d go even more wild if you drew something where he modeled nude

In fact, it’s lowkey a business deal that the two of you have - you allow Asmo to post your work on his Devilgram (giving credit to you, of course), and in exchange he pays for all your art supplies, acts as your model (though that’s really more of him wanting to than it being your choice), and even goes as far as to keep Mammon apart from you while you work, insisting that you need “privacy” and “quiet” while you draw

100% acts like he isn’t even more chatty than Mammon when given the chance

On the bright side, it’s thanks to these weekly art sessions where you draw and Asmo models and talks that you’re always up to date on the latest gossip. You’re 100% caught up with the fact that Zahhak just found out he has another illegitimate son and that Baphomet just liked Rusalka’s post from fourteen centuries ago

So yeah, the two of you have a mutually beneficial relationship

Asmodeus still insists that one thing would make it better though: him modeling nude

But Asmo is a sweetheart about everything, and he goes out of his way to pamper you 

Specifically, your hands—after all, those are what work your artistic magic!

Expect him to always be peppering your dominant hand with kisses, massaging it whenever you look tired, giving you weekly manicures completely free of charge, all out of the goodness of Asmo’s heart

*ahem* and weekly requests to model nude

Beelzebub

a m a z e m e n t 

Boi is entranced

Like, he’s so mesmerized by your art that he’s not even paying attention to the food sitting right in front of him, simply opting to stare more intently at the drawing you’re holding up so eagerly

It’s quite beautiful, really: The seven demon brothers surrounding you, a reworking of a photograph Lucifer took a few months ago but in your art style. And for that last fact, Beel thinks he likes this version better

“Wow,” He finally manages to say, still too impressed to really think of anything else

He lets his brothers shower you in praise and compliments, silently nodding along and agreeing with every plaudit they thrust your way

But the moment you’re alone, expect to be scooped into his arms and carried to his room

Boi instantly wants to know the process

When do you draw? How long does it take? Where do you do it? How are you getting your supplies? Who pays?

It’s not so much the physical process he’s interested in, but rather the nuances of art that make your work look so you. He’s not interested in learning for the sake of doing, but simply for the sake of understanding because he already appreciates your art so much

Absolutely invites you to his room to have you show him the art process the next time you start working on a piece

And after the first time, then, he invites you back a second - then a third - and then the two of you have settled into a routine where after school, you come to his room and pencil away in your sketchpad, with Beel watching in the background, munching on snacks

It’s quite relaxing for him, actually

He likes watching as you bring a piece together, going over previously flat areas with a second layer of shading to make certain elements pop—and even if he doesn’t completely understand what you’re doing, he’s entirely willing to learn, listening peacefully as you explain what the various tools do

By the end of the month, man has actually memorized all the names of your supplies, handing them to you every time you ask for it - be it something as simple as a request for an eraser or just the blending stump

Lowkey, your work has actually improved since you began working up in Beel’s room

Not only does he have the most comfortable setup, but the man pampers you like royalty, always making sure that there’s water or food for you in case you need something

(And if you do happen to require something that isn’t already in Beel’s room, man will 100% get it for you so that you don’t have to stop what you’re doing)

Honestly, it’s the perfect arrangement: he gives you the ideal working space and you give him hours upon hours of intrigue

And if you happen to begin sitting in his lap one day while you work, something which quickly turns into a pattern, who’s there to stop anything? ;)

Belphegor

Man naps

A lot

And you just happen to be his favorite pillow, so it’s hardly a surprise when all your free time is spent in the presence of a dozing Belphie, always passed out over your legs

So once, just once, you pull your sketchpad out from under your pillow and work on it, a cautious eye trained on the seventh-born’s every move in case he stirs

And when that first time goes smoothly, you pull your sketchpad out a second time

Then a third

Then a fourth - and suddenly, you’re caught in a pattern

It was really just a matter of time until Belphie woke up one day and you didn’t notice

And it’s already too late when the drowsy demon lifts his head, peering curiously onto your lap to see what you’re working on—much to your horror

“Y-you’re awake,” You mutter halfheartedly, a sick feeling settling in your stomach as you watch the demon’s expression shift as he studies your artwork

You hate it

A bubble of anxiety begins to rise, fear over whether he will like your work or call it bad, whether he’ll make fun of your work or tell the brothers, whether he’ll be kind about it or mean

But then, much to your surprise, he flops back onto your lap, utterly unphased

“Nice,” The demon comments casually, stretching as he rests his head along your thigh. “It’s pretty.”

You can only blink as he falls back asleep, utterly confused as to what just happened

He woke up, right? And he saw your art? And he complimented it, telling you that he thought it was nice and pretty?

A sound of disbelief escapes your mouth as you try to process the utter nonchalance with which the whole exchange had concluded with, your shock only interrupted by the light sound of Belphie, who’s already snoring

You groan

But now that Belphie has seen your work, it’s not like there’s much point in hiding it any longer, right?

You pull your sketchbook out, silently continuing to work on the design that the man napping on your lap had said to be “nice,” adding some finishing touches to it 

And when Belphie wakes up, he speaks nothing of the entire exchange

From that point and onward, you become a little more comfortable around him, relieved that you don’t need to talk about it with him

And he gets it

For all your free time, while he naps, you draw, and the two of you find a comfortable form of peace together, an odd tranquility lurking in the fact that there are no questions, no answers, just you and him, the sound of scribbling and snoring, your sketchpad and his pillow

And really, who needs anything else?

Solomon

He’s probably the first one to realize, on his own, that you’re an artist

The two of you have nearly all your classes together, thanks to Lord Diavolo, so it’s hardly surprising when the ever-astute sorcerer picks up on the fact that every time he casts you a second glance, you’re working on some mysterious sketch underneath your desk

Doesn’t really care at first

Until he sees your work

Man actually stops when he picks your sketchbook up off the ground, inspecting the page it had flipped open to after you dropped it

“Holy shit”

Doesn’t even ask for permission, he just begins browsing through the sketchbook, growing more and more impressed with each new page he sees

You only snatch the book back from his hands when you realize that the sketch he’s staring at so intently is one you drew of him, thanking him for picking it up with a huff and awkwardly trying to remove yourself from the situation as fast as humanly (heh, yes that is a pun) possible

Wizard boy stops you, ofc

“Come with me”

“But I have class soon—"

Again, doesn’t even wait for your agreement, man just drags you by the forearm to the library and flips open a book, throws down his own notebook, and demands that you use your “art skills or whatever” to help him

Sigh

Precious wizard boy isn’t very good with words when he’s all worked up

It takes you a good 5 minutes to understand that he wants you to compare the summoning circle outlined on the book with the one he sketched to identify where he went wrong, because apparently you have an “artist’s eye” and therefore you should be able to assist him - and he refuses to believe you when you try to convince him that no, this is not your strong suit and you will likely be unable to help him

He gets whinier than Asmo (probably where he gets it from) and will not stop nagging you even as you try to leave, so eventually you just give in and agree to try to help him - and it wounds up being surprisingly easy for you to realize that he missed the secondary outline of the inner circle, among another few minor mistakes

Huh, maybe you are naturally inclined toward this

From that moment and onward, Solomon decides that you are officially valuable (not only do you have magical potential, but you have an eye for summoning circles too? how UNFAIR) and begins spending all his time with you

Doesn’t really care about the fact that you’re an artist at first—is really more interested in how your skills can be applied

But then one day, after a particularly rough night of going through twelve whole summoning circles for twelve powerful demons, he takes a nap and wakes up to find you passed out on the floor, sleeping on top of your sketchbook where you fell asleep doodling him

Highkey touched

And slowly, he begins casually “falling asleep” around you more often, to see and flip through more of your artwork when he wakes up 

Sigh

Bby is fucking shady even when he does wholesome shit

Simeon

Okay let’s be real

There’s no peace with the seven demon brothers. Solomon is chaotic. Luke, as much as we love him, is just a lot to be around. And even with Barbatos next to him, Diavolo is a walking tornado that tends to wreak havoc whenever he wills it (and he usually wills it).

So honestly, being with Simeon is the only place of tranquility you can find in the entire Devildom

Specifically, his room

*Which is off-limits to all the aforementioned individuals

He extended the invitation for you to spend some “relaxation time” in his quarters whenever you pleased at the beginning of the year, his angelic heart already sensing the absolute whirlwind of disaster you were walking into when you joined RAD

And while you declined his offer immediately out of politeness, you found yourself sheepishly knocking on his door not one week into the program

And now it’s become an every-day sort of thing

So yeah

Simeon knows about your art

In fact, you can’t seem to draw unless you’re in his presence, because at this point, he naturally soothes you so much that your hand is only steady when you hear the sound of his calm breathing in the background

In fact, you work best when the two of you are spread out on his couch, your back resting comfortably on Simeon’s shoulder while he writes (yes, he manually writes all his books on pen and paper) and you put your legs up on the couch, sketching away in your notebook

It’s the very image of peace, something you can’t seem to find anywhere else in this realm

And Simeon, bless his heart, may be a master of calligraphy, but the precious angel cannot draw to save his life - a fact which you have taken it upon yourself to handle

See, the angel gets tired every now and then—understandable, given that he produces literal masterpieces at his hands

And so when he gets tired, what does he do? 

Make incomprehensible doodles in the upper left corners of his papers

So, of course, you’ve taken it upon yourself to bring those doodles to life (even if it requires a half-hour of inspection before you can make out what the sketch was supposed to be) and Simeon loves it

The expression of eagerness that surfaces every time you inform him that you’ve finished a piece is so rewarding, because the childlike glee with which he takes the paper from your hands to inspect it always sends a rush of warmth to your heart as he gushes in appreciation

But uh 

Simeon is a special kind of chaotic, something that manifests every time he doodles something on paper

You stare at the angel in disbelief as he informs you that his latest doodle (what appears to be a banana-looking creature in sunglasses?) was actually a monkey ironing clothes—unsure what to say in light of this information

But it’s okay :) There only needs to be one artist in this relationship, and it clearly isn’t him

Luke

It started with cake

He needed “inspiration�� to make something for Barbatos, as a thank-you gift for the pastry lessons the elder gave him, but Luke claimed that everything he made, while it tasted fine, lacked in the aesthetic department

And while normally you would play it Simeon-style, leaving it to the younger angel to handle things on his own so that he can grow individually, you felt too bad watching him discard another batch of cupcakes into Beel’s mouth, rubbing his head in aggravation over how annoying it was that nothing was looking right

So you helped him out

It was nothing major, really

Just eight doodles—subtle yet elegant designs for a triple-tiered cake, childish and bouncy arrangements to store flan, little details in frosting to give cupcakes the added element of specialty that makes them infinitely better

But the second Luke saw your paper, he went wild

Boi was running to the kitchen so fast he barely even had the time to shout “thank you” 

Apparently, your little sketches sparked inspiration in him so strongly that the flames burned til midnight (much to Simeon’s disapproval), but when Luke was finally done with everything, he walked out of the kitchen with a tray of desserts that looked so perfect it was hard to imagine that he brought them to life from your sketches

Luke spent ages thanking you, shoving desserts down your throat even when you insisted that you were full, so unimaginably grateful that you helped him out of what he called “chef’s block”

Each “thank you” was accompanied either a brownie or a slice of mango mousse or whatever new pastry Luke was creating that day, and before long you were getting to enjoy luxury foods on the daily (much to Beel’s jealousy)

Boy only believed that the debt was paid when you told him that there was no debt to pay, that you sketched those quick little doodles for him out of kindness and not obligation

Believe it or not, Luke’s eyes actually welled with tears for a second at that, before he wrapped you up in a giant (is it really giant if the hugger is so little?) hug, wailing something about you being too “pure” and “perfect” for the Devildom, and that one day you would be very happy in the Celestial Realm

You pat his head, telling him that if it truly made him this happy, you would be glad to help him out again and sketch some food doodles whenever he wanted some new ideas

Cue another round of hugs, muffled crying, and sobs about how amazing you are

Barbatos

Barbatos knew, of course

Not because he used his powers or anything, he would hardly use them for something so trivial, but he was aware from the start that you were an artist because it was he who prepared for your arrival in the Devildom, ensuring that you had all the same amenities and comforts you were used to in the human realm

And, as such, that included art supplies

So the very moment he set his eyes on you, he was aware that you were an artist

What he didn’t expect was for you to actually be good at it

He sees your sketchbook when he’s casually strolling through the RAD library, finding you completely knocked out on one of the tables, the spiral binding of the sketchpad still digging indents into your cheek where you lie on top of it

At first, the butler rearranges your position as a courtesy

He lifts your head and rests it on your hand - which makes a much softer pillow -  coincidentally placing your books back inside your bag and taking a moment to organize the papers strewn across the desk

But then he just happens to glance inside

And the second he does, he’s mesmerized

There’s not much in the world that can surprise Barbatos - not after he’s looked after Diavolo, of all people, for so many millennia - but the butler still finds himself holding his breath as he flips through your sketchpad, each piece telling a story so evocative that it leaves him wanting more even when he arrives at a blank page, abruptly realizing that he’s just gone through your entire sketchbook without your permission

Of course, you just have to wake up at that precise moment - sleepy eyes glancing up at the butler and wondering if you’re hallucinating, but the book in his hands is far too real and the shocked expression on his face is impossibly jarring and you flinch, suddenly feeling self-conscious as you realize what must have happened

Barbatos is a perfect gentleman about it, kindly telling you to get more rest so that you don’t pass out in a public library surrounded by demons who want to eat your soul, but he ends the sharp warning with a rather kind remark about your artwork

“I liked the second-last piece best,” He murmurs, casting you a cryptic smile before bidding you farewell

And obviously, the moment he’s out of sight, your nose is buried in your sketchbook, fingers flipping furiously to find the second-last piece you drew which you cannot seem to remember at all, and—

Oh

A flush immediately erupts on your cheeks as you see the colored sketch, something inspired by nothing more than a whim

It’s simply two people on a walk—both of them vague imitations of what your mind had wistfully conjured up—one of them bearing the telltale mismatched hair and olive green eyes, the other sharing a quiet resemblance to yourself - a conscious decision, of course

But just as you’re about to flip off the page, another detail you’d forgotten about draws your attention—and your cheeks suddenly burn in embarrassment as you realize why Barbatos singled this piece out

The figures are smiling, gazing at each other from the corners of their eyes. And there, in the very center of the piece, it is obvious: 

They are holding hands

Diavolo

RIP to Diavolo’s royal painter

They have been replaced

By you

As much as you fought it, as much as you argued that you were not fitting of this position, as much as you pleaded with the demon lord to not force this title upon your shoulders, Diavolo’s decision to appoint you as the honorary Devildom painter was final—and nothing can change his mind once it’s made up

The title is really just that: a title. Diavolo knows that you’re a busy student, and while he honored your artistic talents with this position, he’s not about to actually force you through the expected proceedings of a true royal painter, not while you’re trying to survive being an exchange student in hell with an entirely unfamiliar curriculum in front of you

But on occasion, he’ll send you a text, asking if you’re free

And you’ll head on over to his palace, ready to paint him

And unlike every other demon, angel, and human in the Devildom, when Diavolo models for you, he actually models nude

Asmo is jealous

Sexual tension is high when you paint him, let’s just leave things at that

And honestly, it really doesn’t matter what you paint - Diavolo seems to be more interested in the fact that it’s a human who did the art in the first place

He once saw your RAD binder, noticing the little doodles you’d drawn on the corner of all your papers, and he immediately took them—declaring that they were art to be preserved for all eternity for historical documentation purposes

So yeah

There’s a hall in Diavolo’s palace filled with your RAD math homework, an eternal reminder of the assignments you copied off of Solomon

(You’re not sure what’s more embarrassing: the fact that you’ve drawn some rather inappropriate doodles on those pages or the fact that, despite having copied all the answers, you still managed to get nearly one-third of the problems wrong, and now your mistakes are to be showcased in the Devildom for centuries to come)

It gets to the point where you and Solomon start making bets over how basic you can get with your art for Diavolo to still consider it “amazing” and “utterly awe-inspiring,” as he likes to put it

In honor of that bet, there is currently a banana peel with a few marker doodles on it hanging in a preserved case in an iced room in the lowest levels of the palace, as none of the “art” can be wasted

But in truth, the demon lord’s fixation with human culture is endearing, especially when Diavolo tries so hard to be accepting of it

So eventually you stop giving Diavolo wacky art and actually start putting your full effort into your creations—your reward being the fact that the final piece you complete gets hung in Diavolo’s private bedroom, where he promises to gaze at it every night for the rest of eternity, vowing to remember his time with you every time he sees it

[duvetsandpillows]

Lucky One

Pete Davidson x Reader 

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Swearing, mention of needles, slight angst, drug use

A/N: This is my first Pete fic but I think I will definitely be writing more. Please let me know what you think!

I sat in bed, joint in one hand, lighter in the other. I’d been staring at the wall for the past half hour or so, drowning in my thoughts, forgetting the joint I’d been fiddling with was there to be smoked.

I was thinking about everything and nothing all at once. Have I taken my antidepressant? What do they do with the bagel holes? You’re gonna be alone forever. Don’t forget your earring is behind the back left leg of the desk. New thoughts beginning before the last one could end. I was exhausted yet I hadn’t done anything to warrant feeling so drained. I’d only left my bed to piss.

“Hey you home?” I glanced over at my door, reality setting back in, before realizing how messy my bed was; sketchbook and pencils scattered everywhere, weed crumbs and ash from not paying attention to what I was doing and empty monster cans. I kicked as much as I could off the end of the bed before putting the long forgotten joint to my lips and sparking it. The door slowly opened, Pete standing in the doorway holding a bag and a coffee.

“Whatcha doing in bed B?” he asked climbing into the bed handing me the coffee. I took a toke and thanked him while passing him the joint.

“I just don’t feel like moving. I feel like shit, my brain won’t stop for just a second. I just want everything to stop.” My voice breaking as I began to fight back tears. He blew smoke into the air, putting his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side, handing me the joint.

“Breathe B, you’re gonna be okay. I know that sounds like bullshit but I’m here to help you through it.” I took a take and wiped a stray tear from my eye. “It’s always been me and you hasn’t it, that’s not gonna stop now. Did you take your antidepressant today?”

“I can’t remember,” I squeaked, letting the tears win the battle. Pete put his other arm around my chest and squeezed tight, resting his hand on the back of my head and rubbing his thumb.

He would whisper little pick me-ups every few minutes while I cried. “At least you didn’t walk straight into a street light like I did.” I looked up to see him pointing to a small bruise on his forehead. “I saw a woman carrying a dog in a baby sling thing and then boom! Street Light.” I giggled before taking a deep breath and wiping my tears with my sleeves.

“I guess you could say she threw you off your rhythm.” He rolled his eyes and pushed my head playfully before chuckling.

We’d been friends practically our whole lives, yet it was rare for us to talk about deep shit. Not because we didn’t care but we were good at talking each others minds off all the bullshit. 

“Movie, smoke, munch? I brought gushers and twizzlers.”

“Only if I get to pick.”

“Obviously, you always pick.” I scoffed and sat up, rolling my eyes.

“Bullshit, we constantly watching The Mule.”

“Not my fault you can’t appreciate a masterpiece,” he said as he grabbed my rolling tray from the end of the bed and I began flicking through Netflix for something to watch.

“Your hair looks nice by the way,” he mumbled, eyes focused on rolling the joint. I glanced over at my reflection in the mirror, I looked as if I’d just climbed out of the hedge. I smiled and thanked him, deciding to put on Knocked Up.

Pete told me what he’d been up to all week and who the guests were gonna be while we watched the film. I made him a twizzler ring and he attempted to make me a bracelet but he couldn’t work out how to get the knot to stay tight.” After a couple more joints I sat up on my knees and faced him.

“Could... I maybe colour in your tattoos?” I asked, placing my hand on his leg to stay balanced, realizing how high I was after not moving for so long.

“Yeah of course, which one first?” I smiled and pointed to the unicorn on his arm and leant off the end of the bed to grab my pens, Pete grabbing hold of my foot as I almost fell off. After I’d finished the unicorn I moved onto the direwolf underneath. Pete was flicking through the pages of my sketchbook as I added icy blue to the eyes.

“Y’know,” he started, passing me a joint, “I reckon you could be a tattoo artist. You could even practice on me.” I stopped and looked at him a bit taken back.

“I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Maybe you should.”

Once I finished the direwolf I looked up to see Pete had dozed off, I smiled and pulled a blanket over him, moving the sketchbook off his lap. I rolled a joint and glanced at the open drawing of a group of clouds I’d been working on but hadn’t yet worked out what should accompany them.

I thought about what Pete said and picked up the sketchbook and a pencil. I smoked while drawing Frank the bunny’s head from Donnie Darko. It was my favourite film and Pete had watched it with me countless times.

After an hour or so I finished the outline and most of the infill with different shades of blue. I felt Pete roll over and put his arm across my lap. I looked down to see him, eyes half open, observing my drawing.

“That’s amazing.” His voice gruff and low.

“Thank you,” I said passing him a monster from my bedside table. He sat up partially and took a sip before handing it back to me. “Good nap?” He nodded and laid back down into my side.

“You should put that on me,” He kicked his leg out from under the blanket and pointed to the side of his thigh. “Here would be perfect.”

“If you’d like.” He sat up again and gently tore the sketch out of the book.

“Come on then.” I frowned and tilted my head slightly. “There’s a guy that could do this now, you could get one too?”

I stared at him in a bit of shock, not expecting him to actually want one of my pieces on his body. I thought he was saying it just to be nice. Also as I’d never considered getting a tattoo before. Not because I didn’t like them but more because I was nervous; I wasn’t great with needles and if tattoo’s would suit me.

“You up for it?”

“What if I look awful with one?” I blurted, Pete’s smile morphed into confusion.

“Why would you look awful?” You always look great.” I could feel my cheeks getting warm and I couldn’t help but ever so slightly smile. “Plus I think you’d look hot with one,” he mumbled handing me the sketchbook, open to a small drawing of a sheep I’d done high while watching Shaun the Sheep.

“It’s small, if you want it to be hidden then it’s easy.” I looked down at the doodle and thought about it for a moment.

“Fuck it lets go.”

I sat on a chair next to Pete watching as the tattoo artist, Jon, carefully traced over the light purple outline in dark blue ink. I began adding to my sheep. A few clouds in the background, similar to the ones on Pete’s.

“What you doing?” I handed him the paper, glancing over at his leg, in awe at how it was turning out. I looked back at Pete who was smiling at the drawing. I held out the pencil to him, when he didn’t notice I poked his arm with it.

“Ow, dick,” he said pouting and rubbing his arm. “What am I meant to do with this?”

“Add something to it, you got a piece of me,” I pointed to his leg. “Your turn.”

“I can’t draw like you and-”

“And I don’t care. Draw.”

While Pete drew, not phased at all by the needle going in and out of his leg, I chatted with Jon, asking him question about how he became a tattoo artist and what it’s like. I was slowly becoming more interested the more I watched him work. Once he was done he turned to me.

“You ready?” he asked, I nodded nervously and Pete passed him the design. Pete swapped places with me after taking a look at it in the floor length mirror. I decided to get it on my arm as I decided I wanted to always be able to see it now Pete had added to it. I told them I didn’t want to see it until it was finished, wanting Pete’s addition to be a surprise. I looked over at Pete, nerves starting to kick in a little.

“Have I ever told you I’m not brilliant with needles?” He chuckled and took my hand in his.

“Yep,” I winced as the needle hit my skin. “Like the time you gave blood because you thought that nurse was cute and threw up all over him before fainting.” I chuckled before biting the inside of my cheek and gripped his hand tight. “You’re good, just keep your eyes this way,”

Pete kept chatting with me and rubbing his thumb on the back of my hand, keeping me distracted from the pain.

“Should I be nervous with what you drew? It’s just clicked how much trust I’ve given you.” He pursed his lips, holding back either as smile or a laugh. “Pete...”

“Nah nah nah, it’s not that bad, but you said to add a bit of me. Trust me you’ll love it.” I raised my eyebrows before gripping his hand again, feeling a muscle in my arm unintentionally spasm.

“You’re good, it happens sometimes, we’re almost done here.”

After ten more minutes it was all done and he was wiping it up. It was aching it a little but I was really excited to see it.

“You ready to see it?” I nodded and looked at my arm to see the best tattoo I could imagine. The clouds were a beautiful combination of greys and whites, my sheep now with a spliff in its mouth and a second, slightly wonky looking, sheep with a spliff also in its mouth and sunglasses on. It kind of looked like a child drew the second sheep but I loved it even more for that.

“I put our initials at the bottom so we don’t forget who is who.” I giggled looking at his scruffy handwriting underneath. “So... what do you think?”

“I fucking love it!” I said wrapping my arms around him hugging him as tight as I could. “Thank you Pete.” I pressed a kiss to his cheek and let Jon wrap my arm up in cling film.

We grabbed some Taco Bell on the way home, I was designated DJ and he driver. I was, questionably, rapping along to Colson and Corpse’s new song while Pete laughed at me. He slipped his hand into mine, giving it a small squeeze and continued driving and started rapping along as if that was a normal for us to hold hands. I smiled and gave his a squeeze back even though I was a bit shocked. Shocked but yet it felt normal.

“You can roll the next one, my arm aches,” I said flopping onto my bed.

“Is that gonna be your excuse for the next week?” 

“Did it work?” I looked up to see him shaking his head and chuckling as he picked up the rolling tray.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” I smiled and winked as it sat up. 

“You’re lucky too, you get to look at this cute face all the time.” Pete leant forward and took my hand, pulling me into his lap.

“What would you say, if I asked you out... to dinner or something?” I wrapped my arms around his neck and furrowed my eyebrows.

“What like a date?” His smile and confidence drained from his face immediately and I had to force myself to hold back a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be no, I just- aw fuck.” I started pissing myself laughing, holding onto him tight to keep my balance.

“Yes I’d love to go on a date, if you hurry up and roll that joint, I teased winking at him, swinging myself off his lap. “I’ll even put on The Mule yeah?”

“I’m definitely the lucky one.”

[thatkidwholikesthunderbirds]

TAG Mini Bang 2021

Hey fam, This is mine and the amazing @katblu42′s contribution to the @tagminibang. Katblu42 wrote the story, of which I love so much, and i made a couple of doodles to go with it.

We both worked really hard on it, hope you enjoy.

***

Deep Water

The summer is drawing to an end when an almost-twelve-year-old Virgil is lumped with looking after little bro Gordon for the day. When a simple walk in the woods becomes more than they bargained for, the pair must work together to overcome their fears.

Written by @katblu42

***

“Hey, Virgil. Whatcha doin’?” Gordon bounced down the stairs and watched his brother carefully pack his brand-new artist’s set of watercolour pencils, mini easel, and sketchbook into his backpack, using one of his hoodies for padding. “I’m gonna go out on the top track and try out my new pencils. It’s gonna be a really nice day for practicing landscapes. I want to try and capture the way the light filters through the trees and . . .” As Virgil excitedly rambled on about all the things he wanted to draw, Lucy emerged from the kitchen with a lunchbox packed with sandwiches and snacks and two water bottles for Virgil to add to his bag. She ignored the eye-rolling from the younger boy, who obviously didn’t share the enthusiasm for artistic inspiration. Placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder as she handed him the last of the supplies, Lucy smiled. “Sounds like the two of you are going to see all kinds of wonders today,” she said. Virgil opened his mouth to question, but she didn’t give him a chance to speak. “You’re going to take your brother with you.” “But . . .” was all Virgil managed to squeak out, while Gordon sported a look of surprised incredulity. “It will do you both the world of good to spend some time together, just the two of you.”

Lucy knew these two didn’t always get along, mostly due to Gordon’s talent for finding exactly the right buttons to push to try Virgil’s patience. In fact, Gordon did that with everyone, but it somehow affected Virgil the most potently. Lucy, Jeff, and the other boys had little tolerance for Gordon’s annoying antics, but the fact that Virgil usually had an abundance of patience was exactly why Gordon got under his skin so much. With Virgil, Gordon would keep on pushing, keep needling, insistently nagging until that patience wore thin and caused Virgil to react in frustration. As a result, Lucy had noticed Virgil tending to avoid spending too much time with Gordon. But today she needed to pair them up together. Grandma would be by any minute to pick up Scott, as she was helping him log extra flying hours towards his pilot license while Jeff was away for work. John had already left for the library where they had been running a special summer program in the AV centre focussing on early space exploration because today was the last day he’d be able to see it. “Aw, Mom!” Virgil whined. “If he comes, I won’t get any drawing done.” “Yeah, Mom,” Gordon joined in, wrinkling his nose, “can’t I stay with you?” “Nope!” Lucy ruffled Gordon’s unruly blond locks. “I have errands to run today.” Gordon groaned. He hated being dragged all over town when his mom was running errands, mostly because the entire day was usually spent listening to her tell him he couldn’t run off too far or do anything fun – getting up to mischief, she called it. Lucy knew her day would be difficult enough with a toddler in tow without adding a hyperactive six-and-a-half-year-old to the mix. For a moment, she felt for Virgil. In a way, he had a point. He’d have to keep Gordon occupied, which would take his focus away from his artistic endeavours, but she had faith that the two of them would find a way to make it work. She stood between the two boys and, with a hand on a shoulder of each, pulled them into a hug. “You two go out and have fun.” She placed a kiss on first Virgil’s and then Gordon’s forehead. “Be good, look after each other, and don’t get into any trouble!” She ushered them through the door and watched them head out, turning back to wave goodbye to her from the front gate before continuing westward towards the top track. She would always worry about her boys out there on their own, but they all knew the rules and had repeatedly been warned of the various dangers contained within their little patch of wilderness. Virgil was not inclined to be reckless or break the rules, but the lure of an interesting view could distract him at times. Looking after a younger brother would help keep his attention more focused. It was one of Lucy’s secret weapons. Pairing a big brother with a little one always seemed to make the big brother more inclined to obey the rules and watch for dangers.

The two boys made quick progress across the open paddock towards the trees, Virgil striding out confidently, Gordon occasionally having to run for a few steps to catch up. Once they reached the track that wound its way through the trees, the pace began to slow. Virgil’s gaze wandered as he walked, noticing in great detail the colours of the foliage and tree bark, the stark contrasts formed by shafts of sunlight filtering between the trees and highlighting this branch or those leaves. He would hear the cry of a bird and look up, searching the treetops to see if he could catch sight of the culprit. Despite the distractions, however, Virgil didn’t stop walking. He had a destination in mind, and he was keen to get there so he could start drawing. Gordon found distractions of his own along the track. He’d hear skittering noises in the dirt and leaf litter beside the track and stop to see if he could spot the creature that had scuttled away. He found spiderwebs woven between the trees and bushes, and noted with interest whether or not the spider was home and if they’d caught anything. He, too, would search the trees and sky for birds that called out their various songs. Unlike Virgil, Gordon stopped often and would have to run to catch up to his bigger brother, usually after Virgil called out to him to hurry up. After falling behind for the fourth time, Gordon decided to run ahead along the track a bit. That way Virgil would have to catch up to him! He stopped short when he came to the fork in the track. An idea struck him, and he jogged back to his brother. “Hey, Virgil?” He had a glint in his eye that the older boy knew well enough to be worried about. “We should go down to the lake!” “No.” “Oh, come on! Why not?” His voice was verging on whiny and his expression close to a pout. “We’re not supposed to go to the lake on our own, it’s –” “We’re not on our own, we have each other!” Gordon didn’t want to give Virgil a chance to argue or talk about possible dangers. “We’re not gonna do anything dangerous or anything. It’s nice by the lake. Besides, you said your pencils were watercolours. Shouldn’t you draw something with water?” “That’s not . . . Uugghh!” Virgil sighed, rolled his eyes, and rubbed a hand through his hair. He knew steering this particular brother away from water was going to be a hard sell, and if he was honest with himself, his little brother was right about the lake being a good place to draw. It would give him an opportunity to practice drawing reflections, which was something he’d been wanting to experiment with. And the view across the lake was pretty spectacular. But swimming in the lake could be dangerous. If they went to the lake, Virgil knew his entire day would be spent watching Gordon in the water. Gordon studied the expression on his brother’s face for some sign of what he was thinking. He had that look of intense concentration he used when he was figuring out how to fix something. Virgil slowed to a stop and looked down at Gordon. “If we go to the lake –” As Virgil spoke, Gordon’s face broke out in a wide gap-toothed grin as he sensed he had won. “I said if! If we go to the lake, you have to promise me you won’t go for a swim. I came here to draw, not play lifeguard.” “Aww! Virge, it’s summer! It’s a great day for a swim.” His smile was gone, and he now had to trot alongside his brother as Virgil began walking again, setting a brisk pace. He was going to have to fight hard to get his way. “Pleeeeease!” No reaction. “What if I promise not to go in any deeper than up to here?” He indicated his waist. Virgil’s eyebrows drew down into somewhat of a scowl, but he slowed his walking pace again. “You have to stay dry above the knees,” he said. “Yes! Okay, I can do that.” Gordon’s big, infectious grin was back, and he literally bounced with happiness and excitement at his victory. “I promise I won’t go in past my knees, and I’ll be good so you can just do your drawings.” Virgil tried to keep his expression serious, but his little brother’s glee was so irresistible he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Pretty soon he was grinning too, and they headed down the left fork in the track towards the lake. As they descended the narrow trail, weaving between trees and larger rocks, the hard-packed dirt underfoot gradually giving way to sandy soil, Gordon’s excitement was barely containable. He ran ahead down the track, calling to Virgil to hurry, ran back to his brother urging him to walk quicker, tugging at his hand, gave up, and ran ahead again before he could even see Virgil roll his eyes. The whole process was then repeated. Twice. Soon enough the trees lining the track thinned out, allowing glimpses of dark blue water. The track curved, and suddenly they emerged from the trees onto an expanse of silty sand with the lake spread out before them, rippling and glistening in the sunlight. The dark greens of the trees on the far side of the lake separated dark blue water from pale blue sky on the horizon. Gordon ran straight to the water’s edge, while Virgil took a moment to take in the entire scene. The lake itself didn’t cover a particularly large area, but it was very deep in places. Virgil estimated that it was more than half a mile from side to side, north to south, and possibly as far as three hundred metres to the trees on the other side from where Gordon now stood. The hills to the north funnelled water down into the lake via a network of creeks and streams. The surface of the lake looked relatively calm, but it hid unpredictable undercurrents as the water worked its way to the small stream that trickled away from the natural dam at the lake’s southern tip. There were a few tiny islands dotted throughout the lake, most of them closer to the far side, some large enough to have trees growing on them, others no more than large rocks with their tops protruding from the water. A short walk along the water’s edge northward took Virgil past a small wooden pier with a little dinghy tied to it, gently rocking and bumping with the lazy motion of the water. Beyond that, the flat sand gave way to a series of rocky, sloped banks. Picking his way up over some of the lower rocks, Virgil climbed up onto a large, relatively flat boulder that afforded him a good view and room to set out all his materials. He could see the beach (as Gordon called it) and his brother discarding his shoes and socks so he could explore the shallows and the little boat attached to the pier, with the water stretching away before him. Once he had carefully unpacked his easel and sketchbook and placed his pencils beside him within easy reach, Virgil began to sketch out some rough outlines. It wasn’t long before Gordon popped his head up over the edge of Virgil’s rock platform.

“Is that all you’ve done so far?” he asked with curious disbelief. “You should use more colours.” “Gordon.” Virgil’s tone was a warning. “Okay, okay,” Gordon said, raising his hands, palms outwards. “I just wondered if it’s lunchtime yet. I’m hungry.” Virgil resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he looked at his younger brother, searching for any signs of mischief and finding none. He realised Gordon was probably right, it was time for lunch. Virgil had been too caught up in what he was doing to notice how long it had been since they’d eaten breakfast. “All right, let’s see what Mom packed for us to eat.” He dug the lunchbox and water bottles out of his backpack while Gordon climbed up onto the rock and sat cross-legged beside him. Neither boy was surprised to find their mom had provided each of them with their favourite sandwich toppings, and they ate hungrily. Gordon would have polished off all the snacks too, but Virgil prudently suggested they should save those for later. They washed the sandwiches down with a hearty helping of water, making sure to save some of that too. When their little picnic was done, Gordon started to scamper back down over the rocks. “You can go back to drawing now,” he delivered a parting shot with that cheeky grin, “I’m gonna go see if I can find any fish.” “Stay out of the water,” Virgil warned. “You just ate.” “Ugh! I’m not stupid, Virgil! And besides, I’m only going in up to my knees, remember!” “I remember. I’ve just gotta make sure you do!” Virgil watched as Gordon started to clamber down the rocks. “Stay where I can see you!” he called after him. “And be careful! The rocks can get slippery.” “I’ll be fine!” Gordon yelled back, and added under his breath, “Spoilsport.” “I heard that!” Virgil didn’t see Gordon poke his tongue out before he ran off along the sand to go and get his feet wet again. He stood in the shallow water, running his hands over the slimy reeds looking for little fish. He spent some time digging his toes into the sand to see what little creatures came darting out into the water as it clouded around his feet. Virgil’s focus was split between the landscape that was rapidly developing on the paper and keeping tabs on Gordon. Every little, excited exclamation had Virgil looking along the beach, wondering what his brother had found. But his attention was inevitably pulled back to his watercolour sketch. Coming out of the water for a while, Gordon picked his way along the sand, gathering a pocketful of stones before finding a spot to stand and skip them across the surface of the lake. He was pretty proud of the one he managed to get to skip eight times before it sank. The clicky slap of the first skipped stone had Virgil’s head turning to watch, making sure his brother was still keeping out of trouble. He wondered who had taught Gordon to skip stones and fondly remembered Scott showing him how it was done. Gordon was actually pretty good at it, and he kept at it for quite a while. After that, Gordon wandered closer to the trees looking for beetles and interesting insects. He even took one or two of them over to show Virgil. He did the same with some of the smooth pebbles he’d found, especially the ones that had pretty colours or unusual patterns. Virgil liked those ones, he could tell. And every time he returned to Virgil up on his rock, while he munched on a snack or took a drink of water, he took a peek at what his brother was drawing. There was one main drawing of the view across the lake that was more and more detailed every time Gordon saw it, but there were some other smaller sketches too. Gordon wasn’t sure if they were like little practice drawings for things that Virgil wanted to add to the main one or if they were something else. It looked like some of those extra sketches included him, some were of the treasures he’d brought to show his brother, and some he couldn’t quite decipher yet. The afternoon sun beat down on them, too high in the sky for any shadows long enough to provide decent shade. Virgil barely noticed, but Gordon felt the heat. He had climbed back down from Virgil’s perch and was now sitting on the end of the little boat dock dangling his feet in the water. He kicked his feet, splashing and watching new ripples form. The water was pleasantly cool against his legs, but his head and shoulders yearned for that same refreshing feeling. He looked out across the lake, longing to jump in and immerse himself in liquid heaven. He was regretting his promise. “Gordon,” Virgil called down to him, “stop splashing around so much. I don’t want you falling in.” In response, Gordon just sighed. A gull squawked nearby, and he watched it wing its way to a large rock protruding from the water, joining other gulls and ibises sunning themselves. It was the closest island to where he sat, and it didn’t look too far to swim to. It was so hot. It would just be a quick swim. “Hey, Virgil,” Gordon called out, twisting his body around to look up at his brother, “how far do you think it is to that big rock out there?” Virgil took a moment to stand up and stretch muscles that he hadn’t really moved in nearly two hours. He looked where Gordon pointed and couldn’t help doing a rough calculation in his head to estimate the distance, but he knew where this question was leading. “Too far,” he answered. “You’re not going to swim to it. No deeper than your knees, remember?” “But, Virge . . .” “No, Gordon! It’s dangerous. We don’t swim out that far when Mom and Dad bring us down here, I’m not letting you go out there alone.” “But I’m a good swimmer, and the water’s really flat and calm, and it’s so hot . . .” “I said no!” Virgil was almost shouting now. Why wasn’t Gordon listening to him? Couldn’t he see how bad an idea this was? “It’s gotta be at least eighty metres out to that rock, and you can’t see the currents at work under the surface or the reeds or the cold spots or how deep it is. It’s not like swimming in the pool in town.” “Eighty metres is easy! I already have my two-hundred-meter freestyle achievement certificate. I’ll be out there and back in no time.” As he spoke, Gordon started removing his T-shirt. “Gordon, don’t!” Virgil’s heart was hammering at his rib cage like it was trying to break free, and he started making his way down the rocks towards the boat dock, knowing he wasn’t going to be quick enough. “Bet I’ll do it in the fastest time ever. Time me, Virgil.” And with a flash of a wicked grin, he turned and dived into the water. Virgil ran across the sand and onto the wooden dock, heart still pounding fit to burst as Gordon swam away. All he could do was stand there and watch. As scared as he was, he couldn’t help being a little bit in awe of his little brother. Even though he was little, he was a good swimmer. From his very first swimming lesson two years ago, he had been very much at home in the water. He learned fast and seemed to have the knack of skimming the surface of the water when he swam – unlike Virgil, who always felt like he was fighting the water, trying to stop it from pulling him down. He didn’t mind admitting that Gordon was a better swimmer than he was, but the little fish had no experience with open water – or getting out of trouble on his own. It wasn’t long before Gordon was halfway to the rock island, and everything seemed to be going fine. Virgil even managed to start to relax a bit. It seemed like he was going to make it out there just fine. His pace had slowed a little, but that was to be expected. Then suddenly something wasn’t right. Gordon had slowed right down, almost to a complete stop, his legs no longer breaking the surface with his kicks. He rolled onto his back and made a couple of awkward backstrokes, then he went under. Just for a millisecond. But it was enough to have Virgil scrambling to get into the dinghy. Gordon tried to shout, but the effort seemed to cause his head to bob under again. Virgil rowed as fast as he could, his head twisted to look over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off his little brother, praying each time he went under that he’d see blond hair break the surface again. Swear words repeated over and over like a mantra with every stroke of the oars. Strong, long strokes propelled the little wooden boat through the water. He fought back panic. He would get there in time. He had to get there in time. He had to save his brother. Gordon seemed to be losing the battle to stay afloat, arms flailing, panicking, bobbing and spluttering. He knew Virgil was trying to get to him, and he was desperate to keep his head above water until he got there, but kicking was difficult and painful. His left leg was not obeying. He’d never experienced a cramp like this before. Virgil finally reached the spot where Gordon had just gone under again. Leaning over the side of the boat, mindful of leaning too far and capsizing, he grabbed a flailing arm with one hand and reached the other into the water to grab a handful of blond hair. He ignored the shock of the cold mere inches below the surface and hauled his brother up far enough for him to gasp for air. He adjusted his grip and dragged Gordon into the boat, where he lay coughing and spluttering, shivering and absolutely terrified. Virgil sat, boat rocking beneath them, breathing hard and equally terrified, watching his brother, grateful for the coughing because at least he knew he was still breathing. “You okay?” Virgil panted out once the coughing had died down a little. “Cramp!” Gordon gasped out in reply, indicating his left leg. “Calf muscle? Here?” Virgil was kneeling with Gordon’s left foot resting on his thigh, fingers gently kneading into his calf. Gordon responded with a nod and a little groan of pain. Virgil spent a few minutes massaging the cramped muscle. He wasn’t sure if Gordon’s tears were from the pain in his leg or fear or relief, but he suddenly felt like he’d do anything to stop them. All he could offer were words of reassurance. Words that comforted both of them. “It’s okay, Gords. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” Virgil’s fingers worked methodically, gently, gradually relaxing the muscle, relieving Gordon’s agony, and calming both of them down in the process. Gordon was soon wriggling his leg free of Virgil’s grasp to sit up on the floor of the little rowboat. He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs, still shivering. “Hold on, Gordon.” Virgil shifted himself back onto the seat and took up the oars. “Let’s get you back to shore and then we can warm you up.” Rowing back to the wooden dock seemed to take so much longer than it had to row out into the lake. Virgil wasn’t sure if this was because there were currents working against him or if he was just a great deal more tired now. Or maybe it was the lack of terrifying urgency driving his actions on the return trip. Either way, he was grateful to make it safely to the dock and get the boat secured. Gordon was adamant he could get out of the boat on his own, but Virgil’s assistance was accepted readily when he found himself unsteady on his feet. Virgil retrieved the T-shirt Gordon had so hastily tossed aside earlier and draped it over his little brother’s back. It didn’t take much convincing for Gordon to remain sitting on the dock in the same knees-huddled-to-chest position he’d adopted in the boat while Virgil raced up to his rock platform to retrieve all his gear. He also made a quick dash across the sand to find Gordon’s discarded shoes before returning. He didn’t like how quiet and still the normally boisterous boy was. The paleness of his skin and the fact he was still shivering – or perhaps trembling – worried him even more. The now damp T-shirt had been pulled on over his head but offered little in the way of warmth. “Hey, Gordon. Arms up,” Virgil instructed, holding his own hoodie ready to slip over the blond head. Gordon did as he was told without comment or complaint, seeming to Virgil a little like some sort of robotic puppet. The hoodie was way too big, but it was soft and thick and most importantly dry. With head and arms now inserted into their correct holes, Virgil knelt in front of Gordon and pulled the hoodie down over his entire tucked-up body. Not even his feet protruded from beneath the hem. He then wrapped his arms around the whole bundle of little brother and rubbed vigorously to generate some heat. “Virgil?” Glossy brown eyes peeked out from beneath the sweater’s hood. The voice was quiet and had a quality to it that felt somehow small and uncertain. “I’m sorry.” The look in his brother’s eyes, more than the words, stung Virgil somewhere deep inside. “What?” Virgil answered. “What for?” “I didn’t listen. You told me not to and I . . .” “That doesn’t matter now.” Virgil’s arms tightened ever so slightly around him, and Gordon rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. “All I care about right now is making sure you’re okay.” For a moment, the two boys stayed locked in the embrace, Gordon letting the feeling of safety envelop him, Virgil feeling the rise and fall of Gordon’s chest with every breath. He was relieved to find his brother relaxing into an even, steady pattern of deep breaths. There was no sign of any wheezing, and the coughs and splutters seemed long gone. “Come on. Let’s get you home,” Virgil said softly, giving Gordon’s back one final rub before releasing the hug. He slipped his backpack straps over his shoulders, held his hands out for Gordon to take so he could help him onto his feet, then lifted him up into a reverse piggyback hold. Gordon’s arms looped around his neck, and his legs wrapped around his waist without hesitation or protest, and Virgil set off for home at a slow but steady pace. The gentle but constant incline of the path back to the top track gave Virgil quite a workout with the additional weight he carried, but he took it in his stride. Gordon remained so still and quiet, hooded head resting against his left shoulder, Virgil thought he might have fallen asleep. He tried not to jostle his bundle of brother too much as he picked his way up the hill. When he reached the relative flat ground where the lake path rejoined the top track, Virgil took a moment to catch his breath, and Gordon stirred. “Hey, Virgil?” he said quietly. “When we get home . . . we don’t have to tell anyone what happened, do we?” “Gordon, we have to tell Mom. You nearly drowned!” Gordon caught his brother’s gaze and for the first time saw there was fear in those deep brown eyes. It made something in his insides feel fluttery. “But I’m okay,” he pleaded. “You saved me.” “I pulled you out of the water, but . . .” Virgil wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence and sighed. “If you got any water in your lungs, that would be bad. I’m not sure exactly how it works, but sometimes it can make a person have trouble breathing hours after they’ve been rescued from drowning.” “Oh.” The initial response was almost whispered, then Gordon’s features and tone brightened. “But –” “Did you swallow any water?” Virgil cut him off. “Because the water in the lake could make you sick if you did.” Gordon’s brow creased. “No. I don’t think so. Maybe?” Virgil sighed once more, then began walking again. “I don’t want to scare you, Gords, but what happened out there was a big deal.” “I know,” Gordon whimpered, and held on to Virgil a little tighter. “But I’m not scared now. I’m safe. I was afraid. In the water, when I thought . . . when I couldn’t . . . It was scary, but now I’m not scared because you’re here and you saved me.” Virgil remained silent. “Would it be less scary for you if you stay with me until you know I’m not going to get sick or stop breathing?” Gordon whispered. The rhythm of Virgil’s footfalls faltered for a step or two. “I promise I won’t leave your sight until you’re sure I’m okay. Then we don’t have to tell Mom unless I get sick. Okay?” For a moment, Virgil couldn’t say anything. The lump in his throat was too much of an obstacle. He blinked a few times to clear his swimming vision, huffed out a ragged sigh, and hitched his brother a little higher on his hips. “Okay, Little Fish. You got a deal. I won’t tell Mom, and you and I stick together like glue for tonight.” Not long after their deal was struck Virgil’s steady paces brought them out of the trees and into the paddock, with home in sight. It seemed they had beaten Lucy home, as her car wasn’t parked in its usual spot, but John’s bike was neatly leaned on its stand next to the others, and Virgil suspected Scott was already home too.

He was relieved to finally climb the stairs and deposit Gordon gently on his feet on the front porch. Slipping off his backpack and rolling his shoulders to ease tired muscles, Virgil followed his younger brother through the front door and into the kitchen. He might have known Gordon would gravitate towards food. At least this was a good sign – if Gordon was hungry, then he probably wasn’t feeling any ill effects from swallowing lake water. “Oh, look. It finally happened,” Scott said with a smirk and an elbow to John’s ribs. “One of Virgil’s hoodies grew legs and walked away.” “Ha-ha,” Gordon replied as he grabbed the jug of juice from the fridge. “Seriously, Gordon,” John spoke up from his seat at the kitchen table, where he and Scott had been finishing their afternoon snacks, “what’s with the hoodie? It’s gotta be ninety-six degrees outside.” “He just wanted to prove me wrong,” Virgil chimed in, walking straight to the cupboard and grabbing a couple of glasses. “I told him he would disappear completely inside one of my hoodies.” He noted the suspicious looks but ignored them as he poured juice for himself and Gordon. “How was the space thing at the library?” As John began eagerly explaining in great detail the highlights of the interactive exhibition, Virgil met Scott’s expression of curiosity with his best nothing-to-see-here shrug. He knew the innocent look he tried to project wouldn’t be enough to prevent Scott from seeing straight through the change of subject. Scott’s sapphire-blue eyes had the ability to cut like diamonds, and right at that moment Virgil felt the full weight of their scrutiny. He tried to give a reassuring smile and turn his attention to John’s increasingly fast-paced account of the space exhibit. “Actually, that sounds pretty cool,” Gordon said with an air of surprise and a warm smile at the conclusion of John’s animated description. He drained the dregs of his glass of juice and turned to Virgil. “I’m gonna go upstairs and change clothes.” “I’ll be up in a minute,” Virgil replied. Gordon left the room at a trot and bounded up the stairs. Scott and John were both back to studying Virgil intently. “What?” “Why’s Gordon so attached to you all of a sudden?” Scott asked. “He’s practically asking you for permission to leave the room.” Virgil’s gaze flicked between the blue and the turquoise, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “I don’t know. I guess we just had kind of a good day.” It was the only thing Virgil could think of to say. “You two spent the whole day together and you’re not sick of the sight of each other?” It was John’s turn to question the lack of frustrated bickering that would normally have surfaced between them. Virgil just shrugged, finished his own glass of juice, and picked up his backpack. “I’m gonna go put this stuff away.” He left the room, deliberately not hurrying but desperate to escape from the interrogation he felt was coming. As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Gordon’s bedroom door opened. He was wearing his clownfish pyjamas, and Virgil couldn’t help but grin. “Virgil?” Gordon packed so much uncertainty into just his name Virgil was a little concerned at what might be coming. “Do you think maybe . . . I mean could we, maybe . . . Do you wanna build a blanket fort with me?” “Actually, I think that’s a pretty great idea.” When Lucy arrived home, wrangling a grizzly Alan who had missed his afternoon nap, and exhausted from a rather frustrating day full of unnecessary delays at every stop, she found Scott and John in the kitchen getting dinner started. Neither had seen the other two boys in a while, so she settled Alan in the living room with his favourite cartoon and headed upstairs to investigate. She found them in Gordon’s and Alan’s room. At least, she found evidence that this was where they had been for some time. Half of the room was obscured by a complex construction created out of pillows, blankets, and assorted bed linen supported by various pieces of furniture and some rather ingeniously rigged clothesline string. “Well, look at you two in here together, thick as thieves!” Lucy said as her head emerged from between two blankets that served as the entrance. “Hi, Mom! We’re building a blanket fort!” Gordon explained excitedly. Virgil rolled his eyes. “She can see that, doofus.” “And it is quite an impressive feat of engineering.” She winked and smiled. “What did you boys get up to on your walk today? Lots of exciting adventures, no doubt.” A look passed between the two. “Nothing,” Gordon blurted out, just as Virgil spoke. “Not much.” Virgil added a shrug and a somewhat apologetic expression. “Just . . . boy stuff.” “Yeah, Mom. Boy stuff,” Gordon repeated emphatically. “We can’t tell you because you’re a girl.” Lucy’s head tilted slightly, an eyebrow raised, and the corners of her mouth and eyes began a slow upward quirk into a smile. She wondered what they were up to, but she was happy the two of them were getting along well. “Hmm. Does this boy stuff include any drawings I’m allowed to see?” If they wouldn’t tell her where they’d been, perhaps she could discern something from Virgil’s sketches. “Can I show you later? Tomorrow maybe?” Virgil squirmed a little under the inquisitive gaze of those soft, honey-coloured eyes. Usually he loved sharing his artworks with Mom. She always praised the bits she thought he’d done well and knew exactly how to suggest little improvements without making it seem like he’d made mistakes. Sometimes it felt like she saw more in his drawings than what he’d put in them. “Okay,” she said, changing tack. “Are you two coming out of there to join the rest of us for dinner?” Another look between the brothers. The plot thickening before her eyes. “Can we come back in here after dinner?” Gordon asked. “Could we, maybe, both sleep in here for tonight?” Virgil followed up quickly. Lucy studied the faces of her two brown-eyed boys. These two were not regular partners in shenanigans. There was something going on here that she was not quite sure she understood just yet, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in what they were asking. “I don’t see why not,” she answered, and was rewarded with two beaming smiles. “Go wash up and you can set the table while I help your brothers finish up in the kitchen.” Dinner for the most part was about as chaotic as usual. Alan was still irritable and played with more of his food than he ate, making a mess of himself and the table in front of him in the process. Scott and John both gave lengthy answers to their mom’s enquiries about how they had spent the day. There were all the usual arguments over who would get the last helpings of this or that as plates and dishes were rapidly emptied, their contents hungrily devoured. Virgil and Gordon managed to talk about the more innocent parts of their day, clinging to descriptions of what plants were flowering, the types of birds they saw, the spiders and beetles and butterflies, rather than any specific mention of the lake. As the scrape of knives and forks on plates finally died down, Lucy began clearing serving dishes off the table. “How about tomorrow we all have a day at the pool?” Standing behind her water-baby as she spoke, she gave his hair a ruffle. John and Scott were both quick to answer with excited affirmatives, Alan enthusiastically exclaimed “Swim!”, but she didn’t see the panicked look that flashed across Gordon’s face as he looked across the table at Virgil. “That sounds great, Mom,” was Virgil’s reply as he kept his eyes firmly on Gordon, trying to relay a sense of calm reassurance that he didn’t really feel. If anyone noticed Gordon’s lack of enthusiasm at the suggestion, no one made mention of it. Perhaps his reaction was lost in the flurry of activity as the table was cleared and Alan was escorted upstairs for his bath. Virgil did notice an odd expression cross Scott’s face as he watched Gordon begin loading dirty cutlery into the dishwasher, but he said nothing before leaving the kitchen. John and Scott had helped cook dinner, so Virgil and Gordon were left to load the dishwasher and tidy the kitchen. “Gordon?” Virgil caught his little brother’s attention with a gentle flick of a tea towel, and a sullen expression was his reply. “Don’t you want to go to the pool tomorrow?” Gordon shrugged. Virgil kept his voice low, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation. “You always get excited about going to the pool. You’ve been begging Mom to take us every day for the entire summer. People will ask questions if you suddenly don’t want to go.” The look in Gordon’s eyes was a complicated mixture of fear, sadness, and uncertainty that had Virgil once again wanting to do anything he could to take away the pain. He was about to say something more when he heard John’s voice carry through from the living room and thought better of it. The discussion wasn’t over, but it would have to wait. The rest of their kitchen duty was completed in awkward silence. Chores done, they headed upstairs, back to their blanket fort. They had barely begun to settle into the pile of pillows and cushions when a small hand, followed by a headful of slightly damp blond hair, poked through from beneath a blanket wall. Bright blue eyes sparkled as a giggle escaped through a cheeky grin. “Peek-a-boo!” Alan exclaimed and wriggled his way into the enclosure. “Alan!?” Lucy parted the fort’s entrance with her arms so the blankets draped like a stage curtain. As her eyes came to rest on her littlest, a wave of relief was reflected in her fond smile.  “Say good night to your brothers and I’ll read you a story.” Liberal good-night cuddles were dished out to both big brothers before Lucy ushered Alan out so she could bundle him into bed. “You two – shower or bath, teeth brushing – go!” she instructed. By the time Virgil and Gordon had washed and brushed and were attired for bed (again in Gordon’s case), Alan was asleep, the bedroom was illuminated only by Alan’s star projecting night light, and their mom was holding her finger up to her lips. “Shh. Try not to wake your little brother,” she whispered. She gave each of them a hug and a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t stay up all night!” Virgil and Gordon were soon alone and comfortably secure in their plush fortress. Their flashlights had been propped between pillows and furniture so they provided a soft glow amid the cosy gloom. “Talk to me, Fish,” Virgil said softly. “You’ve been so quiet since dinner. Are you feeling okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” Gordon’s slumped posture added to Virgil’s impression that his brother looked pretty miserable. “It’s just . . .” A huge sigh escaped his tiny frame. “You’re worried about tomorrow?” Virgil finished for him. “Do you think I could tell Mom I have to do some reading for school or something?” Virgil’s eyes widened and his heart dropped into his stomach. His little brother might not be physically sick or injured, but he was not okay. “You know that’s not gonna work, Gordon. You’ve been pestering her all summer to take you to the pool. If you suddenly don’t want to go, she’s going to be super suspicious. And nobody will believe that you would ditch the pool in favour of schoolwork. Especially in summer!” “I know.” Another sigh. A long silence. “It’s just, when Mom said we’d all go to the pool tomorrow I . . . Normally I’d be really excited, but this time I kind of got scared.” “What are you scared of?” Gordon thought Virgil’s question was a pretty stupid one considering what had happened at the lake, and his scowling glare communicated as much. “I mean, what exactly scares you about going to the pool? Are you afraid you might get into trouble like you did in the lake?” Gordon’s expression turned more quizzical as he considered what Virgil was trying to say. “Because the pool is going to be very different from the lake. The water is clear. You can always see the bottom. The temperature is controlled and kept fairly warm. There’s a lifeguard on duty all the time keeping everyone safe, and we’ll all be there with you. You won’t be on your own, far from shore.” “I guess.” “Gordon, you love the water. You always have, even when you were tiny. You’re always happiest when you’re in the water – even if it’s just the bath or splashing in puddles.” “Not anymore.” “You have to get back on the horse,” Virgil said absently, almost to himself. “What? What horse? What does that have to do with the pool?” “It’s a figure of speech. Something Grandpa says. If you fall off the horse, you’ve gotta get right back on. You can’t let one bad experience make you scared forever, and the sooner you get back up on the horse after falling, the easier it is to ride again.” Gordon looked uncertain. “So, you’re saying that I have to go to the pool tomorrow and get back in the water or else I might be scared of swimming forever?” “I’m saying you have to go to the pool tomorrow because swimming makes you happy. You’re good at it, and you can’t let today stop you from doing something that makes you light up like Fourth of July fireworks and grin like the Cheshire Cat.” There was another long silence. Gordon scooted a little closer to his big brother and rested his head against Virgil’s shoulder. “Will you stay with me tomorrow? At the pool?” Virgil wriggled his arm under his brother and tugged him closer. “For as long as you need me to,” he affirmed. “We’ll start off in the shallow end. Mess around for a while, just getting wet, splashing about. Pretty soon you’ll be swimming like a fish and I won’t be able to keep up. But I promise I’ll stay close and watch out for you, okay?” “Okay.” Despite how tired he sounded, there was a brightness to Gordon’s voice that caused a wave of relief to sweep over Virgil. The day’s exploits had exhausted the two boys. Their little nest was cosy and warm, and the close contact between them helped relax them both as they quickly drifted off to sleep. But Virgil’s usually sound sleep was disturbed by unpleasant dreams. Twice he woke suddenly, heart pounding and breathing hard, certain that something terrible had happened and with an unshakable need to check on Gordon, only to find him safely asleep beside him. He lay awake after each nightmare, watching the even rise and fall of his brother’s chest, noticing every little twitch and murmur made as he slept. He had a feeling it would be a while before he could completely shake these nightmares, but it was comforting to think that Gordon had been spared the same kind of disruption through the night.

*** Morning dawned bright and warm, and despite the duvet cover preventing much sunlight penetrating the sanctuary of the fort, Gordon was awake with the dawn chorus. He tried to let his brother sleep, happy to listen to the soft snores and try not to giggle, but he quickly became impatient. Virgil woke to gentle but insistent poking to the ribs and the repeated whispering of his name. When he peeled his eyes open, he was greeted with brown eyes mere inches in front of his own and a beaming smile. “We’re going to the pool today, Virgil,” Gordon whispered with a hint of excitement. “You have to get up.” “Okay, okay,” Virgil managed to somewhat grunt as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he registered the expression on his little brother’s face, the gleam in the eyes and the fact that the smile still hadn’t faltered, and a smile of his own spread from the depths of his heart and across his face. The mixture of nerves and eagerness thrumming through Gordon all morning was enough to give the rest of the family the impression he was full of barely contained excitement fitting for the day of a visit to the pool. He repeatedly asked when they would be leaving and was repeatedly told they would head out after lunch. He offered to pack everyone’s towels and Alan’s floaties into a bag ready for later, and he fidgeted and bounced his way through to lunchtime. After lunch, as promised, Lucy piled all the boys into the family car and drove them to the public pool. She paid their admission, and they all tumbled through the turnstile. As usual, Scott, who had never grown out of wanting to go everywhere at top speed, and Gordon raced away to find them a spot on the grass where bags and towels could be unceremoniously dumped before they hit the water. By the time Virgil and John joined them, T-shirts had already been discarded and comments about the fate of the last person into the water were being bandied about. When Lucy was finally able to set down her load of Alan and the bagful of necessities required for their day out, her four oldest boys were already racing towards the Olympic-sized pool. Scott first, John not far behind, and Gordon practically dragging Virgil by the hand.

Lucy kept an eye on her boys happily splashing about with each other in the shallow end of the pool while she got herself and Alan stripped down to their bathing suits and slid Alan’s floaties on over his head and arms. They had started a game of Chicken Fight by the time she slid herself into the water and lifted Alan down into her arms. John, sitting on Scott’s shoulders and Gordon atop Virgil’s, were locked in grappling combat. Scott and John had the advantage of both height and reach, and it was not long before Gordon toppled into the water. A rematch produced the same result in short order, and Gordon exacted revenge by distracting Scott with an underwater pantsing, causing him to break his hold on John, who overbalanced and slid from Scott’s shoulders into the pool. Lucy and Alan laughed along with the others as Scott protested foul play. Handstand competitions and a game of Freeze Tag followed. Lucy took Alan to the toddler pool where he could splash about more freely, instructing the older boys to behave and try not to bother other pool users too much while she was gone. Virgil was pleased to see that, just as he’d predicted, Gordon was happily swimming rings around them all as they played. He’d stuck close to Virgil at first, but after the Chicken Fights, he was swimming farther and faster in his efforts to escape being tagged and spending longer underwater with every passing minute. It seemed he had slipped right back into his home environment without any lasting dramas. As the afternoon shadows grew long, one by one Lucy’s boys returned to their spot on the grass. She and Alan had grown tired of the water first, and Alan had even had a short sleep amongst the pile of towels as they waited for the others to tire themselves out. Scott was first of the older boys to tire of swimming and return to towel off and dress in dry clothes, with John quick to follow. Lucy was a little surprised at how long Virgil lasted in the water until she spotted him sitting on the edge of the pool with just his feet and lower legs in the water watching Gordon as he shot back and forth across the free-play area, dodging strangers. She gave a shrill two-finger whistle. Virgil, recognising the signal, turned his head to look back at her, and she beckoned with her hand to indicate it was time to go. It seemed to take a while to convince Gordon to get out of the pool, but Lucy was not surprised. The car ride home was a fairly quiet one, the boys having spent a great deal of energy over the course of the afternoon. They brightened at the suggestion of ordering pizza for dinner when they got home, and there was a brief buzz of conversation when she mentioned their father would be home by the weekend. He had only been away for two weeks, but the older boys had never really grown out of getting excited by his return. This latest trip wasn’t as far away as Mars or even the moon, but the prospect of having Dad home again still triggered that same feeling of welcoming someone who had been long absent. He may not visit space for work any longer, and his absences could be measured in days instead of months or years, but it was always great to have him home again. “He already has big plans for this year’s Last Day of Summer,” Lucy mentioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “It’s only ten days away now!” While Scott and John speculated on what their dad might have in store for the annual family day at the lake on the last weekend before they went back to school, Virgil felt a small hand slip inside his and squeeze. He looked to his left at Gordon staring silently out the car window and gave a slight hand squeeze of his own in reply. While today had helped, it was obvious his little brother was still harbouring some fear of returning to the lake. There was no chance for Virgil to talk one-on-one with Gordon when they got home from the pool. As was fairly normal in the Tracy household, there always seemed to be someone else around or something that needed doing, and before he knew it, Gordon was already tucked in bed and reading a bedtime story with Mom. Virgil took a little longer than normal in the shower, needing the time alone with his thoughts. If Gordon acted anything less than excited about going to the lake for Last Day of Summer, it wouldn’t be long before their little secret would come to light. He had to find a way to get Gordon’s confidence back, but he was starting to wonder if he could manage on his own. With something like this, he would normally talk things out with Scott. It felt wrong to be hiding something from him and even more wrong to be hiding things from Mom. He was beginning to wonder whether he should just let the cat out of the bag and tell the truth, but he really didn’t want to let his little brother down either. Unable to face revealing how close he’d come to letting his brother drown, Virgil ended up avoiding any chance of conversation for the evening and shut himself away in his room until it was time for bed. John was in and out of the shared bedroom as he began preparing to turn in for the night, but it was not unusual for the two of them to quietly do their own thing without really exchanging words. When Lucy popped her head inside the door to check on her two quietest boys and say good night, Virgil tried his best to act like everything was normal. Her gaze fell heavily on him for a moment, and he had to fight the urge to tell her everything about the day at the lake and ask her advice. “Don’t stay up too late, boys,” she playfully warned them. “Lights out by 9:30 please, Virgil, and John, no more stargazing after lights out!” “Okay, Mom,” they both answered automatically and in chorus. “Good night.” It took a while for Virgil to fall asleep that night, mind whirling with the thought of his little brother being afraid of something that had always been a source of such joy. There had to be a way to fix it – every problem had a solution, you just had to find it, that’s what Dad would say. As tired as he was, his mind kept trying to focus on finding that solution before drifting away into a sleepy fog. Gordon didn’t know exactly what time it was, but he knew it was very late. The house was quiet. The room wasn’t dark – Alan’s night-light saw to that – but he couldn’t hear any voices, any indication of anyone moving around downstairs or in the bathrooms and bedrooms. Everyone must be asleep. He had startled awake, sitting bolt upright, breathless, heart pounding, eyes prickling with oncoming tears and really wishing he wasn’t so alone. He’d been dreaming about the lake, and now he didn’t want to go back to sleep. Slipping silently from his bed, he tiptoed across the floor, careful not to disturb Alan, and crept out into the hall. He hesitated for a moment. Normally he would head for his parents’ room, but Mom would ask what the dream was about, and he didn’t want to tell her about swimming in the lake. He didn’t want to get in trouble – or get Virgil into trouble. Gordon changed direction and headed for Virgil’s and John’s room. Being very careful to open the door without a sound and close it just as silently behind him, Gordon stood in the pitch-dark bedroom for a moment and let his eyes adjust. He couldn’t understand why his bigger brothers liked it so dark, he found it a bit creepy, but he couldn’t turn on the light and risk waking John. It wasn’t long before he could make out the shape of Virgil’s bed amongst the gloom, and he stealthily padded across the carpet to stand beside his sleeping brother. Now that he was here, he wasn’t really sure how to wake him or whether he should. He stood twisting the fingers of both hands around each other, close to tears again. “Virgil?” he whispered, barely above a breath. No response. “Virge?” This time a little louder, a little more desperate, a little more whiney and accompanied by a sniff. He tried tapping Virgil’s shoulder a few times, but his brother didn’t budge from where he lay curled on his side, facing the wall. In the end, not knowing what else to do, Gordon climbed across the bottom of the bed and squeezed his way past Virgil’s knees, wriggled himself under the covers and Virgil’s arm, and curled himself into the space between his brother and the wall. It was around three a.m. when Virgil woke to find he wasn’t alone in the bed. He didn’t know how or when Gordon had come to be there, but he could hear him softly whimpering and feel him shaking with the occasional sob. “Gordon,” he whispered softly, “are you okay?” He tugged his brother a little tighter to him, feeling him struggle to get the sobbing under control and even out his breathing. “Had a bad dream,” came the ever-so-quiet response. Virgil eased his grip and shuffled over on the bed, allowing Gordon to roll over and face him, but he kept his hand resting against his brother’s back. Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the quiet darkness seemed both comforting and ominous at the same time. Gordon heaved a deep breath in and let it out in a sigh before breaking the silence. He kept his voice low, but once he started, the words tumbled out in a torrent. “I can’t go back to the lake for Last Day of Summer, Virgil. I don’t want to go back in the water and everyone will know that’s not normal and want to know why and I don’t want them to know what I did and –” “Shh,” Virgil soothed, rubbing Gordon’s back as he spoke. “We’ll work something out together. I promise.” “You mean so we don’t have to go?” “No, I mean so you won’t be afraid anymore. We have to go. It’s tradition. And I think we both have to go back to the lake and confront our fears.” “You’re scared too? Wait, what are you scared of?” It was Virgil’s turn to let out a sigh. “Gordon, as annoying as you sometimes are, you are my little brother, and if anything happened to you – anything really bad, I mean – I’d be . . .” Another sigh. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. And I guess I’m scared of what might have happened. I keep having bad dreams where I couldn’t save you.” Gordon was suddenly wrapped around him like an octopus, his skinny little arms squeezing tight around Virgil like he was never going to let go and legs twining their way between bedding and body to latch on too. Despite feeling a little bit trapped within the many-limbed embrace, Virgil felt oddly comforted by it. “You don’t have to hold so tight, little octopus. I’m not going anywhere,” Virgil whispered into blond hair. “I’m not an octopus,” came the muffled reply, buried somewhere in Virgil’s neck, “I’m a squid.” “Okay then, Squid. How about we try and get some sleep and work this out tomorrow?” Gordon’s hold on his brother relaxed enough for them both to get a little more comfortable in the bed, but it was clear he wasn’t letting go. Virgil managed to get one arm disentangled enough to trace his hand back and forth across Gordon’s back, helping to lull him to sleep. Slumber quickly claimed the older brother soon after.

*** Morning crept up on them, dawning overcast and gloomy, despite being summer warm. As a result, Gordon slept later than he normally would and was woken by John’s quiet movements as he rolled out of the bed on the other side of the room and shuffled towards the bathroom. If John noticed the interloper in Virgil’s bed, he didn’t say anything, so Gordon took the opportunity to unceremoniously climb over his brother and hightail it back to his own room. Virgil woke with a start after yet another nightmare. Sitting up and trying to reacquaint himself with reality, he realised Gordon was no longer with him, and his heart rate ratcheted up a few more notches in brief panic. Catching sight of the clock and taking a few slow, deep breaths, Virgil managed to convince himself that everything was fine, Gordon had obviously just woken up earlier and was more than likely perfectly okay. But he needed to check. He tumbled out of bed and, after a brief detour to the bathroom, stumbled his way down the corridor in search of Gordon. Finding the tiny two’s bedroom deserted, he headed downstairs and found his target in the living room. Virgil stood in the doorway watching Gordon playing with Alan for a few minutes. Seeing his goofball brother being his normal, animated self and hearing the shrieks and giggles his antics prompted from Alan were enough to reassure him that yes, Gordon was just fine. Sometime after Virgil had found himself some breakfast and begun to consider himself properly awake, John found him sitting at the piano, absently staring out the window. John didn’t recall hearing Virgil play any practice exercises, and Virgil’s brow was furrowed in deep concentration, so John concluded that he was there more for the familiarity than the urge to play music. He did this sometimes – sat there just thinking, wheels turning, gears shifting, working something out in his head – and John always found it interesting to watch the thought process play out through Virgil’s expressions. But the expression wasn’t changing. “Virgil?” John prompted with some concern. “You okay?” With a jolt, Virgil tore his eyes away from the view he wasn’t really seeing out the window and focussed them on John. “Yeah.” Virgil sighed. “I just have something I need to do, something that needs fixing, and I don’t know how to do it.” “Look it up,” John answered with a shrug. “That’s what I’d do. There���s probably a book about it somewhere or a repair manual or instructional video. If I want to know how something works or how to do something, I start with research.” With that, John walked away, leaving Virgil to ponder how to research fixing a fear of swimming in a lake. And then it hit him. Research was the answer, he just had to look up the right thing – not how to fix the fear, but all the things there were to be afraid of. The more information you know about the thing you’re afraid of, the less scary it becomes. So, all he had to do was look up everything that could cause someone to get into trouble swimming in a lake – and maybe rivers, streams, and oceans too – and learn everything about them. If he knew how to spot the dangers or how to prevent them and how to get out of trouble, then maybe Gordon wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Virgil set off at a run to go and find Gordon. At first, Gordon wasn’t sure about this idea of Virgil’s. Sitting in front of a holoscreen looking up information sounded a lot like homework. But Virgil was insistent that they at least give it a try. After all, it couldn’t hurt to know more about different waterways. “Okay, so where do we start?” Gordon asked as they settled themselves at the big desk in the corner of the living room. “Well, what scares you most when you think about going swimming in the lake?” “Getting another cramp.” Gordon’s reply was quiet, and suddenly Virgil hated himself for making his little brother revisit that moment when everything had gone wrong. He put his hand on Gordon’s shoulder and offered a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s start there. We can find out what causes cramps when you swim and learn how to prevent them or how to manage them.” Virgil found a great deal of information on muscle cramps related to swimmers, which he quickly became quite absorbed in. He had to remind himself to stick to the sites with simple wording and steer clear of the ones that crossed too far into medical jargon territory. The boys learned the importance of warming up before swimming, being careful not to overexert the muscles, and staying hydrated. They also found that cold water could increase the chance of cramping. Virgil physically shivered at the memory of plunging his arm into deceptively cold water to grab at one of the only parts of his little brother he could still see. They researched swimming in cold water, what caused cold spots in lakes and rivers and whether you could spot them, and ways you could avoid them or deal with them. They learned about different types of currents – ones you could see, and ones you wouldn’t know about until you felt them. Submerged objects, reeds and seaweed, rocks and tree roots . . . “What are you guys doing?” Scott startled them so badly Virgil jumped and Gordon squeaked. “Researching water safety.” Virgil decided honesty was the best way to go . . . to a point. “It’s for Rescue Scouts.” “But we don’t go back to Rescue Scouts until a week after school goes back.” Scott eyed both brothers suspiciously. “We know, but there’s no harm in getting in early, and Gordon really wants his Water Safety badge.” Virgil had to resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny of his big brother’s gaze as Scott remained silent for what seemed like a whole minute. “Well, it’s time for lunch,” Scott finally said before turning his back on them and heading for the kitchen. Gordon grinned up at Virgil, who huffed out a long exhale in relief. He didn’t think Scott completely believed the Rescue Scout story, but it seemed as though they would be able to continue their research unquestioned. In fact, no one questioned the time these two spent together in snatches of an hour or two here and there over a couple of days, continuing to search out information on the best ways to stay safe in just about any body of water. Gordon had even made a scrapbook of notes and pictures so he could keep track of all the things they’d learned. Excuses aside, when Rescue Scouts resumed after the summer break, Gordon would already be well on his way to earning his Water Safety badge in earnest. As promised, Jeff was back home by the time the boys awoke on Saturday morning, and he began dropping hints about his plans for the best Last Day of Summer yet. It was to be bigger and better than ever before because, for the first time since they began making the end-of-summer vacation a celebration, it coincided with Virgil’s birthday. The first hints encouraged the boys to check their tents and sleeping bags. It wouldn’t just be a day out with a picnic lunch this year, it would be an overnight campout. There was a promise of campfire tales and s’mores and a special surprise that required the night sky as a backdrop. There were hints about guests that prompted a whole day of guessing who might be joining them at the lake. Grandma and Grandpa were the first confirmed additions to the guest list, along with “Uncle” Lee and a mysterious extra guest from England and his daughter, who was apparently around Virgil’s and John’s age. Amidst all the building excitement about the big event at the end of the week, signs of Gordon’s nervousness about returning to the lake were easily missed by the rest of the family. Only Virgil saw the signs – the slight frown at Scott’s mention that they’d all need to remember to bring their swimmers and towels, the look of horror at John wondering if he’d see more stars if he rowed out into the lake after dark. Virgil decided he’d have to take Gordon back to the lake before the weekend. They needed to return to the scene of the crime. Gordon, having come to much the same conclusion in his own way, approached Virgil after breakfast on the Wednesday. The day was clear and bright, much like it had been on the morning of that fateful day little more than a week before. It seemed like a good day to go back and face the monster that the lake had become. “Virgil,” Gordon said quietly, despite there being no one else in the living room at the time, “can we go back to the lake today? Can you take me?” “Today seems like a good day to me,” Virgil answered with a gentle smile. “We’ll have to tell Dad we’re going out for most of the day.” Now that Jeff was back from his trip and working from the home office, Lucy was spending more time at work. The boys were expected to look after each other and only interrupt their father if it was important, but Jeff would check up on them all throughout the day. “Do we have to say where we’re going?” Gordon twined his fingertips around each other, raising his eyes to meet Virgil’s from a head trying to look down at the floor. “We’ll tell him we’re going back to the place we visited last week to finish the drawing,” Virgil suggested. “It’s not exactly a lie. We are going back to the same place.” The knock on Jeff’s office door was tentative but loud enough that he heard it over the voice of the colleague on the other end of the video call. He muted his audio to tell his visitor to wait a moment before unmuting and bringing the phone conversation to a conclusion. “Come in,” he finally called towards the closed door. He was a little surprised by the request for this particular pair to spend a day out together on their own, but he remembered Lucy mentioning something about these two having been out on the top track the week before. He gave them permission to go provided they tell Scott and John where they were going and promise to be back by five. “Take something to eat and plenty of water, Virgil,” he reminded the older boy, “and look after your brother.” “I will, Dad.” Virgil gave a solemn nod, and the two boys slipped back out of the office, closing the door behind them. Bag packed with sandwiches and water bottles, art supplies for the sake of appearances, and towels, the boys were soon striding out across the paddock towards the top track. This time there were no lingering looks at the scenery as they walked – the birds, spiders, and bugs were largely ignored. Unlike the last time they had set out together, Virgil had no desire to hurry, and he let his younger brother set the pace. He noted with a small amount of pride the purposeful strides, the determination in the set of squared shoulders, and the fire in amber eyes as Gordon focused his energy on reaching their destination so he could do what needed to be done. Gordon’s determined march stuttered to a somewhat abrupt halt when they rounded the last curve and stepped onto the silty sand of the lake’s beach. With his eyes fixed on the water, shoulders drooping, it seemed Gordon’s fire had died. Without a word, Virgil placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, the simple gesture having the desired effect – lending the younger boy enough resolve to steel himself once again, lengthen his spine, and straighten his shoulders. Virgil steered them over to a patch of sand where he could spread out a towel for them to sit on. Shoes were shed in preparation for the inevitable trip to the water’s edge, but the boys remained seated. “What do you see out there?” Virgil asked. “It’s the same. Calm. Flat. But it’s different from last time too.” Virgil waited for a moment before trying again, wanting Gordon to see past the feeling of fear. “Remember what we learned about studying the ripples?” he prompted. “Is it really flat and calm?” There was silence as Gordon’s gaze focused intently on the expanse of blue stretching before them. The embers of the fire that had previously lit his eyes seemed to ignite anew as he studied the surface, looking for telltale signs. “There are reeds just under the surface over there,” he said, pointing a little to their left, “and the ripples over here are different to that bit farther out where it looks really smooth.” Virgil could see Gordon’s confidence growing as he gestured to various parts of the lake, telling his big brother what the differences in the rippled and smooth areas were likely to mean in terms of what was going on beneath the surface. Pretty soon they were on their feet and striding into the shallows to test the waters. Gordon entered the water at a slow walk, which Virgil thought was through caution or trepidation at first, but then Gordon gently trailed fingertips through the reeds and beckoned his big brother over. “Virgil, come look,” he called, looking up at him with a grin. “There are fish that feed in the reeds.” The next half hour was spent following Gordon through the shallows exploring the aquatic life found therein. As the younger boy got more caught up in watching the fish, finding different types of reeds, discovering eels, and excitedly pondering all manner of life in the depths of the lake, they wandered deeper into the water. Virgil followed and listened, answering questions as best he could when asked, smiling fondly all the while. The Squid was in his element. “Hey Gordon,” Virgil said as he playfully splashed a well-aimed hand scoop of water into the side of his little brother’s head. “You realise you’re getting your shirt wet, right?” Gordon looked down at the water that was now up to the middle of his chest and back up at his brother with a grin. “Oops.” They briefly returned to the little beach, shed their shirts, and laid them down in the sun to dry. “You know, when we come back this weekend, we’ll mostly be swimming out here where we just were.” Virgil nodded his head back towards the little patch of lake they’d just explored. “We could go a little deeper, actually lift our feet off the bottom and swim for a while. This is the only part of the lake any of us have ever really swum in before.” Gordon’s eyes sparkled with light reflecting off the water as he pondered Virgil’s words for a moment. Mom and Dad had always suggested the boys shouldn’t swim out past where they could touch the bottom and definitely never past the end of the wooden pier. Looking at the pier and the dinghy tied securely to its mooring drew his eye to the rock island beyond, tantalisingly close, yet so terrifyingly far. Virgil watched his squid brother scanning the water, casting his gaze over the safe and familiar. He saw the moment the line was crossed and thoughts turned to the challenge just that little farther afield. Once again, he placed a hand on Gordon’s shoulder, hoping to redirect his thoughts. “Why don’t we just go back in, swim around for a while, have some fun where we know it’s safe?” “Yeah, okay,” Gordon agreed, a little half-heartedly. Virgil took his brother by the hand, and by the time they’d taken two steps, they were running towards the water. He only let go once they were in deep enough that a tug of the hand lifted Gordon’s feet off the bottom and propelled him a short distance through the water. He received a splash to the face for his efforts, but his little brother was smiling and treading water. In no time at all, Gordon was literally swimming rings around his big brother, splashing at him and darting away, taunting him, daring him to swim after him. It was hunger that drove them out of the water and back onto the dry sand sometime later. PB&J sandwiches were retrieved from the backpack and devoured. The late summer sun warmed their shoulders as they sat in content silence, listening to the lapping of the water and the cries of the birds. Virgil would have been happy to remain there soaking it all in, but Gordon soon became restless, his gaze drifting back to where water birds were drying their outstretched wings. “Virgil, I wanna swim to the rock.” The fire was back in Gordon’s eyes. Virgil studied him for a moment, seeing that same determination that had driven the march to the lake. He wasn’t asking for permission, he was making a statement. It was what he’d come here to do – the demon he needed to conquer. Virgil wasn’t feeling anywhere near as courageous as his little brother looked at that moment. “Gordon . . .” “I need to do it, Virgil.” He turned his head, those glowing embers burning straight into his big brother’s wide brown eyes. “But I need you.” “I can’t . . .” “Use the boat. I’ll swim, you row. If I get into trouble, you’ll be right there.” Virgil had to look away. The intensity in those eyes, the body language, the strength of will in his little brother were too much. But it was the faith Gordon was placing in him that was twisting his gut. He caught sight of the rock island, out there beyond the boat docked at the pier. He was suddenly very aware of his own heartbeat thumping just a little too hard and a little too fast. Gordon needed this – needed him to do this with him. He couldn’t let the Squid down. “Okay,” he agreed with a sigh. He had expected a look of triumph, a smile, a victory dance . . . something. Anything but the simple nod and determined knitting of Gordon’s brow that he received in reply. The younger boy then grabbed his water bottle and took a long draught. “Staying hydrated helps stop you getting cramps, right?” Gordon asked. Virgil nodded. “And I should do some warmup stretches before I swim out there.” “Right again.” Virgil was gladdened by the amount of thought and preparation Gordon was putting into the task ahead of him this time. “And you’ll stay close in the boat?” There it was, the uncertainty just below that confident façade. “Right beside you all the way, little brother.” Virgil tried to school his expression into one of reassurance, but he wasn’t sure he managed it. They made their way across the sand and onto the wooden planks of the pier, then stood studying the expanse of water for a moment, watching the ripples and trying to read currents. Looking for dangers. At last Virgil could put it off no longer. Gordon was warmed up and ready to go, they had assessed the risks and had plans in mind for just about any eventuality. It was time to untie the boat and take up the oars. Sitting in the gently rocking dinghy, Virgil had to take a moment to close his eyes and concentrate on a few deep breaths to quell the hammering in his ribcage before looking back up at Gordon and giving a nod. He was as ready as he’d ever be. This time when Gordon dived in, he began his swim with a measured pace rather than a burst of speed that he wouldn’t be able to maintain. Virgil didn’t have to work too hard on the oar strokes to keep up with him. Not far out there was a brief moment of panic when Gordon suddenly stopped his forward momentum and started treading water. An odd expression furrowed his brow, then he ducked his head under the water. Dropping the oars and preparing to make a grab for his brother, Virgil was sure his heart stopped beating altogether for a second before the blond head re-emerged above the surface. Seeing the panic in his big brother’s eyes, Gordon grinned and held up the weed he’d just untangled from his leg. “It’s okay, Virge, no cramps, just waterweed.” And with that, he resumed his swim with a flurry of swift kicks and smooth strokes. By the time Virgil could regather the oars – and his wits – his little brother was ten meters ahead of him. It took only a few strong pulls on the oars to catch up again, but Virgil knew his pulse rate was not going to climb down out of the stratosphere until they were both on dry land. It felt like an eternity, but in reality, it was only a few minutes before Gordon was able to lay his hands on the slippery surface of the rock. Finding a decent hold, he clambered up far enough to sit on a crag, feet still in the water, triumphant grin lighting up his features, water droplets catching the sunlight, causing his hair and skin to glisten as he caught his breath. “I knew I could do it!” he panted as Virgil drew the dinghy close beside him. “I never doubted you, Squiddo,” Virgil agreed, practically beaming with pride at his brother’s achievement. “Now, are you gonna swim back? Or do you want a lift?” Gordon’s eyes widened in surprise. He hadn’t really thought about the return trip. Virgil chuckled. “Um, I think maybe I’ll just come back with you in the boat.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, dragging it back from where it was dripping into his eyes. “No problem, Fish. You’ve proved enough for one day.” With a bit of manoeuvring, jostling, and boat rocking, Gordon was able to climb into the dinghy and settle himself into the seat at the prow. To him, the journey back to the dock seemed to take no time at all. Virgil’s strong, steady strokes with the oars propelled them quickly and smoothly through the water as though it took no effort at all. He jumped out of the boat and onto the pier before Virgil had even finished drawing the oars into the boat, then waited for Virgil to climb out and secure the mooring. “Virgil?” It was all the warning the older boy got as he turned to face his little brother, who closed the space between them at a run and launched himself into what became a squid hug, arms and legs tightly wrapped around Virgil’s torso. It took Virgil a couple of backward steps before he could steady himself under the sudden additional weight. “Thank you. You are the best big brother.” Virgil returned the embrace, allowing a chuckle to escape as he rested his head against damp hair. “You are a pretty amazing little brother, Squid.”

*** The Last Day of Summer celebration, and Virgil’s twelfth birthday turned out to be a fantastic, fun-filled event for all involved. Nothing could hold Gordon back from spending as much time as possible in the water, and so no one knew there had ever been a problem. The nightmares had run their course too. Summer vacation came to an end, and with the start of the school term, life returned to normal. A few weeks later a chance meeting at school pickup resulted in a few puzzle pieces slotting into place for Lucy. Gordon’s class teacher spotted Lucy waiting in the Kiss & Drop zone and made a passing comment about his wonderful piece of creative writing for the obligatory “What I Did Over Summer” assignment. When they got home, with the boys all occupied with snacks or homework and various afterschool activities, Lucy dug out Gordon’s writing workbook and found the story in question titled “My Summer Vacation,” with a large A+ written in red at the top of the page. My Summer Vacation I did lots of things in summer with my big brothers and we had lots of fun but there was one scary day. I went swimming in the lake when I wasn’t supposed to and I nearly drowned but my brother was there and he saved me. After that I was scared to go swimming, but he told me it would make him sad if I didn’t swim anymore because he says swimming makes me happy. We looked up all the ways you can get into trouble swimming in lakes and rivers and oceans. We found out all the ways you can look for dangers and get out of trouble in the water and how to be safe. Now I’m not scared to go swimming anymore. Well, that explained a great deal. Lucy smiled to herself and shook her head a little. She would have words with Virgil about the kind of secrets that needed to be shared with an adult, but she was struck once again by how amazing her boys could be and just how far they would go for one another.

***

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

A Piece of My Soul

Fandom: The Mentalist or rather the Marcus Pike fandom

Collection/Series: N/A

Pairing: Marcus Pike x GN! Artist Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Rating: G

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Lots of fluff, but there’s that undercurrent of angst as the reader has been hurt before and made to feel less than important so if that’s too much right now that’s okay!

Summary: Marcus has always known that you protect your art, that it is a reflection of your soul and something you guard after being hurt one too many times. He never expects you to share your sketchbooks with him, assumes he will never have the honour and he’s okay with that because he’s happy to just have you. Until, one day, you show him just how much you trust him.

Notes: For me, I always feel like when I share my art with people they’re very meh about it or they are backhanded or even mean. I’ve not had the best experiences when sharing my sketchbooks or my work with people in my life and the idea of someone being so wholly awestruck just by the trust and openness of sharing something like that gets me. So here we go back on the Marcus Pike train because if I could ever explain what I want in a husband, he’s the man.

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Marcus had known of your love of drawing from the first date. You had been a little shy when he’d asked about your hobbies and interests, when you’d quietly and cautiously told him you liked to draw. When he asked for more detail, the mediums you used, the style you preferred, it had opened you up just a little more, his interest making you preen a little. Although still cautious, gauging his reaction to your answers. It had been like seeing a part of your soul that you kept hidden from people, it had made him simultaneously proud and angry. 

Proud because you trusted him, from that first moment, to take you seriously, to listen to your interests and passions and not dismiss them. Angry because at some point, at some time, it was clear someone had dismissed you, made you feel like you weren’t worth listening to, weren’t worth investing time in. It was maddening to think that anyone could make you feel like that, like anyone couldn’t see your worth. 

It was baffling because he found you captivating in all your passions and quirks. The way you ranted and rambled on for minutes, sometimes even hours, about something you were passionate about, never failed to draw him to you like a moth to the proverbial flame. The way you managed to trip over anything and everything, clumsy to a fault, was as endearing as it was concerning and he found himself eager to compensate, to pre-empt you going flying because of a step or a crack in the floor. He found the small things, not just the large things enthralling and enamouring, the concept that anyone might think different was just unfathomable. 

So he worked to cultivate that trust, to show you that he was interested in you and all the things that made you up. He listened when you talked, never told you he was bored or showed a shred of disinterest. He remembered things you mentioned or were interested in, brought you books on the subject or sent you a link to an article he’d seen. 

Watching the way that trust bloomed, the way you opened your heart and soul up to him in little pieces was nothing short of amazing. Still, he knew your art was precious to you, a piece of your soul. Your interests, desires, thoughts, opinions, and preferences are all laid out in pages and pages of thick white paper and red pencil marks. He never pushed it, never asked to see what you were working on or to show him your art, not because he wasn’t interested but because he respected the intimacy of it. You were not some famous painter who put their work on display for the world to see and scrutinise. You were just you, just someone who used art as a form of stress relief and self-expression, someone who guarded their work like they guarded their heart. 

So the little trickles of your soul that you shared with him were enough, it didn’t matter if you showed him it all or only select pieces, anything was enough to tell him you cared, that you trusted him, that you wanted his approval. Not because you needed him to give it, not because he was that fundamental or important, but because recognition from him made you smile, made you feel important. You were important whether he liked your work or not. 

He still remembers the excitement you exuded, happiness blinding and bright and so brilliant, when you’d finished a new painting and bounded to show him. You’d bundled it up safe and made the drive to his house, rushing up the steps so quick, he’d heard you trip before he heard you knock.

You’d been bouncing on the balls of your feet, painting kept within a folder, nondescript, the sort you kept your certificates in. The wide grin on your face, the shine of your teeth, and crinkles at your eyes had him smiling the moment he opened the door to you, leaning a shoulder against the door frame to watch you adoringly. 

“I finished it! It only took me 20 hours but I finally finished it!” You’d rushed inside, pulling him by the arm so fast he had to laugh as he nearly tripped over his own rug. You’d been so excited and so proud as you’d sat him on his couch and carefully pulled the A4 piece of watercolour paper from the folder, plain back to him. 

He’d been patient, watching you with the softest of smiles as your eyes flicked back and forth between him, sat with hands clasped between his thighs, elbows on his knees, and your painting. As you grappled with the gravity of showing him a piece of your soul and not knowing how he’d respond, how he’d behave. Patience was the least he could think to give you, and it had brought the best sort of ache to his chest when you’d shyly turned the painting around to show him. 

20 hours of work and you looked away, eyes focusing on a plant he had in the corner of his living room rather than on his expression or what he might think. You’d been so nervous to show him and he’d taken the time to truly look at your painting. The colours, the composition, the subject, it didn’t ultimately matter to him whether he truly liked it or not, although he did, because he’d love it anyway. He’d love it anyway because you’d chosen to share it with him, when you were oh so private and careful with your art. 

“Sweetheart…” You’d been prepared for rejection, to face the fact that your boyfriend didn’t like your painting, your art, that it was something you just shouldn’t share with him in the future. “It’s amazing! 20 hours? Can I?” He’d gestured to take it, to hold it and get a better look and you’d let him, a little stunned, but overjoyed that he liked it, that he wanted to look at it.

That had been the starting point for you sharing more little bits of your soul with him. You’d bring him finished paintings to look at, occasionally the odd doodle here or there that you completed at work. Not everything, and never your sketchbooks. Those were off limits, something he’d respected because he knew they were more than just a tiny piece of who you were, but quite a large one. Pages and pages of you sat for perusal and to have that rejected would hurt more than anything. So Marcus had been grateful for what little pieces of your art you did choose to share with him. 

He’d always made it a point to show how much he liked your art, to shower you in praise and to make you feel listened to, seen, important. Your art was amazing to him. He was an art history major, he loved art, hence his job, but he wasn’t an artist. He’d never had the patience to sit and develop the skill set and so he focused on the work of others, yours was quickly becoming his favourite. You had your own unique style, something he found hard to describe or explain, but that he’d know if he saw your work. He’s almost certain he’d know if someone tried to pass a fake off as your own and if anyone asked who his favourite artist was he’d probably change his answer to you. 

Still, he had hoped that one day you’d share that last bit of yourself with him. He hadn’t expected to actually happen, just a hope, a little dream, something he thought about at night before falling asleep. 

Certainly not something he expects on date night. 

He’s cooking dinner for the two of you, your favourite main and dessert, because he hasn’t had the chance to see you in a good week due to a hectic case, when he hears the tell tell sound of keys in the front door. He’d long since given you your own, letting you come and go as you please, with the excuse that when he was away on a case it meant you could keep an eye on the place and make sure he didn’t get robbed. In truth he liked having you around, liked that you came over just because you wanted to, that you felt welcome and at home and if he wasn’t so dead set on not scaring you off, he might have already asked you to move in. But, he wanted to take his time, not rush it. 

“Marcus?”

“In the kitchen, honey!” He’s wiping down the side quickly, hiding the fact he’s a messy cook, when you walk in a heavy looking tote bag over one shoulder. It peaks his interest and from the little laugh you let out you can see it on his face. 

“Are you busy?”

“No, it needs a good half hour before I have to check it again, why?” You watch him wipe his hands with a towel and brush at a small stain on his white t-shirt, the one that clings to his arms just right. 

You're nervous, you know he can tell from the way your hands grip the bag straps tight over one shoulder to how you bite your bottom lip. He’s always been able to tell. One of the beautiful things about Marcus was the attention he gave to people, not just people he cared about, but people in general. He learnt everything he could about them, stored it away in his mind, and used it to show them how much he cared, how much he knew them, really knew them. 

“I...I want to show you something.” 

You grab him by the hand, the same way you always do whenever you want to share something, and begin pulling him towards his living room. It’s cosy in here at this time of night, warm light from a couple of lamps, soft blankets thrown over his couch, the ones he’d brought after realising how much you loved a good blanket. It’s a calming thing, to be in here, with him, somewhere you associate with home. 

It often seems so silly to you, just how nervous you get about sharing something with Marcus, but you know it’s not. Know it’s not his fault either. Marcus has never given you any reason to doubt him, but other people have, so you push past the nerves because you do really want to show him and watch his face light up like it always does. 

You sit him down in his seat, and curl up next to him, kicking your shoes off and placing the bag on the ground. He’s so warm and for a moment you just lean into his side, enjoying the warmth of his body and the way he nuzzles a kiss into your temple, nose tracing little lines gently for a moment. He brings you peace and it is that, that gives you resolve and has you reaching down for the items in the bag. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you that Marcus places his hands at your waist, worried you might take a tumble off the couch, something you’re prone to. It warms you inside, that he cares so much, that he’s so casual with his affection and so concerned with you and your safety. Even something as simple as making sure he can catch you if you start to fall. 

You come back up with a couple of books in hand, plastered with stickers over the front and a little dogeared at the corners. Marcus doesn’t remove his hands from your waist, just pulls you firmly back against his side and watches as you anxiously smooth your hands over the cover of one of them. 

“I..I wanted to show you my sketchbooks, or well...the two most recent ones anyway. I...I don’t really show people them...but I want you to see them.” Your eyes are so wide and earnest when you look up at him, that he can’t help but cup your cheek in his hand and rub his thumb across the apple of it. God, he never thought...he never thought you would. Always thought you’d keep this little part of yourself private, separate, guarding it like a dragon guards a horde of gold. But, here you are, so earnest, so nervous, so open, telling him that you want to share this piece of your soul with him and he can’t stop himself from pressing his forehead against yours. Can’t stop himself from the gentle nudge of his nose with yours or the slow press of his lips against your own. 

It’s a surprising reaction from Marcus, the way his nose presses into your cheek as he presses a firm but still tender kiss to your lips, the way his hand slides down to cup underneath your jaw, thumb pressing into the hollow there. It’s so surprising that it distracts you for more than a moment, to the point your eyelids take a little bit of time to flutter open after he breaks away, you leaning further into him. 

“What...what was that for?” 

“For trusting me.” He’s so warm and earnest, but still, he’s patient. He doesn’t grab for the books or open them himself, instead he waits for you to pull back and pick one up, settling it between the two of you. 

He waits as you find the courage to open the cover and turn to the first page and every breath leaves him at what he finds there. It is a sketchbook and so it is messy, that’s the nature of it, it is practice and experimentation and you enjoying yourself, and it’s so clear, as each page turns, that this is you in book form. 

Each page is either a confirmation of a fact he already knew about you or a new discovery. It tells him little things like how you prefer to draw certain subjects and the colours you lean towards when you reach for markers or coloured pencils. He’s reverent in the way his fingertips brush the paper and trace over the lines, in awe of the way your hands have worked in tune with your mind to put these things to paper and he can’t actually help the tears that start to well up in his eyes. Because you trust him so much, you’re opening the last part of your soul up to him with only a hope that he will not crush it or throw it back at you, that he will not abuse it. 

“Baby, why are you crying?” You’re so concerned for him, hands pawing at his cheeks, brushing the rivulets away and cupping his jaw to make him look at you. Brown eyes watery but so happy, so in love and he hopes that you can see that, see how desperately he loves you. “Are you okay? Did...did I do something wrong?”

It hurts him so much to know you assume that you’re at fault. That his tears are bad or that they are a product of you doing something wrong, when they’re a result of just how much he loves you and just how happy he is at the trust and faith you have in him, the love you have for him, that you’ll bare your soul. It’s those moments that make him angry at the people before him. Family, friends, lovers, people who took your trust and crushed it, bent it out of shape and tossed it back malformed and damaged. 

“Nooo, no, no, honey. Sweetheart, I'm crying cause I'm happy,” He covers your hands with his own, pulls you impossibly closer, “I’m happy because you trust me enough to show me this and I...I never thought I'd earn that.” 

“Oh...well, I love you.”

“I love you too.” It’s said with a laugh, but not at you, the sort of laugh that’s just a bit of a huff of happiness, that comes from being overwhelmingly happy. It’s enough for him that you come to his house, that you share little bits of yourself with him and that you love him enough to do that at all. 

While dinner cooks, you keep an eye on the time more than Marcus, he continues to flick through the pages. He comments, sweet little things. How something looks cool or how he likes the colours on a page. Each comment thrills you, fills you to the brim with pride and joy, to the point your cheeks ache from smiling. Perhaps to some people it seems understated, boring, the sort of date night that some would hate, but to the two of you it’s more than just date night. It’s a bonding experience, a sharing one. He feels impossibly lucky to look at your work, to have you there leaning on his shoulder, pressing kisses to his neck, impossibly lucky to have a piece of your soul right there in front of him. 

It’s that moment that he knows; you’re it for him. He’s certain. You’re the person he’s going to grow old with, with your sketchbooks in a dedicated bookshelf and he’ll die saying his favourite artist is you. 

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

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@bdavishiddlesbatch​

[mandoalorian]

Hi 👋 hope your staying safe! Can I request something with Santi, please? Could you write something where Santi and reader used to be friends as kids, Santi having looked out for reader when she was picked on or if she fell over at school, but then after he graduated they lost contact until years later reader reaches out to him randomly and they reunite, maybe fall in love??

Sorry if it's strange, I'm going through something similar but I'm trying to get the guts to reach out to the guy, it's nerve wracking!! 😳😨 Maybe reading something will give me a boost 😂

Tinder [Santiago Garcia x F!Reader]

Word count: 1,700

Rating: 18+ I guess? I don’t know. Nothing explicit, it’s just Tinder is an 18+ app.

Warnings: food mention, tinder mention, allusions to sex

Masterlist

Tinder. It was so tedious. An app that had gained it’s reputation for being nothing more than a “hookup app” or even a “sex app”. It was associated with superficiality and laced with sexual innuendos. It was the app that had been accused of igniting modern day hookup culture. It was the app that Santiago Garcia frequented every damn day. The man even paid a premium! It was a quick and easy way for him to meet girls for drinks and a quick fuck. It’s all a man like Santiago had time for. Falling in love wasn’t an option for him. It was something he’d never considered until Games Night last week. 

Once upon a time, Will’s small living room was just filled with him, Santiago, Frankie, Benny and Tom, but the head count had grown extensively over the past few years. Tom had reconciled with Molly, Yovanna and Benny had something going on, and now even Frankie was engaged to the blonde haired, blue eyed girl who sat quietly in the corner sipping tea and doodling in her sketchbook. 

Santiago didn’t mind the girls. In fact, he actually enjoyed their company, but their presence only had him yearn for something more. He’d never been one to think about settling down or starting a family of his own, but he felt an indirect pressure. Maybe trying out one long term relationship wouldn’t be so bad after all? But he was so used to his flings. How was he ever going to grow out of his commitment issues and find someone he could really connect with.

Truthfully, he’d already found her, about fifteen years ago.

You and Santiago Garcia were the best of friends. You used to do everything together; walking home from school hand in hand, singing and dancing when you thought no one was around, playing LEGO and building up jigsaw’s. He was your soulmate, in every sense of the word. But you can’t stay young forever and eventually Santiago left your small neighbourly town to join the military. And you never saw him again.

Which is why it was a surprise when you, half asleep at 2 am, and drooling on your pillow, lazily swiped right on his profile. You weren’t even paying attention. Just another tanned skin man with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes. It was a haze, and your desperation to move on from your ex boyfriend had you yearning to meet someone new. You groaned tiredly, deciding you were never going to find someone as good as your ex, switched your phone off and shoved it under your pillow before finally getting some sleep.

At around 3 am, Santiago still wasn’t asleep, thanks to his roommate Frankie and his fiancée keeping probably the whole apartment complex awake. He pulled out his phone from his nightstand and checked Tinder. That’s when he saw you. Before even checking your name, he could tell it was you by that familiar sparkle in your eyes, and the way your perfect lips curled into a smile. It might have been fifteen years since he’d last seen you, but just looking at your photo made it feel like yesterday. He couldn’t contain his wide grin as he flicked through your photos. You looked just as beautiful as ever, and Santiago recalled the crush he had on you when you were both kids. He wondered how come you hadn't settled down already. He knew you always dreamed of getting married and having kids, with a big house and a big dog. So why were you on Tinder?

In a simple spur of the moment, Santiago swiped right.

‘It’s a match!’ the words blew up on Santiago’s screen and illuminated the dark bedroom. Streamers and confetti exploded around your photo; the typical thing that always happened when he matched with women on Tinder, only now it actually felt like celebrating. This meant that you must’ve swiped right on him too. 

You spent the morning the same way you always did, laying in bed and checking the notifications on your different social media. Just before you were about to get up, you remembered how you’d impulsively installed Tinder the night before and, on a whim, you opened the app to see if you had matched with anyone.

You scrolled through the eight matches you’d gained through the night, frowning and twisting your face in disgust at some of the profiles. You really hadn’t been paying attention to who you were swiping.

Your eyes went comically wide when you read the name at the end of the list.

‘You have matched with: Santiago Garcia! Say hi!’

It was like time had frozen and you read the words over and over again. Santiago Garcia. Santiago Garcia. Santiago Garcia. You wondered how many Santiago Garcia’s lived in New York City - or more specifically, only three miles away?!

You hammered your thumb into your screen to view his profile and you were blown away as you went through his photos. That was definitely him. That was definitely your childhood best friend. Although his hair was once dark and curly, it was now short and slightly salt and peppered. He had a slight graze of facial hair in all of his photos, and in most of them, he was seen to be hanging out with a bunch of other guys. Wait- was that Francisco Morales too? They were still friends?

You were so nervous to say something. Truthfully, if you had come across his profile at any other moment where you weren’t half asleep, and hopelessly desperate for love, your fear would’ve stopped you from swiping right. You’d been in love with Santiago since pre-school. It had been over a decade but you still thought about him every single day and cherished those long lost moments you spent together. 

But the reality was, that he’d swiped right on you too. He was interested in you as well! Which had to count for something. You took a deep breath and typed out the words “Hello :)” before quickly turning your phone off and throwing it across your bedroom. 

You sat bolt upright in your bed for a few moments, contemplating what you had done. You told yourself it would be okay and asked yourself what was the worst that could happen. You sighed and forced yourself out of bed to get ready for the day ahead.

Turning off your phone was a good idea because you’d actually forgotten about messaging Santiago until about lunch time. You flicked through the television channels, holding a lazily put together sandwich in your free hand, and landed on a dating game show. You considered applying, thinking about how fun it might be, when you remembered you might already have a shot with someone else. Santiago. You dropped your sandwich on the coffee table in a frenzy, ran to your bedroom and turned on your phone. The painful minute it took to completely boot up sent butterflies rampant in the pit of your stomach.

Santiago: Hey! How you doing? I gotta say I was really surprised to see that we matched last night. It’s been a long time!

Oh my god. He’d replied. He’d replied three hours ago and you hadn’t said anything back. Shit. You wondered if you had already blown your chances, but little did you know, Santiago had been holding out for a message from you for a long time.

You: Right...almost fifteen years, I think! I’m okay. How are you?

You pressed send and took a deep breath. It was okay. Just casual small talk. It would be okay. You slid your phone into your pocket and went back to eat your sandwich. No matter how hard you tried to focus on the game show, you just couldn’t stop thinking about Santiago.

“Santi! You got a new message!” Frankie called from the other room, taking a huge, messy bite out of a candy bar and picking up his phone.

“Frankie! I’m literally on the toilet… can it wait?” Santiago cried, face palming and chuckling incredulously. Living with his best friend for five long years meant that Santiago had become accustomed to interactions like this.

“No, I don’t think so,” Frankie mumbled, knotting his eyebrows together as he read the notification that had popped up on the screen. “Hey, are you talking to Y/N L/N from high school?”

“Wh- what?” Santiago asked, feeling his cheeks flush.

“Oh my God you are!” Frankie gasped excitedly, typing in his friend’s passcode for his phone and getting inside. “On Tinder!”

Santiago finished up washing his hands and walked out the bathroom, an unamused scowl drawn upon his lips. Frankie swallowed at his best friend’s expression.

“This has to stop,” Santiago warned, taking his phone from Frankie’s hand. “I love you buddy, I really do. But you’re getting married next Summer. You can’t keep trying to talk to me while I’m on the toilet!” 

Frankie laughed and rolled his eyes before getting back to his video game. 

Santiago was shocked to be reminded that you had remembered exactly how long it had been since you last saw each other. He began to compose his next message. You practically screamed when you felt your phone vibrate at the notification.

Santiago: I’m well, thanks for asking. Would you be interested in meeting up sometime for a few drinks? I’d love to catch up.

Drinks. A catch up. It sounded perfect. You already found your mind racing as you wondered what to wear.

You: That sounds great!

Santiago’s reply came fleetingly.

Santiago: Are you free tonight? X

Tonight was so soon… but you were free, and it felt like you’d been waiting forever to reunite with your childhood crush. And he felt the same way. It was so exciting for both of you.

You: Tonight sounds great. See you then :) x 

You and Santiago spent the rest of the day in anticipation to see one another. You didn’t know then, but the accidental Tinder encounter turned out to be the long lasting and perfect relationship both you and Santiago craved. The soulmates were reunited at last.

Taglists - let me know if you wish to be added!

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[marvelous-writer]

Ferry Rides, Panic Attacks & Cheeseburgers

Summary:

“Pete, you alright?” Happy quietly asks in a worried voice.

Peter snaps his eyes open and nods shakily. “Y-Yeah.” He lies.

Happy turns in his seat as he leans in front of him and looks at his face. “You don’t look it,” he says worriedly. “What’s going on?”

“N-Nothing—I’m fine.” Peter tries to assure him—heck, to assure himself but he can’t get the thought of the ferry ripping in two out of his mind. He can’t fail everyone again—he can’t fail Tony again.

OR

Peter’s art class goes on a field trip to the Statue of Liberty and Happy tags along.

Word Count: 2,490

Genre: whump, humor, hurt/comfort

Link to read on Ao3:

A/N: @webpril day 1: field trip

“We live in New York… and your school trip is to the Statue of Liberty?” Happy questions as they stand in Midtown High’s parking lot at ten in the morning, standing in line, dressed in his usual suit and tie attire with a pair of dark shades, standing out like a sore thumb beside Peter as everyone boards the bus.

“I did tell you where we were going yesterday.” Peter reminds him.

“I know… but a field trip to the Statue of Liberty for art class? You guys couldn’t have gone to a museum or something?”

Peter sighs as he moves ahead further in line, rolling his eyes as he overhears Flash and Abraham bickering over who gets to sit in the back of the bus.

“Do you know what we’re doing anyways?” Happy asks.

Peter shrugs. “I'm not sure. I guess we’re going to study the statue and draw it. Ms. Betzing said something about studying light patterns and shading.”

Happy groans at his side. “You guys couldn’t have pulled up photos of it from Google or something?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Peter says, shooting a smile over his shoulder at him before he boards the bus.

...

It takes them a little over an hour until they reach Battery Park, where they will board the ferry that will take them to Liberty Island across the harbor.

“Alright, class! I want all of you to stick together and stay with your groups—no wandering off and everyone be on your best behavior,” Ms. Betzing says as she hands out the maps of Liberty Island and their ferry passes. “I want you all to sketch out anything that catches your eyes as we go and feel free to take any pictures with your phones for references!”

“What if we get motion sickness?” Someone from their group asks.

Ms. Betzing winces at the question. “Uhm… then you can feel free to wait until we’re off the ferry. I want you all to have a fun time on the trip and we certainly don’t want anyone getting sick today!”

They have to wait a few minutes until the ferry arrives, so Peter decides to pull out his small sketchbook from his backpack to kill some time, joining Ned and MJ over at a nearby bench.

“So, how are things going with shades over there?” MJ asks as she sketches something into her sketchbook.

Peter smirks at the nickname as he looks up at Happy, who’s standing near two of the other chaperones as their teacher talks to them, handing them maps as well. “Uh, okay I guess,” he says.

Happy looks bored, like he’d rather be anywhere else than here right now, and Peter can’t help but feel a little guilty. May had pushed Happy to go on the trip when Peter had her sign the permission slip last week, despite Peter’s protests against the idea of a chaperone, especially Happy being one. It’s not exactly the man’s thing and Peter knows how busy he is, being the head of security at SI and not to mention being Morgan’s part-time babysitter.

“You know, he kinda looks like he’s your bodyguard or something,” Ned adds in.

MJ laughs as she looks up from her sketch. “He does,” she agrees before lowering her voice so only they hear her. “It’s kinda sad that Spider-Man needs one though.” She says, shooting a grin Peter's way, earning a laugh from Ned.

Peter rolls his eyes half-heartedly at their teasing. “He’s not my bodyguard and you guys know it. He’s just here for the trip. May wanted him to go for some reason.”

“Why? Is it like… a bonding thing or something? You did say that she made you two have a ‘guys weekend’ last month.” Ned asks with a frown.

“Yeah, isn’t that when you slipped and broke your ribs on the toilet?” MJ adds.

Peter sighs, looking over at her with an unamused expression. “Thanks for reminding me,”

She smiles with a one-shouldered shrug. “That’s what I’m here for, babe.”

Ned makes a disgusted sound at the pet name. “But seriously, do you think that’s why he’s here? To spend more time with you or something now that he and May are engaged?”

Peter’s smile falters as he looks back over at Happy, who’s now looking at something on his phone with his glasses lowered down near the tip of his nose so he can see the screen. “I don’t know… maybe?”

When the ferry arrives at the port, they all get on and take their seats. Peter sits next to Happy again like he had on the bus and they wait for a few moments as passengers continue to get on board.

“You know, I bet Steve would’ve liked to go on this trip with it involving art and everything.” Happy says, breaking the silence between them.

Peter looks over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

Happy shugs. “He’s into art. He always has a doodle pad on him.”

“I never knew Cap was an artist.”

“He’s not bad, either. He once painted a picture of one of Tony’s cars and gave it to him for Christmas.”

Peter knows the exact painting he’s talking about, the one of the bright red Audi R8 Spyder that’s hung up in Tony’s office at the compound. “Cap painted that one?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yeah,” Happy says with a nod.

“Wow,” Peter breathes out as a small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Think he’d do a portrait of Spider-Man?” He asks in a quiet tone, only to earn an amused chuckle from Happy.

“You never know. Maybe if you show up for training on time on the weekends.” He says, giving him a knowing look.

He’s got me there. Peter thinks to himself.

By the time the ferry is moving and on its way to Liberty Island, it only takes a few minutes until Peter is hit with a sense of deja vu as the memories of the last time he was on a ferry comes to mind—the fight with Toomes.

And that time… the ferry had split in half, all thanks to Peter screwing everything up.

Which just so happens to be the reason why he tries to avoid going on boats.

Peter swallows hard as he squeezes his hands that are resting on his lap, feeling the knot in his stomach that had formed in the past few minutes tighten. He darts his eyes around the inside of the ferry, looking up at the ceiling to make sure there aren’t any cracks or any signs of it about to split into two. At least he has his web-shooters on him, but what good did they do him the last time.

Tony was the one who saved the ferry… but Tony is now retired from Iron Man, even though Peter knows he’d jump into a suit and fly here as fast as he could—which would take too long since he’s all the way upstate. The ferry would sink in a matter of minutes with all the water pooling in and they would all drown if lifeboats didn’t arrive in time.

The horrifying scene of it all playing out in Peter’s head has him shaking, feeling his chest seize up in fear and dread. He slams his eyes shut as he mindlessly shakes his leg, trying to push away those terrifying images of MJ, Ned, and his classmates floating lifeless in the Hudson.

“Pete, you alright?” Happy quietly asks in a worried voice.

Peter snaps his eyes open and nods shakily. “Y-Yeah.” He lies.

Happy turns in his seat as he leans in front of him and looks at his face. “You don’t look it,” he says worriedly. “What’s going on?”

“N-Nothing—I’m fine.” Peter tries to assure him—heck, to assure himself but he can’t get the thought of the ferry ripping in two out of his mind. He can’t fail everyone again—he can’t fail Tony again.

Peter tries to take in a deep breath in hopes to calm himself down a little but it comes out more like a weak gasp. His chest feels like there’s a rubber band tightly wrapped around it, blocking off any way for air to get in.

“Hey, hey—look at me. Kid? Peter.” Happy whispers urgently as he takes off his shades and gently grabs Peter’s shoulder, suddenly finding himself facing the man’s worried face. “Tell me what’s going on?”

“I-I don’t know,” Peter murmurs as he shuts his eyes again, grateful they’re sitting in the back so none of his classmates see his meltdown. “I-I can’t breathe.”

“You’re having a panic attack,” Happy says in a soft voice that Peter’s heard him use on Morgan many times before. “You’re okay—you’re safe. Just try to breathe.”

“I-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Try to take a deep breath for me, Pete,” Happy gently tells him.

Peter wills his chest to release its chokehold on him as he tries to suck in a deep, shaky breath.

In one, two, three… out one, two, three. Peter thinks to himself, remembering the breathing exercise Tony taught him one time when he was having a panic attack similar to now.

It takes a few minutes of breathing until Peter feels like he’s not drowning in his own panic anymore, now that his chest has thankfully opened back up. He feels shaky and tired, but he can breathe.

“Feeling better?” Happy asks, brows pulled together in concern.

Peter shakes his head slowly. “Think so… sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Happy says as he grabs Peter’s backpack and zips it open to retrieve a water bottle. “Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks as he cracks it open and hands it to him.

Peter takes a sip before he sighs. “It’s stupid,” he says.

“It’s not.” Happy reassures.

“I…” Peter pauses and closes his eyes. “I was fine when we got on the ferry… but then my stupid brain went against me and all I could think about was—the ferry splitting in half.”

A look of realization flashes across Happy’s face. “Why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t have to go on this trip if you didn’t want to.”

“I did want to go but I just didn’t think the boat would bother me because I’m with you and everyone else,” Peter admits. “I just… I don’t know...”

“Hey,” Happy says gently. “I get it.

Peter looks up at him and offers a small, weak smile.

When they’re finally off the ferry, Peter follows behind the group with Happy at his side as everyone starts to head further on the island, Lady Liberty standing tall and proud above them, glowing a brilliant soft green in the afternoon sun.

MJ and Ned walk over and join them by a picnic table, thankfully unaware of Peter’s panic attack on the trip over. They all start drawing in their sketchbooks while Happy goes on his phone, even managing to sneak a few pictures of them when Peter isn’t looking.

Peter takes a deep breath in when a warm spring breeze blows past them, feeling it flow through his lungs. He feels a lot better now that he’s on dry land, with his friends and Happy. Sitting here drawing is pretty relaxing, surprisingly too. He’s never been a great drawer but this art class has helped him get a little better to the point that he actually enjoys it.

“Does this look like a pigeon or a rat?” Ned asks with a frown as he holds up his drawing for them to see.

“Definitely a rat,” MJ says with a small smirk. “But with feathers.”

Ned groans as he drops his sketchbook to the table. “I’d like to say that I give up but we have to pass this in at the end of class tomorrow.” He says, earning a chuckle from them.

“I think it looks good, Ned,” Peter offers. “I mean, have you seen the city’s pigeons? Those things are monsters.”

“You got a thing against pigeons?” MJ questions, shooting him a grin.

Happy chuckles from beside him. “He’s still sore about that one time one swiped his sandwich from him.”

Ned laughs at that and Peter holds his arms out in defense. “It was a sandwich from Delmar’s! No one steals my sandwich and gets away with it.”

“It got away, didn’t it?” MJ asks.

Peter’s shoulders slump with a sigh. “Yeah.”

She shakes her head with a small chuckle as she looks back at her drawing.

...

The afternoon passes by in a blur and before they know it, it’s already time for them to head back. They’re now waiting in line as everyone boards the ferry once again and Peter is dreading getting back on.

“How about we hang back here for a little bit and let everyone else go on ahead?” Happy offers, seeming to sense his dread.

Peter raises an eyebrow at him. “But we have to get back to school.”

“Sure you can. I’ll sign you out for the rest of the day if you want.”

“You can?” Peter asks a little hopefully. He honestly doesn’t think he can get back on that boat right now and then go through another couple of hours at school.

“Yeah, let me go talk to your teacher then we’ll grab some lunch.” Happy tells him before he walks away from him to find Ms. Betzing.

It only takes Happy a few minutes before he’s back. “You’re all set.” He says.

“Really?” Peter asks, a little surprised at how easy it was.

“Yeah. She just had me sign a form,” Happy says as he nods his head in the direction of the group. “You wanna say goodbye to your friends?”

Peter shakes his head. “I’ll just text them later.”

...

Not even twenty minutes later, they’re seated outside of the Crown Cafe, enjoying two all-American burgers with a side of fries and two sodas.

“You know… you didn’t have to sign me out the rest of the day. We’re going to have to get back on the ferry anyways.” Peter says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

“I know,” Happy says with a nod as he takes a sip of his soda. “But I thought you could use a break and our ride back is on his way.”

Peter raises an eyebrow to ask, only to be cut off when someone yells, “Hey, look! It’s Iron Man!” And below and behold, Iron Man suddenly drops down from the sky, landing across the way from them and drawing a crowd.

“We couldn’t have swam back to the city? Or what about a helicopter?” Peter sarcastically asks, turning back to Happy.

Happy shrugs with a smile. “I thought about the helicopter but I know May wouldn’t approve.”

Peter sighs before he takes another bite out of his burger.

[nsheetee]

Okay,, hear me out,, enemy! Hyuck hating the reader, maybe like because they always comepete to see who’s better, and he always loves seeing the reader get hurt, whether it be they got a bad grade or they tripped over their shoelace. Hyuck just finds it satisfying to see them fail. But, like,, seeing the reader cry for the first time, just really gets to him and he eventually stops hating them and starts trying to help them, and bam, adorable romance because enemies to lovers is great

a/n: okay anon pls I LOVE enemies to lovers tropes, and with hyuck???? SiGn Me uP- (there’s also another one with Jaehyun coming soon so look out for that winkwinkwink) also, I’m doing this in a different style than I usually do, I hope its alright~

(featuring renjun, jeno, and jaemin- also, some swearing)

hyuck didn’t hate you because of one reason

he hated you because of a whole combination of reasons

like how in 8th grade you would sit at the edge of his lunch table

and when hyuck pulled out his DS to show off his Nintendogs

you joined in on the conversation and showed all his friends your own Nintendogs

making all of hyucks friends move over to your side of the table and crowd around your screen

or how in 9th grade when you accidentally met his parents at one of his basketball games

you were talking with them in the bleachers, and when hyuck shot a basketball into the hoop

he looked over at where his parents sat

they didn’t see him score

they were too busy talking to you

but the thing that pushed him completely over the edge was in 10th grade when there was a solo competition in choir

hyuck spent hours in the practice room rehearsing his piece and even got his own accompanist

and when you went up to perform for the competition, you admitted that you only practiced the night before

when you ended up winning the competition, hyuck’s blood boiled

he couldn’t even look at you

he decided right then and there that he hated you

he hated your ability to draw attention to yourself

and he hated the natural talent you have for anything you do

what he didn’t know, was that you did all this because you had a crush on him

you wanted to impress him and you thought he would appreciate your ways of showing him

but hyuck was just a boy- a dumb one (aren’t they all smh)

so hyuck tried to get back at you

like when he “accidentally” stepped on your shoelace while you were walking up the stairs

your books and papers tumbled down the staircase

you fell forward to catch yourself and landed on your wrist in a weird position

hyuck LOVED watching you get all pissy about having to wear a brace on your dominant hand

until his friend jeno offered to take all your notes for your classes

jeno sent hyuck an apologetic look as he moved to sit next to you

and hyuck had to spend the next few weeks watching you and one of his closest friend giggle over stupid stuff the teach said and whisper jokes in each others ears

or when you were in your culinary class and hyuck added in extra spices to your dishes when you weren’t looking, making you confused as too why your cooking didn’t taste good

until his friend jaemin came over and helped you balance out the spices

and hyuck watched from his table as you and jaemin fed each other the food you made

hyuck even went as far as to annoy you in your happy place- the art room

you and renjun would go to the art room during your breaks in school

and hyuck would wander in and pretend he was talking to renjun

when really he was trying to tease you about your drawings

and then one day- hyuck made a mistake

he was trying to see what doodle you just drew in your sketch book

he was tugging one cover of the book and you gripped the other and BAM

the book tore in half

you, renjun, and hyuck all stared at the shredded book in shock

hyuck couldn’t help the small laugh that left him- it wasn’t because he found the situation funny

it’s because he knew he screwed up

but you couldn’t tell the difference

“hyuck…” you choked out after hearing him laugh “don’t you think you went a little too far this time?”

whatever smile was on hyuck lips immediately vanished as he saw the tears coming into your eyes, pooling at the edges, ready to spill down your soft cheeks

you had never cried in front of him before

through all the teasing and pranks- you were always strong-headed and resilient

until now

his heart clenched at the sight and his hand reached out for some reason, like holding onto you would fix the situation

you pushed his hand away and stared down at the book

your heart was confused- your crush of so many years just ripped your pride and joy in half (literally)

you had hoped that somewhere deep in all of the teasing, hyuck had some feelings for you

but your head kept telling you that maybe you should just end it here

you let out a sob

and for some reason hyuck couldn’t bare it

he couldn’t bare knowing the tears on your face were because of him

renjun pushed hyuck out of the room and when hyuck looked back into the room through the window

there was renjun, comforting you as you held your torn sketchbook

hyuck knew he was the only one who could fix this mess

so the next day, you walk into your classroom and instead of your seat mate at your desk, hyuck was there

“hyuck, can you just leave me alone-”

“no, sit down”

hyuck was PERSISTENT AF

he bought you a new sketchbook

(it was your favorite color and you asked him how he knew and he stuttered out something like “you never stop talking about it, idk”)

he carried your books between classes

(you joked about “accidentally” stepping on his shoelaces)

(he was like, “if it’ll make you laugh”)

(yeah, whatever feelings you thought had gone away came right back after that)

hyuck was in MAJOR CONFUSION

he was only gonna “be nice” to you for a few days, maybe a week

but he ended up..,.,. liking spending time with you (???)

he just felt… comfy and like he didn’t have to always play pranks and say something funny to entertain you

be could just say whatever was on his mind and you would appreciate it either way

it made him relax into you

he also didn’t mind the other little things about you he started to get familiar with

like the unrestrained belly laughter you let out when jeno says something really dumb again

or the doodles you draw on your papers that eventually transferred onto hyuck’s because you ran out of room

hyuck was persistent in a lot of things- and his feelings were one of them

despite the fluttering feeling in his heart and the subconscious smile that would rest on his face when he was around you-

he still was confused about all the things you did to him when you were younger

he asked you about it one day after lunch

you were sitting outside on the lawn, the shade of a tree over you and spring air cooling you down

“y/n…. can I ask… why did you do all those things to me when we were younger?”

“what things?”

“you took my friends as your own… somehow even my parents like you after the first time they met you…. you even got 1st place in that choir competition last year- I mean I know you have talent but-” hyuck just realized how uncomfortable he was making the situation by asking you all this

thankfully you shut him up with a small laugh

“hyuck… you thought I didn’t like you?”

“well… yeah?”

“it’s the opposite” you admit

hyuck’s eyes widen and neither of you are able to look at each other

his usual confidence no where to be seen- he could only stutter out his next words

“d-did you think I hated you too?”

“… you ripped my drawings in half, what do you think, dumbass?”

“when will you let that go? it was an accident-”

“yah, will you two just kiss and make up already?” renjun shouted from the other side of the tree where he was also taking advantage of the shade

he leaned back against the tree with his eyes closed and a smirk on his face and you and hyuck shut up

whatever miscommunications made you and hyuck fight in the past

it was just that = in the past

(and indeed you did, kiss and make up)

[monstersandmaw]

Embers - Dragon Shifter Romance story, Part Four (sfw)

It’s Friday, so here's Chapter Four! Again, it's longer than I'd intended, but that's ok, right?

Last week we got to see a bit more of our prickly new horned friend and he mentioned that he might have a job for us... 

One, Two, Three

“A job?” you asked, tilting your head with interest. His quick, golden eyes tracked the movement and the harsh line of his pale mouth softened a little more.

“Yes. My department at the University is holding…” he broke off and sighed. He took off his round glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m almost embarrassed to admit to you what the event is. It’s so… cliché…”

As your own mouth twisted into an amused grin at his obvious awkwardness, Mikaeïl looked up at you and rolled his eyes.

“I don’t even know what your department is,” you said. “I don’t know what you do at the University; you could be manager of the stationary supplies for all I know…”

He bristled visibly at that, and then caught himself before he could allow his pride to get the better of him. “I am a research professor in the Department of Criminology. I specialise in forensic anthropology, especially in cases which involve magic and, or, necromancy.”

Your eyes went wide. “Holy crap,” you breathed. “I barely even know what those even words mean…” You cleared your throat and ventured, “So… like… you study dead people and what happened to them?”

He shrugged and left the conservatory to go and rescue your brewing tea before it stewed and went bitter. Over his shoulder as he walked away, red hair swinging down his back, he said, “In a nutshell. I can tell you more about it if you’re really interested.”

“I’m always interested in stuff I know nothing about,” you admitted somewhat eagerly. “I’m the cat whose curiosity will get the better of me one day, I’m sure…”

In response, you heard a low, warm, rumbling chuckle from the other side of the kitchen. There was something about it that spoke of an altogether bigger creature than Mikaeïl was, and though you had your suspicions about him, you weren’t entirely sure what he was precisely. He hadn’t been exactly forthcoming when you’d had a go at guessing earlier, shutting your ‘tiefling’ line of questioning down immediately.

A few minutes later, he returned with a china mug of tea and gracefully set it on the table beside the sofa in the conservatory, but he didn’t take a seat beside you. He remained standing with his arms hugged defensively across his slim chest, hands cupping his sharp elbows. The white shirt and black waistcoat and trousers made him look harsh and almost unfriendly, but his eyes were gentle enough.

“Well,” he said, “The department is hosting a charity event in a few months, and we’re looking for someone to design some posters for it.”

“What’s the event?” you asked. “You’re going to have to tell me eventually if you want me to work up some sketches for you…”

“It’s a murder mystery evening,” he said flatly.

“People actually do those?” you asked. “And what’s wrong with -”

“It’s the criminology department,” he said slowly, somewhat patronisingly. “It’s…” he shuddered.

Instead of elaborating, he rolled his eyes again and crossed to the glass door of the conservatory, keeping his back to you as he stared out at the lawns of the gardens beyond.

“They do a charity event - usually for rich benefactors it has to be said - every year. This year they decided to host a murder mystery event set in a 1920s jazz club…” When you didn’t immediately respond, he glanced over his shoulder at you and your amused and intrigued expression must have caught him off guard because he added, “You actually think that sounds like fun, don’t you?”

You shrugged, a bit embarrassed for being enthusiastic about it when he clearly thought it was ridiculous. “You want me to come up with some sketches? I don’t have all that long before Celia finishes her lesson, but I could rough out at least a few ideas now, if you wanted.”

“What would you charge?” he asked. “I shouldn’t ask you to go ahead before I’ve cleared it with the administrative staff of the department…”

You waved your hand. “I’ll doodle a few ideas now anyway,” you said. “I’d like to.”

He fixed you with an odd look that might have hidden a good amount of bafflement at your offer, but he nodded. “If you’d like to, then I’d be most grateful.”

You grinned and sipped your tea. “Oh, that’s delicious,” you murmured, eyeing the steaming cup for a moment.

“I’m glad.”

So, while he fell still, gazing silently out at the gardens with a thousand-mile stare on his sharply-beautiful face, you roughed out a few ideas that involved variations on a knocked over martini glass and a few splotches of blood.

It was only when the patter of small boots across the kitchen floor, closely followed by the clop of hooves, drew your attention off the page that you realised how lost you’d become in the sketches. The only thing which had halfway drawn your attention away from the soft strokes of pencil on paper had been the delicious tea.

Celia flapped her dusky brown wings in excitement and you saw that she had her flute in one hand and a sheet of music in the other. “Look!” she half-screeched, wings flapping. Her whirlwind entry of excitement and enthusiasm made Mikaeïl jump which, in turn, made Frankie chuckle. “Listen! I learned a tune!”

“Already?” you asked, abandoning the sketch pad on the sofa beside you and turning your attention completely onto her. “You going to play it for me?”

She nodded and thrust the page at you so you could hold it up for her. Frankie gave you a thumbs up over her shoulder and she brought the flute to her lips and began to play. It was… pretty ropey, but then again she’d only been learning for an hour in total. She played ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ in a breathy, squeaky, faltering melody, and when she was done, she grinned at you in triumph.

“That’s amazing!” you said, and you meant it. “You’ve learned to read those notes and play them in that short time?”

She nodded. “It’s actually not that hard,” she said a little pompously.

“Well then, I take it you like your new teacher? You can tell your papa too when we get home.”

Her nod this time was vehement. “Frankie’s so cool,” she said and you grinned up at Frankie, whose cheeks had flushed an attractive pink.

The ovine satyr ran a hand through his woolly white blond curls and grinned. “She’s a natural, I’ve got to say,” he smiled.

“Looks like we’ll be coming back,” you said, turning to look at Mikaeïl. Your words died when you saw that he had stooped to pick up your sketch book and was holding it in his slender fingers as if it were some kind of holy relic, staring at your drawings. “Something wrong?” you asked.

He didn’t respond, and Frankie trotted over to him and dug him in the ribs. Mikaeïl’s lips peeled back into a tiny snarl, but Frankie just ignored him and looked at the page of the sketchbook and whistled. “Bloody -” he broke off, remembering that there was a child present, and finished with, “I mean… Holy smokes! You’re one talented artist!”

You kept your eyes on Mikaeïl and asked, “You like it?”

He swallowed thickly, his throat working visibly. When he met your eyes, his own were glassy and almost teary, which struck you as odd. “Yes,” he croaked, his voice rough and raw. “Very much. I’d like to hire you for this, if you want to do it.”

There was something going on beneath the surface here, you were sure of it, but you nodded slowly and agreed. “Talk to your department and let me know what the budget is. I’m not normally that expensive when I do freelance stuff anyway. Assuming the University will handle the printing costs…”

“I’d cover the difference myself anyway,” he murmured.

You shot another look at Frankie and he shrugged mutely, as nonplussed about the depth of Mikaeïl’s reaction as you were. Celia stood there, seeming a bit deflated now that the attention had moved away from her after her debut performance, so you cleared your throat and stood, finishing the last mouthful of tea and taking it over to the sink in the kitchen.

When you returned, Mikaeïl seemed to have recovered, and his usual frosty exterior had returned. “Your art style is perfect for this,” he said, handing you back your sketchbook. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Right,” you said, feeling distinctly off-balance from his strange reaction.

At a reprimanding glare from Frankie, Mikaeïl’s shoulders dropped a little and he chuckled. “May I assume you’ll be coming back next week with Celia?”

“Please?” Celia interrupted, her attention drawn by the mention of her name. “Can we?”

“You’ll have to tell your papa what you learned,” you smiled, “But I think he’ll be happy enough to let you continue your lessons with Frankie if you’re enjoying them.”

“Yes!” she hissed, pumping her fist and spreading her wings broad for a moment before tucking them in.

You had to smile, and it even drew a smirk from Mikaeïl. “Well,” you said, “I look forward to hearing from you then,” you said. “You’ve got my number after all…”

“That I have,” he said, and to your surprise, he walked past you and pulled a ragged paper napkin out of a kitchen drawer.

He held it between his finger and thumb with surprising gentleness, as though it were a lady’s favour and he a knight at a tournament, worried about smudging it. The thought immediately seemed preposterous to you and you snorted with laughter, hoping a second later that he didn’t take it the wrong way.

“Until next week,” he said, his baritone clipped and stiff, showing you out of the kitchen and escorting you to the front doors of his grand mansion.

As you and Celia headed back to your battered old car, you heard Mikaeïl give a soft ‘oof’ and a second later caught Frankie’s hissed, “You’re a fucking idiot, Kae, you know that?”

“Yes,” he said wearily. “I have been told as much once or twice in my lifetime,” came his rather melancholic response before you had closed the door and were concentrating on making sure Celia’s seatbelt was done up.

When you looked up to wave goodbye, you found that the front door had been closed and the house had fallen silent once again.

Part Five

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[redassassin]

a beautiful nightmare

part seven-> part eight 

Adrian had never been more confused in his life. As he listened to Nova’s retreating footsteps he mulled over the events of that night. Pros: Nova had accepted his invitation. She had agreed to dance with him, even saying that he was the only one she wanted to dance with. Cons: She had run away. Run away.

He shook it off. Nova was a very private person. It took a lot for her to trust anyone. But, maybe, if he showed her that he trusted her wholeheartedly, with their biggest secret, maybe she would trust him.

He made his way back to his bedroom and pulled out his sketchbook, doodling as he attempted to clear his mind. After about a half an hour his eyes started to droop and he closed it, lying back on his bed, drifting off into sleep.

He set out at the same time the next night, following the same path he had the night before, hoping to run into Nova. He paced through the halls, covering the same ground, one, two, three times. But Nova didn’t show. Finally, he made his way to the guards quarters, knocking on the door to Nova’s room. A loud sound echoed through the room, as if something had been knocked off the bed. He heard a muffled curse, followed by the frantic shuffling of papers and the clinking of metal. Footsteps padded towards the door, and it squeaked open, a flustered Nova standing on the threshold. She started when she realised that it was him, opening her mouth as if to speak.

“I want to show you something.” He said, holding out his hand to her. He froze, remembering how she had pulled away last night, and drew his hand back, clearing his throat. “Sorry. Uh, would you come with me? There’s something I think you would be interested in.” She nodded, stepping out of her room and closing the door. Adrian led her through the castle, down towards the basement. He heard Nova pause, and he turned back to see an odd expression on her face. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that it was fear. He shook it off, offering her a small smile.

“You okay?”

She nodded, speeding up so that she was standing beside him. “So, where are we going?”

“Where are we going?”

He stopped beside a torch, pressing the red R that decorated the base. The sound of grinding stone filled the air and a passage opened up. It was dark, and Adrian sketched a torch and held it out to her.

She stared, open-mouthed at the passage as she grabbed the torch, stepping hesitantly into the tunnel.

“To see a friend.”

They made their way along the tunnel, and Adrian could hear Nova’s shallow breathing beside him. He tried to focus on anything else, the sound of their footsteps, how much longer it would take to get to Max, or the flickering of the torch in her hand. It illuminated her face, casting shadows over it. It took too much restraint for Adrian to not grab her hand and press another gentle kiss against her knuckles. Her shallow breathing reminded him of how much he wanted to press her up against the wall and kiss her until they were both gasping for air. But he couldn’t, and never would. He would wait for her, no matter how long it took.

Nova paused as they reached the end of the corridor. She glanced up at him, a question behind her eyes. He pushed open the door, revealing a spiraling staircase and a ceiling made of glass. She stared up in awe, following him as he made his way up the staircase.

“What is this place?” She asked as she took in the sight.

“You’ll see in just a second. He’s through here.” He led her up the staircase and through a trapdoor in the ceiling to reveal a small room separated by a glass wall from the rest of the tower. Adrian pulled a small cord hanging near them and a bell rang through the tower. A small figure appeared from a trapdoor in the ceiling. Adrian smiled, calling out through the glass.

“Max! Come meet Nova. She’s the one I’ve been telling you about.” Nova stiffened beside him, looking up at him in apprehension. “Insomnia, meet the Bandit. Max, this is Nova! She joined us a little over a month ago.”

Nova was examining the tower. “Are you trapped in here?”

“Nova-”

Max interrupted him. “It’s fine. It’s not safe for me to be around other people, and I can see everything from here. Plus, I get visitors all the time. It’s not so bad.”

She still looked skeptical, but he assured her that Max had a want for nothing and had company throughout the day, as well as a view of the courtyard and access to the library and anything else he could want to stay busy. He watched her as she nodded slowly, her brow still furrowed.

“Why isn’t it safe for you to be around other people?”

“It’s- uh… classified?”

Nova raised her eyebrows. “Right, I guess I forgot who I was talking to.”  The bitterness in her voice was evident, and Adrian stared at the floor, partly embarrassed, and partly to hide his own bitterness.

“Can I show her the model?”

Adrian waved his question away. “It’s your model, Max. I don’t care what you do with it.”

Max squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating hard as a blanket rose from the ground, revealing a glittering glass model of the city. He heard Nova draw in a sharp breath next to him, walking closer to the model and squatting down next to the glass partition, her hand against it for balance.

“That stall is in the wrong place. It should be next to the blacksmith, over there, and the one behind it should take its place.”

She looked up to see Max and Adrian staring at her in confusion.

“What? I spend a lot of time in the city. There’s only so much I can do to keep entertained when I’m awake 24/7.”

The glass buildings rose, moving to their corrected places.

“Any more corrections, Insomnia?” Adrian laughed, but she gave him a stern look and pointed back at the glass city.

“I’m guessing you had a big part in this?” She smirked when he nodded. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m here. That row is all wrong. It should be there,” She pointed to a spot nearby, and those over there should be here.” Max began to move the objects, grinning at Adrian’s expression.

He watched as Nova continued to correct the city. She was so sure of herself, pointing out his mistakes without a second glance, even naming the names of buildings and businesses and streets, as she directed him.

“Listen, Nova. You can’t tell anyone that I brought you here. The only people who know are Ruby, Danna, and Oscar, and the Council of course, and the people who care for him. We would both get in so much trouble if they knew that I brought you here.” She raised her eyebrows and opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it and simply nodded. She finished her corrections to the city and stood up, brushing her hands off on her pants.

“I should go, there was something I wanted to finish working on tonight.” She offered him a small smile, her hand brushing against his arm as she passed him. “Thank you for this.”

“Want me to walk you back?” He said, hope in every tone of his voice, but she shook her head, and he deflated.

“I’ll be okay. Spend some more time with Max. I have a feeling he might have a few requests for new figurines.”

She exited through the trapdoor, and the second it closed Max started to laugh, and Adrian flinched at the loud echo.

“Dude, could you be any more obvious? Your face lights up when she just barely looks at you.” Max shook his head, grinning at the panic on Adrian’s face.

“You couldn’t wait until she was at least out of the tower? She might hear you,” He hissed.

“She knows, Adrian. You have nothing left to hide, except maybe how the hell you gave yourself more powers.”

Adrian gaped at him, his brain momentarily blank. “What- I- How- That’s. . . not me?’

Max scoffed. “I’m not stupid, Adrian. So, tattoos? Is that how you did it?”

“What- How?” Max pointed at his sleeve, which had ridden up and revealed the bottom of the flame tattoo. Glaring, he yanked his sleeve back over the tattoo.

“So you haven’t told anyone?” Max asked.

Adrian shook his head. “Danna got hurt, and you know the Council would never allow it. Who knows what they’d do to stop me from becoming the Sentinel, especially after everything that happened with Nightmare. I was stuck on that rooftop for hours. You have no idea the kind of lecture I got when I finally got back.”

“Actually, I do. The Captain was here right after, complaining about how unprofessional you were, and how you didn’t even look like you were listening. Distracted by thoughts of your giiiiirlfriend?” He drew out the word, a mocking tone prevalent.

“She’s not my girlfriend, and no. I was actually thinking about how I could have killed Danna, and I was worried about Nova. She disappeared at the beginning of the fight, and didn’t return for hours. But she’s fine, and they say that Danna will be too.”

“I watched the battle, you know.” He pointed out the window in the general direction of the rooftop where the fight had been. The Dread Warden brought me binoculars so I could watch the city. It was awful, watching the fight, and I didn’t even know it was you. Watching the flame jump between the butterflies, I thought it would take them all.” Adrian shuddered.

Below them, the trapdoor opened again, and Nova poked her head through.

Adrian bristled. How much had she heard? He examined her expression, but if she had heard anything, it didn’t show.

“Hey again,” He said, smiling at her. She smiled back, somewhat hesitantly.

“Hey. Uh, can we talk?” She was staring down at her feet, refusing to look at him. He turned to look at Max, who just grinned, giving him a thumbs up as he began to levitate over his glass city.

“Yeah. Do you want to take a walk?” She nodded, turning away from Max and the quarantine, shuffling her feet a little as she walked towards the steps. She had grabbed her toolbelt from her room, and it hung loosely around her waist. She wore a light jacket over a tank top, and as she walked, her jacket slipped off her shoulder, revealing a long red cut on her arm. It looked fresh, and she grimaced as it was exposed to the cold air. She shrugged it back on to her shoulder, shaking her head at his confused expression. Max, however gasped from behind them, followed by the distinct sound of shattering glass and a cry of pain. Nova spun around next to him, running towards the doors to the quarantine before he could stop her. She threw open the doors and ran towards him, pulling something out of her toolbelt.

“Nova! You need to get out of there, it’s not safe!” He yelled, but Nova ignored him. She picked her way towards Max. She was almost there when she gasped, her brow furrowing. She stumbled, falling to one knee, as she shook her head, rubbing her forehead and yawning. She tried to stand, but the pull of Max’s power was too much. She slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

Adrian only paused for a second, before tearing open the door and following Nova into the quarantine. He scooped her up, carrying her out of the quarantine, jumping with the springs on his feet. 10 steps. 9. 6. His fingers started to ache, as if all his strength was being drained. He wondered how much of his power Max would have. How much of Nova’s? Would she have to sleep now?

2 steps. 1. He threw himself over the threshold, slamming the door behind him, before collapsing to the ground. Nova lay beside him, her breathing shallow as her eyelids twitched. He watched her as she dreamt, but turned away a second later. He wouldn’t like to have someone watching him as he slept, so he waited patiently beside her as medics rushed in to the quarantine after he had run the emergency bell that was just inside the door. He waved them away, signaling that he was fine, and that Nova was only asleep, and neither of them had been in there long enough to do any serious damage.

He leaned over Nova, shaking her shoulder in an attempt to wake her. No response. He tried again, and a few seconds later, she awoke. She awoke not as one generally did, with yawns and sleepy eyes, but with a small shriek. She was shaking, her eyes filling with tears. She scrambled away from, leaning against the wall, her head buried in her knees. Her breathing was fast, and a small sob escaped her mouth. He offered her his hand, and she took it, lacing their fingers together. He sat next to her, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. He squeezed her hand, offering her what comfort he could.

“I’m okay.”

“What happened?”

She paused, and shook her head slowly. “I-”

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay. You showed me Max, you deserve to know.” Nova took a shaky breath. “When I was six, I stopped sleeping. But it wasn’t by choice. My father was famous among the villain gangs during the age of anarchy, for his weapon-making. They went to him, threatened him with his life. He complied, for our sake as well as his own. He always hated what he did for them, and after a while he couldn’t take it anymore, seeing his creations used to hurt people like that. So he went to the Council, begged for help. And they promised their help, as long as he stopped. And he did. And when he stopped, they sent someone after us. I watched my mother fall right in front of me> Her blood splattered on my face. My father was shot before he could even scream. With his last words he told me to run. And so I did. I ran and hid in my closet. Too late I remembered my sister. I prayed that she wouldn’t wake up, that she would stay asleep, but she woke up and began to cry and there was another gunshot and she was dead. I hid in my closet, trying not to breath, hoping that someone would save me before he found me too. But he did find me. And so I-” She paused, taking a deep breath. “My uncle showed up, killed the man, saving me. After that, every time I closed my eyes, I heard the gunshots blasting through my head and the echoes of my sisters last cry.”

“Nova, I’m-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nodded, and she leaned her head on his shoulder again, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Can we go now?” They stood, letting go of each other’s hands as they walked down the stairs and out of the tower.

“I’m sorry for yesterday,” He said. “I’d still like to dance with you, but only if you want to. Please don’t feel pressured because of who I am.”

“I’ll be there.” She gave him a small smile, and Adrian flushed.

“See you later?” She nodded, and he brushed another kiss against her knuckles.

tag list: @obsessedwithliterallyeverything @red-eyes88​ @onecannotbebrave​ @renegadesmarissameyer​ @somanyfandomsonly1username​ @everhartartino​ @allyendergirl​ @thepurpledragon4444​ @theworst-pirate​

[honeydots]

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

“Were you drawing me?” 

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

-

(ao3 link)

-

Slugs were okay. 

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

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

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

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

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

But the bed was meant for two. 

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

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

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

You and me both, Goblin-kun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait. 

The slugs. 

The non-poisonous slugs. 

That made sense. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay? “What’s up?” 

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

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

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

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

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

It was pretty. 

He wanted to touch it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yusuke blinked at him. And then visibly considered it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That reminded him. “I have a question.” 

Yusuke hardly hesitated. “Anything.” 

“Why was I crying?”

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

He sounded so sad. 

And Akira about choked. 

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

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

“Oh.” 

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

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

Slugs… he said. “Yep.”

“Were they… causing you any discomfort?”

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

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

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

Did they need that much? “Maybe.” 

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

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

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

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

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

And slugs. 

[sprnklersplashes]

heart of stone (6/?)

AO3

Janis ditches the tights and jean shorts by Wednesday. There’s a slight look of ‘I told you so’ on her mother’s face, but she spares Janis the lecture out of politeness. Janis never thought she’d miss them, but here she is.

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she scribbles another flower on the page, a twin for the one next to it. Not an exact twin, it’s thinner and its petals are more spiked and sharp than the one she drew before it. It’s less inviting, more dangerous. Angry, even. Like if she picked it up she’d cut her finger on it. She hadn’t intended for it to happen; in fact, she’d set out to doodle some pretty little flowers in an attempt to brighten up her sketchbook. But the pencil, as it often does, did what it wanted. She turns it on the side, trying to find a way to like it. It’s not bad work, not her best but certainly not her worst. Maybe she could like it if she had drawn it earlier, but she had really been hoping to get something nice into her book today.

With a sigh, she sets the book on her lap and swings her body around so that her feet dangle over the edge of her bed. Her next round of chemo isn’t due for a few hours, a long stretch of time to attempt to fill with activity. While she’s only been in the hospital for two full days, she’s decided that the worst part is the waiting around for the next thing to happen. Granted, much of that can be put on her as she’s spent more time in her room than she has anywhere else, distracting herself with TV and art and her parents and texting her friends every chance she can get. It all comes together and forms some kind of routine for her, one that’s built with as much familiarity and comfort as possible woven through it. The only downside to it is that the room’s been getting progressively smaller since two days ago and it wasn’t long before it started choking her.  

She left the door slightly open and peers into the hallway, the brightness of the walls striking against the cool tones of her room. She can hear the faint sounds of half-conversations that overlap with each other; nurses gossiping with each other while fiddling with IVs, the inhabitants of the longue talking and laughing about who knows what, doctors prescribing new rounds of medicine. The ward is much more alive than she had Janis ever thought it could be, a constant hum in the background of the day to day life keeps the place awake.

She taps her nails on the cover of her book, her swinging legs gaining momentum as she debates following the pull in her chest, compelling her to maybe leave her room for more than five minutes at a time and follow the sounds of conversation. Maybe talk to people who aren’t her medical team or her parents. Make some friends, because as everyone knows, cancer wards are prime social hotspots. She may not be here forever, but she’ll be here long enough to justify getting comfortable.

What’s the worst that can happen, logic had asked her that first night.

Literally so freaking much, she responded. Friends aren’t exactly her strong suit. Regina was a mistake, Damian was luck, and Cady was a gift. She could indulge her inner loser and tell herself it’s because she’s special and tailor made to a few specific people, but the thought of that makes her roll her eyes. So she faces up to the truth and all it entails; that she’s merely been unlucky in the friendship department, something that can be boiled down to one terrible experience and everything that came after it and lingers long after the smoke has cleared.

You’re being ridiculous she tells herself. If there’s a Regina George clone here, she’ll be thoroughly impressed. So she pulls her boots on and pushes herself off the bed, quickly explaining to her mom that she’s going to hang out in the longue for a bit.

“You need me to come with you?”

“I’m fine,” she says, a small smile on her face as she pulls on a cardigan. She nods at the intense competitive cooking show her mom has on the TV. “Tell me who wins. And don’t leave out any details.”

“Well we both know it’s not going to be Leticia judging by the look of that beef,” she says seriously. Janis clicks her tongue before turning and heading down, her steps smaller than normal and her sketchbook held against her chest like a shield. Her stomach twists uneasily, not from the chemo or anything like that, just from good old-fashioned anxiety. In an odd way, it’s a relief to feel ill in that way.

When she pushes herself past the open doors, all eyes turn to her and only look away to talk with other people. It’s far more populated than the last time she was here, people sitting in groups of two and three, most in pyjamas and some with hats. But all of them in groups, belonging with each other. Is this how Cady felt all those months ago, when she and Damian spotted her heading to the bathroom? Maybe her girlfriend had the right idea that day. A bathroom stall is a way better alternative to a room full of strangers.

Unfortunately, she knows better by now, and so she settles in an armchair as gracefully as she can, her legs tucked beneath her, and tries to shake off the discomfort she feels by opening her book and giving her hands something to do.

“You’re new,” a girl sitting on the floor states. She’s one of the few that actually has hair, dark brown and curly, and it makes Janis feel a little more at ease. Is that bad, she has to ask.

“Third day,” she explains, offering her a small wave. “I’m Janis.”

“Melissa,” she says. She leans back on her arms and exposes a little bandage inside her elbow. Janis pulls her own arm a little closer. Melissa doesn’t seem to notice, instead gesturing to her with her chin.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” she asks, her cheeks growing warm. “Oh, just some drawings I do.”

“Cool,” she says. “So you do art?”

“Sometimes it’s like the art does me," she says dryly, earning a chuckle. “But you know how it is.”

“My best friend says that all the time,” Melissa sighs. “She says she wants to go to art college but I’ve watched her cry over trying to hand in assignments.”

“You sound like my mom,” Janis replies. “Literally every time I bring up doing art in college she tells me how stressful it is.” She shrugs lightly. “She’s not wrong, but it’s the only thing I want to do.”

“Is your mom here?”

“Yeah, she’s back in my room,” she explains. “I left her watching some cooking show on TV.”

“Wow, and you’ve only just here. I’ve been here for a month and I only just got my mom to let me out of her sight,” she sighs, a resigned smile on her face and her eyebrow raised in a silent ‘you know how it is’. “Want to play some Scrabble? We’ve started keeping a scoreboard so we can add you in. We have a whole tournament going.”

“Sounds fun,” Janis says, pushing herself off the chair. “Although I should give you warning, I’m dyslexic, so I kind of suck at it.”

Janis follows her across the longue, slipping her hand into her pocket when she thinks she sees the other girl reach out to her. There’s a pang of guilt in Janis’ chest even though Melissa doesn’t seem to care, and she does her best to work through it. She exchanges names and smiles with other kids, all introduced by Melissa. It’s an odd feeling; she’s not used to being the one who’s introduced. She’s either known people so long she doesn’t need to or she’s the one making the introduction, but today her mouth feels dry and her tongue tied so much that all she can do is say ‘hi’ and try to keep up with the rest of the little group. But despite this, and despite the fact that she does supremely suck at Scrabble, they aren’t half bad. They welcome her in with no problem at all, asking her about school and life and art as they set up tiles and she knows the right questions to ask them. She laughs at their jokes and nods along to the conversation, even adding in her own take now and again as it builds into a steady flow.

It’s not entirely perfect; she can’t help but feel slightly on the outside when they bring up a nurse or a patient she doesn’t know and she’s much more quiet than she’s used to being, unsure which, if any, topics are off-limits, where the lines are. But she’s enjoying herself enough to drown out her earlier worries even if it can’t make them fade entirely, and her mood only picks up when she hears someone behind her say (squeal) her name, followed a flash of pink and rainbow appearing in her vision. How times change when a pink sweater can make her smile instead of grimace.

“Maddie!” The younger girl leans into her side, eyes bright and sparkling, and Janis puts an arm around her shoulders. “Hey kid, where have you been?”

“Where have you been more like,” she replies. “I haven’t seen you since Monday.”

“Been busy,” she says. No one presses, likely because they all understand.  They’ve all been where she is before. “And now I’m busy losing at Scrabble. Badly.” Maddie chuckles and when her arms wrap around Janis and chin rests on her shoulder, she can’t say no to it. There’s nothing uncomfortable about such a gesture and it almost feels as natural as hugging Damian or when Karen rests her head on her shoulder, despite her only knowing the girl for two days.

“Oh hey, did they tell you about the photography thing yet?” she asks.

“That what now?”

“Oh it’s this thing the cancer centre started,” Melissa explains. “Basically they want us to take pictures of stuff that matters to us. Us doing hobbies, us with our friends, the whole shebang. It’s meant to be about our cancer not defining us or whatever.” She gives a casual shrug. “It’s fun anyway. You should do it. Especially since you have your art thing.”

“Sounds like fun,” she says before poking Maddie in the ribs. “Now come on, kid. Help me make a word out of these.”  

And maybe it’s Maddie’s presence or just time passing, but Janis suddenly finds herself a lot less anxious. She even gets to the point where she trades playful insults with another kid, a boy around her age, and form a team up of sorts against him with one of the other girls. They can’t replace her real friends and she wouldn’t try to, the bonds she’s formed with Damian and Cady are too important and were put through too much to be replicated, but she suspects that they could quickly become new friends.

What’s more, treatments and diagnosis come in and out of the conversation with unexpected ease, and when Janis talks about her own, it’s the same. She hadn’t realised how much of this she’d held back, even in her texts and calls with Damian and talks with her mom. And while she feels bad for it, it also feels so, so good to talk to people like this. People who aren’t her parents or her doctors. People who are, well… like her.

And as it turns out, her next round is scheduled the same time as Melissa’s, and so they head down the hallway together. While Melissa continues to make conversation, Janis’ responses dwindle the closer she gets to her room. It doesn’t take long for the good feeling from the longue to fade, and the image of the needle in her vein becomes sharper in her mind.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Janis asks suddenly.

“Sure.”

“Does it…” She swallows past the lump in her throat. She finds a loose thread on her cardigan and toys with it until the question comes out. “Does it ever get easier? All this?”

“Well…” Melissa stops in their tracks and Janis almost trips as she does the same, immediately regretting asking. The other girl bites her lip, searching for the right answer. It feels like hours before she says “I don’t really know. I can’t speak for you. We’re all different here.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I mean… I guess you get used to it. So it starts getting less scary, I guess.”

Janis only nods and then Melissa reaches out and taps her arm.

“It doesn’t stop sucking,” she sighs. “You just get used to it sucking.”

“And then we all bond over it sucking?” she asks, smirking.

“You get it,” she replies with a laugh. “See you later, Janis.”

“Bye.”

After Melissa leaves, she lingers in the hallway for a minute, pressing her finger into the spot where her IV goes. The problem is exactly what Melissa said-you get used to it. And she really, really doesn’t want to get used to it. Getting used it to means that she’ll be here for a while, that something else replaces her old life. Especially now, after the year she had last year, she wants to get used to good stuff, not stuff that ‘sucks’. The idea of this, medicines and hospitals and doctors, becoming normal to her sends a shiver down her back.

But she learned a while ago how to live in reality, even when it’s not what she wants. And it’s with that attitude she walks into her room, where she finds not only her IV set up, but a text from Cady detailing something funny from her math class and how much she misses her.

Even if she gets used to everything else, she knows she’ll never, ever get used to missing Cady.

                                                                                               *****

Friday morning, she wakes later than she normally does. It’s a slow process at the start, sleep pulling her in and begging her to stay, the hospital-issue sheets softer than soft around her and forming a cosy cocoon that she’s so tempted to remain in.

That is, until she remembers what day it is, and then she’s jolted awake.

Friday. Or as she’s called it, Damian-and-Cady day.

It was an unspoken agreement that the two of them were visiting her in here. Just like her father, they were insistent on coming over every moment they could, with Damian jokingly suggesting he could hide under her bed and they could have a sleep over (which they had considered in seriousness and attempted to plan). But thanks to a little thing called school, and another thing called distance, today was the first day she could see them, which is why now she’s wide awake, bright eyed, bushy tailed, everything. Because she’s finally seeing them again and filling the hole in her soul being away from them had carved.

“Morning, kid,” her mom says cheerily, entering the room with a cup of coffee in one hand. “They’re still serving breakfast downstairs, or if you want it brought up to you-”

“Sounds great, Mom,” she replies, only half paying attention. She turns on her phone, her leg bouncing anxiously as she waits for it to load. Has it always been this slow at turning on? She swears it hasn’t been. It takes an eternity for her lockscreen to come up, the time written across it in thin white numbers.

“Ten thirty?” she reads out loud before her head snaps up. “Mom, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Why would I?” she asks. “You need all the rest you can get, and you’ve still got time before you’re due a round.”

“I know,” she sighs, rubbing her eyes. “But Cady and I text good morning to each other and it was my turn this morning. I don’t want her to think I forgot.”

“Well, I’m sure Cady understands. You know, with all that’s going on, maybe she’s not expecting good mornings right now.”

“Course she is,” she replies quickly. In what universe would Cady not wait for a good morning from her? “It’s our thing. Didn’t you and Dad have a thing?” She types out the message and sends it quickly, although Cady probably won’t see it for at least another two hours.

“Oh, you think we did good morning e-mails back in those days?” she says, laughing a little. She sits on the bed next to her on the bed. “So are you getting some breakfast? Someone can bring it up if you don’t feel up to going down, I’ll just tell them what you want-”

“It’s fine, Mom.” She reaches under the bed and pulls on a sweater before slipping into her boots and raking a brush through her hair. “I might as well go down. Someone might take the last yogurt while I’m down there.”

Truthfully, she doesn’t really feel like eating. Not anything bad, she’s just not hungry, but it’ll put her mom’s mind at ease. Just as she thought, the tension fades from her mom’s shoulders, and when she pats her shoulder, there’s more relief in her smile than just breakfast warrants.

She eats in her room, with the TV on, like she does when she’s sick at home. She could eat in the dining room, but despite the new friends she’s made she prefers eating in private, especially away from the buzzing nurses. As she flips around the channels, her phone buzzes on the plastic table, the screen lighting up to show her a new text that makes her smile and roll her eyes at once.

‘Good morning, babe. Can’t wait to see you today. Also, ik I can’t really change it now, but what do we think of the outfit?’

Beneath the message is a picture of Cady in her bedroom mirror, clad in a black vest and blue flannel shirt with white skinny jeans, her hair held back in a high, loose ponytail, soft curls framing her round face, her eyes looking up at the mirror as she gives an open, toothy grin. And Janis can’t help it, she squeals. God damn it, her girlfriend is cute.

‘Love it, love it, love it. You’re the queen of cuteness. And apparently, texting during class. Stop doing that. If I get a text from you between now and lunch I will not cuddle you later.’

‘I’m not texting during class, it’s study hall.’ Wow, what on Earth has happened to the ever-studious, rule following Cady Heron? Not even Plastic Cady texted during study hall. ‘Besides, you have to cuddle with me. It’s legally required and I’m deprived of Janis cuddles.’

‘Only if you be good and don’t text during school hours.’ She fires back, chuckling under her breath. ‘And you remain that freaking adorable.’

“Well someone’s in a good mood.” She looks up and sees Doctor Wiley standing in the doorway, and her smile dips a little, the perfect bubble she was sitting in with Cady ruined. Not enough to ruin her mood, nothing could do that, but it shakes it.

“It’s her girlfriend,” her mom explains.

“How do you know that?”

“Your smile,” she says. “It’s your ‘Cady smile’.”

“I don’t…” Her voice trails off and her mom simply shrugs. Well look at that. She’s that girlfriend now.

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” Wiley says, striding towards her. Under the table, Janis crosses her fingers that this is a normal good morning visit. She’ll take bad news on any day that’s not Damian-and-Cady day. “So, Janis, a lot of us on your team have been talking and we’ve decided to ask if you might want to get a port inserted.”

“A what?” she asks.

“Think of it like a little reservoir put underneath your skin,” he explains. “Just to make receiving the chemo easier on you. A lot of patients have one put in.”

“Oh, wow.” Way to bring the mood down, Doc, she thinks. Sometimes she envies the younger patients who have their parents making all the hard decisions. Still, one word sticks out in all that. “It makes it easier?”

“Quite a bit easier,” he agrees. “For one thing, it’s a lot more comfortable than an IV.” There’s a plus. “And a lower risk of your medicine leaking out-”

“Sounds cool,” she interrupts quickly before he can bring up an image she doesn’t want. “Um, can I think about it? I mean, is it urgent?”

“No, of course not,” Wiley replies with a stiff smile. “I’ll let you and your mom discuss it.”

He leaves them after an uncomfortable silence, nodding to her and her mom and reminding her that he’s around if she has any questions.

“So what do you think?” her mom asks.

“I don’t think.” She picks her phone back up and jumps off the bed. “Where did you put my clothes?”

“I put everything in your bag, it’s under the bed,” she replies. Janis pulls out her bag, sorting through the mass of denim, cotton, plaid and leather, all while her mom hovers behind her with anxious eyes that drill into her back. "Janis, you should consider this.”

“And I will,” she sighs. She pulls out a shirt she’s always liked and throws it on the bed. “Just not right now.” She shakes her head, trying to clear some of the smoke in her brain. Still sitting on the ground, she looks up at her mom and sighs. “Mom, I just want to not think about cancer stuff right now. I just want to see my friends and think about that.” She toys with the shirt in her hands and bunches it into a tight ball, her arms tense and shaking and her grip tight. “Is that okay?”

Her voice sounds impossibly broken on that question. And while it wasn’t intentional, it works on her mom, who nods and comes over to pat her hair.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, and that’s the temporary end of it.

The day passes even slower than it normally does in hospital-time. Hours stretch on and on with no end in sight and she can’t distract herself no matter what she tries to do. She can’t focus long enough to read or settle on one TV show and even games in the longue can only get her so far. She tries checking her social media when on her IV, but she’s hardly there a minute before her anxiety peaks again after seeing pictures of her friends. Besides, it’s mostly dry now, everyone else is in class.

Finally, finally, it comes to the afternoon and it’s close enough that she can justify beginning to get ready. She stretches, grateful for the little power nap she took earlier, and fishes her make-up out of her bag. It’s not everything, but it’ll have to work, as will the tiny mirror in her bathroom.

“What’s going on in here?” The voice makes Janis jump six feet, even though it’s the honey-toned voice of one of the older nurses. “Little makeover.”

“Just wanted to look nice today,” she explains as she unscrews the foundation. She’s a little bit surprised to see that she’s not out of practice since she’s been bare-faced for well over a week now. Bigger priorities and all that.

“Her girlfriend’s coming over today,” her mom says in a low voice.

“It’s not just that,” she says, even though it might be. “Damian will also be here.”

“Oh you kids and your relationships,” the nurse chuckles as she takes the empty bags out. In the mirror, Janis sees her point sternly in her direction as though she were her mother. “Just remember Janis, if she really cares about you, she won’t care how much muck you have on your face.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she says as she applies a coat of eyeshadow, deep indigo and sparkling under the low lights. She adds a generous amount of purple lipstick next, a shade that’s always been a favourite of hers, and four coats of mascara. Some say that’s overkill, she disagrees. Bigger, bolder, better after all.

She takes a second before looking at herself properly, and when she does it makes her happier than it has any right to be. She looks like herself again. Not a girl with cancer. A girl who is perfectly healthy and happy, the dark circles around her eyes and the pale tint to her face deliberate. Not only that, she feels stronger, even though she hadn’t been aware of any weakness before. She can breathe easier now. She’s herself again. A little winded but it was worth it.

When she’s done, Cady and Damian should get out of school in about ten minutes. They worked it all out; they’ll get the first bus from school up to the hospital, which should take about twenty-five minutes. She offered to pay their bus tickets and her mom had offered to pick them up, but neither one of them would hear any of it. Damian in particular would die before accepting money from anyone.

So she has just over half an hour. Maybe closer to forty minutes when factoring in waiting for the bus and various stops…

She probably should have left the make-up to later just to give herself something to do.

No, it’s fine. The last thing she wants is them walking in on her doing her make-up. Besides, there’s plenty to do for half an hour. She’s waited this long after all. She checks her outfit again, first in the bathroom mirror, by bouncing repeatedly, and then by using the camera on her phone. This morning she was sure about this outfit. Now she’s not sure about this skirt. Maybe if her mom had woken her up earlier she’d have had more time to plan it. The shirt is fine, it’s something Cady loves, so she won’t trade it, but the skirt… it’s not working. She grabs more stuff from her bag and lays it out on the bed, debating each one carefully. There’s a pair of studded shorts that she doesn’t think looks right with the shirt, a pair of jeans that would be far too uncomfortable, and a dark grey skirt that she’s not worn that much and is a little short-

“Holy crap,” she sighs. She shakes her head at herself. She hasn’t obsessed this much over her looks since middle school. “You’re insane, Sarkisian. You’re fine.”

They’ve both seen her look worse, surely.

She forces herself to sit on the bed and just watch some freaking YouTube like a normal person. She gets a text from Damian telling her they’re on their way, and she takes a deep breath and sends a response. She then has one eye on the phone and one eye on the window, all the while counting the minutes until they should be here.

Twenty five minutes. One video later, it’s twenty one. Another video, eighteen. Another video, plus a sip of the coffee her mom got her, fourteen. Another video, plus re-checking her make-up, ten. Another video, six. Another video, three.

And now they should be here. They probably are; they’re probably walking through the lobby. Maybe the elevator’s a little slow, maybe they got lost. This is a big place and they don’t even know where they ward is. Do they? Did she tell them? She grabs her phone and checks their groupchat, scrolling through the week-

“Janis?” Her name is accompanied by a soft knock on the door, and when she looks up, Cady is standing in the doorway, looking even more beautiful than she did that morning with a breathless smile and dimples in her cheeks. And everything else she was feeling melts away.

Janis doesn’t care about dignity, she runs over and throws her arms around her. As Cady hugs her back just as fiercely, Janis fights the urge to pick her up off the floor.

“I missed you,” Cady whispers into her shoulder.

“I missed you more,” she replies, certain that she’s correct.

“Well I’ll just go then,” Damian jokes. “If you two need a moment alone.”

“Don’t even think about it,” she tells him seriously, jumping into his embrace. He runs his hand through her hair and even rocks her and everything about his embrace feels right.

“Got you these,” he says when they eventually pull apart. He presents her with a bunch of white flowers wrapped in silver paper. The scent is just like the gesture; so sweet it makes her well up.

“Oh you losers,” she says. “I love them.”

“Hi kids,” her mom greets from her chair in the corner. To be honest, Janis had actually forgotten her mom was there. So her mom has watched her run across the room and tackle-hug Cady. Nice. “How was school?”

“It’s fine,” Cady replies. “You know… senior year….”

“Oh I’m sure it is,” she says fondly. “I’ll give you kids some alone time.” She gives Janis’ shoulder a squeeze before heading out, and then Janis can hold Cady’s hand as tightly as she wants and pulls the two of them to the bed, utterly giddy at having them at her side again.

Even if it won’t last a voice in her head whispers.

“So come on, what have I missed?” she asks. “Other than you two, I mean. Tell me everything. Spill all the tea. I crave gossip!”

“It’s been a week, Jan,” Cady tells her, grinning and swinging her legs as her feet don’t touch the floor. “But, you do know that you’re talking to the newest captain of the North Shore Mathletes.”

“Come on then.” Janis digs her elbow in her girlfriend’s ribs. “Tell me everything.”

That’s all the incentive Cady needs.

She babbles on about her plans for the new year as Captain, how she’s already getting new recruits and she’s even allowed to invite freshmen and create Junior Mathletes, how she’s sure that membership is going to be double what it was last year (at which point Damian reminds her that there were only three people on the team last year), and about how they’re already starting to put together teams for a few contests, more than last year, and of course, how she’s ready to defend their state champion title. With each word, Janis’ heart grows warmer, the sense of security she’s craved all week settling and wrapping around her like her favourite blanket, and their hands lie intertwined on the bed a though they’d never been apart.

“So that’s my life…” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. She shakes her head and covers Janis’ hand with hers. “But what about you, what’s it like in here?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she scoffs. “I’m always fine.” Cady’s smile dips, not enough, but Janis notice and let out a sigh. “I mean it’s not the ideal situation. But I’m… coping?”

“I do not like that inflection,” Damian adds, leaning back on the bed and raising an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t,” she says. “Like, it’s not too bad. You know… the food is actually pretty good, we have some cool stuff in the longue, they know how to keep us occupied. The doctors are all great. Including one hot med student I’m considering setting Damian up with.”

“Consider my attention grabbed,” he says. “How hot are we talking here?”

“Like… Okay I’m not into dudes, so I’m not that great at guessing, but he’s a solid 7.5,” she explains. “Would be a 9 but he stabbed me several times while trying to find a vein.”

“He did what?” Cady squeals, making the two of them jump. Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “He stabbed you?”

“Woah, yeah.” She grasps Cady’s shoulder and silently bites her tongue. She rubs it in circles, bringing her back down. “And it hurt for a few seconds and I was slightly annoyed by it. And then we laughed about it.” She strokes Cady’s cheek carefully. “Nothing bad, Caddy.”

“Okay.” Cady lets out a breath and shakes out her hands. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love.” She plays a kiss on her cheekbone, the tension fleeing Cady’s body as she does so. She tangles her fingers in her hair. She even missed her hair. “It’s cute that you worry so much.”

“I always worry about you.” At that moment, Damian turns his attention to the window, and Cady rests her head on Janis’ shoulder and Janis wraps her arms around her. This, the fearful looks and causing anxiety to her, this is what Janis wanted to avoid in the first place.

Damn Cady Heron and her unflinching loyalty.

“You’re feeling okay though?” she asks quietly. “Right?”

“Okay’s a bit of a relative term these days,” she says. “I’m feeling a bit bleh. But it’s fine.” Cady murmurs something she guesses is an agreement and nestles closer to her. Janis rubs her hand up and down her arm. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” She presses her cheek into her head and closes her eyes, only for a moment.

“Anyway, enough of that stuff,” she says, bouncing and turning to Damian, beckoning him back over. “There’s got to be more that I’ve missed. Come on, spill.”

“Well…” Damian begins, spinning around to face them with a grin stretched across his face. He’s been waiting to tell her this, she can tell. “They’ve announced that the musical this year will be… drum roll.”

She can Cady drum their hands on their legs, the sound bouncing off the walls and making the room tremble with anticipation as it gets higher and faster until-.

“Cabaret!”

“No way!” she gasps. Damian nods excitedly, bouncing on the balls of his feet and clapping his hands together. “Stars have aligned, mon amie. Stars have aligned.”

“Which means,” he goes on, throwing himself down on the bed with such gusto that it bounces. “I am going to be the greatest Emcee that North Shore High would ever wish to have.”

“Damn right!” The two high five, their glee double that of the slightly out of the loop Cady. “Emcee has been one of Damian’s dream roles ever since middle school.”

“Ever since I came out of the damn womb!” he exclaims. “I cannot tell you how much I screamed when the drama club announced it.”

“I can,” Cady adds. “It was loud and long and he got several death glares from everyone else.”

“That’s the only appropriate way to react,” Janis chuckles. “We watched the movie way back when and that’s when he decided he was going to play the Emcee or die trying.”

“It’s also when Janis became gay for Liza Minelli.”

“I’m gay for myself,” she corrects. “Liza was just the object of young Janis’ affections.” She rests her chin on Cady’s shoulder and smiles at him. “I’m helping you prep for this. I don’t care if I have to break out of here with an IV in my arm, I’m helping you.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he replies. “Also the drama club is devastated you can’t do the set this year.”

“Who the heck says I can’t?” she says indignantly. “Those morons they have won’t last five minutes without my guidance. And I will not have your shining moment ruined by a subpar set.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “We all know who really runs that drama club.”

“Oh really, madame,” Damian scoffs, turning so his leg is folded beneath him. Janis keeps smiling, despite the feeling that its being tugged down and the weight settling in her stomach. Of all the times he had to do Cabaret, why did it have to be now?

“Everyone really missed you at school,” Cady tells her.

“Bet it’s not everyone,” she says, half joking. “Not one person in particular.”

“Hey!” Cady slaps her arm. “Be nice.”

“I promised to play nice to her face,” Janis reminds her. “Not behind her back.” Cady huffs out a laugh, her face slightly scrunched up. “But how’s the most important thing; LGBT+ society?”

“Well, we’re having our first welcome back meeting on Wednesday,” Damian says. “And Gretchen is taking over your stall at the fair. Sonja’s going to help her out though,” he adds. “And Sonja’s taking over your spot on the committee too.”

“Good choice,” she says. Lovely as Gretchen is most of the time, Janis isn’t sure she could handle the pressure of running her stall. And Sonja’s the perfect choice to take over her committee spot, smart as a whip, decisive and funny as hell.

So why does the idea make Janis so uneasy?

“Yeah, why don’t we turn this TV on?” she says, grabbing the remote. “It apparently has Netflix, although I’m not entirely sure how to operate it. There’s a load of DVDs in the longue as well.”

“A DVD. Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while,” Damian says.

“I don’t think they have Cabaret though,” she sighs. “Which would be perfect for us right now.” She’s telling half-truths, because there’s a substantial collection of old movies, including musicals, but she doesn’t really want to brave the longue now, or to take them in there. The longue is probably her favourite place in the hospital, but it’s bound to be full right now. And for now, she wants to keep her cancer world and the real world separate.

So with some fussing, they manage to find Netflix and learn how to work it. Cady is insistent that Janis pick the movie, since it’s her room and she doesn’t know half of them and has already watched the other half. At the start of the summer, Janis had made Cady a list of every movie she needed to watch, and by the end of August they’d almost made it to the halfway mark. The best part wasn’t the movies themselves; it was the movie nights. Huddled under a comforter and surrounded by pillows, Cady’s body pressed against hers and the lights down low, buttery popcorn and sugar-covered candies keeping them going until one (usually Cady) fell asleep.

Now they make do with the thin hospital bed and the near-plastic sheets. At least they can adjust the height of it, and Janis positions Cady against her and Damian sits in the comfiest chair to watch The Parent Trap. It’s none of their favourites, but it’s familiar and good enough and while it wasn’t on the list, Cady hasn’t seen it yet. Besides, Damian can make any more fun.

And really, Janis can’t take any more of the back and forth debate.

The more the movie goes on, the more normal Janis feels. She runs her fingers up and down Cady’s bare arms, her girlfriend’s jacket discarded across a chair like she would in her house. The conversation is light and easy and full of giggles even at the stupidest, silliest thing, Damian quoting along with the movie and Cady hopelessly lost, especially at around halfway through when Janis decides to tell her that Annie and Hallie were played by the same person.

“No way!” she declares. “I’m not believing you until I see proof.”

“Google it,” she says. “Damian?”

“Way ahead of you.” He pulls up the page and shows her the cast list, with one little Lohan billed as the two twins. Cady’s mouth falls on the floor, her shoulders shaking in a silent, disbelieving laugh.

“Jesus Christ!” she says. “How did they do that all the way back then?”

“Movie magic,” Janis replies, wiggling her fingers for effect. “It’s okay, Caddy, we all felt betrayed when we first found out.”

“Didn’t she go off her rocker a bit?” she asks, pointing to the screen. “I know that much. Regina told me.”

“A little,” Janis agrees. “But I kind of feel bad for her, you know?”

“I guess.”

“Oh. Oh!” The camera pans up, revealing the striking and scary figure of Meredith Blake, and Janis squeezes Cady’s arms. “I hated this bitch.”

“I hated her more,” Damian adds, his tone not 100% light. “When I first watched this I had this soon-to-be stepmom, because my dad was back in the dating game, and she was…” He gags and points down his throat.

“Real mature, Damian,” Janis jokes. “I mean she absolutely was, but still. Mature.”

“Okay, missy,” he laughs. “Nah but I used to try to get inspiration from how to deal with her from this movie.”

“Shh!” she hisses sharply, covering Cady’s ears. “Spoilers!”

“I can still hear you,” Cady tells her. “And I could sort of guess. All the movies about step parents do that kind of thing, don’t they? Bratty kid gets wreaks havoc on the step parent?”

“Are you saying thirteen year old me was a brat?” Damian asks.

“Seventeen year old you is also a brat,” Janis teases. Damian gasps and grabs the cushion from the chair, aiming it at her head. Part of her is completely sure he wouldn’t, not in a hospital, part of her is completely sure he would because of course he would.

She doesn’t find out either way, because their gathering is interrupted by her medical team, and the weight in her stomach comes back with a vengeance.

“Not getting in the way are we?” Nurse Lucy asks.

“Not at all,” she says. Before she stops herself, she’s already pushing Cady off her. Heat rises in her cheeks. “That time again?”

“Unfortunately so,” she replies as Cady slides off the bed. “Is it okay if Jackson does it this time?”

“Yeah, sure.” As she rolls up her sleeve, her friends catch on to what’s happening, and Damian rushes to Cady’s side.

“I promise I’ll find the vein this time,” Jackson jokes.

“Oh this is the one you said-” Cady is cut off by Janis making a small ‘cut it out’ gesture with her hand. She then raises an eyebrow at Damian, whose small smirk tells her everything she needs to know.

She takes a look at her IV and her bare arm before turning back to them. She still hates this; shockingly, she hasn’t gotten used to it in under a week. Her stomach still drops a hundred feet when she looks at the needle and her chest tightens even if she’s only thinking about it.

“You guys don’t need to watch this,” she tells them. “It doesn’t hurt. But if you need to look away, it’s fine.”

“I’m fine,” Cady tells her. When Janis looks down though, she sees how tightly she’s holding Damian’s hand.

“Okay,” she says.

This time around it only takes Jackson three tries to find her vein before securing it with the bandage. Good for him. He’s learning.

“You know the drill by now?” Lucy asks.

“Two hours, stay hydrated.” She gives her a two-fingered salute.

“Two hours?” Cady echoes, and Janis has to chuckle at it. “This takes two hours?”

“That’s what she said the first time she found out,” Lucy says, gesturing to Janis. “I can see why you two like each other so much.”

“No but… two hours,” she says again as they leave. “What do you do for two hours?”

“I just… sit here I guess,” she answers, looking up at the medicine. “You know, there’s TV. I have books. I draw. Sometimes it knocks me out and I get a little surprise nap, so that’s fun.”

“Is that… should we go?” Cady asks. “If you’re going to-”

“Oh no.” She shakes her head firmly. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.” She’s such a liar it’s a wonder her tongue hasn’t turned black and crumbled. “Come on. Let’s finish the movie at least.”

Cady lays beside her rather than on her, and Damian stays on the other side of the bed, away from her IV. She catches him once or twice, watching the drip instead of the movie. His gaze is unreadable, and since she’s always been able to know his thoughts without him speaking, it unsettles her.

It’s not long before that familiar tiredness descends on her, clouding her mind and pulling her downwards. And she fights it; she keeps her eyes open despite how they itch and shifts her body when she finds herself too comfortable lest she start drifting off. It’s a challenge, not just because of the medicine’s effect on her, but because of Cady’s warmth next to her, promising security and comfort and being there when she wakes up.

And she must have given into it at one point, because she opens her eyes after a blink and the movie is over; Nick and Elizabeth are together again, Annie and Hallie stay with each other forever, happy endings all around.

“What time is it?” Janis asks.

“Nearly five,” Damian explains. Visiting hours don’t end for another two hours. “Are you okay?”

“Me?” she asks. “I’m fantastic.”

“You sure?” Cady’s hand is on hers, slowly linking their fingers together. Janis squeezes her hand, clarity coming into her mind by her own will.

“Of course I’m sure.”

They don’t have to be home for another hour. Home for dinner, that’s the rule. That doesn’t really change. Damian tells her that his mom is thinking about her every day and was beside herself when she heard the news.

“She’s started following more baking blogs,” he tells her. “So prep yourself for a lot of baked goods on your doorstep.”

“I can’t object to that,” she says. “Especially since Val always bakes with love.”

At some point during the hour, Janis pulls Cady into her lap again, or Cady crawls into it, or both. Her head is under her chin and her back against her chest, slotting into place perfectly. Like if she holds her this close, she won’t have to leave.

Wishful thinking, she knows, because when it gets close to six, Cady picks up her jacket and her backpack and there’s nothing but empty air against Janis’ body.

She wishes she could lead them to the door, but her IV catches on everything, so they say their goodbyes where they are.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she warns them teasingly.

“I hardly ever think about you,” Damian replies, his voice thick.

“And you,” she tells him. “Better run lines with me. When’s auditions?”

“Next Thursday,” he tells her. “So I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Perfect,” she says. “I have treatments at 11, at 2… You know what? I’ll text you them.”

“Okay. And you were right by the way. That med student is a snack.” They laugh, and then there’s a moment of silence before he folds her in his arms, her face burying itself in the crook of his neck and his hand cupping the back of her head. “Take of yourself, okay?” His voice is so soft, so desperate, that it sounds like a plea.

“I will,” she says. “I always do.” Knowledgeable as always, he gives her and Cady space to say goodbye themselves. She rubs her hand on her shorts, nervousness gripping her body in a way she hasn’t felt in a while and she thoroughly dislikes.

“I’ll text you the second I get home,” Cady says. “And can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course you can,” she says. “As long as you get some homework done tonight, kid.”

“I will,” she says. “I didn’t get the top grade in Norbury’s class for nothing.” Cady takes in a deep breath, her hand fidgeting around her backpack strap and her hair half-hiding her face. Janis reaches out and pushes it back and if she notices her shaking hand, she doesn’t say anything.

“Caddy-”

Janis actually wasn’t sure what she was going to say there, but it doesn’t matter, because Cady steps up and kisses her. It’s not perfect; it feels clumsy and awkward and they bump against each other, but it’s everything Janis needs. So much so that when they pull away, she doesn’t even attempt to hide the blush on her cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispers, grinning. “I’ll see you soon.” She steals another peck.

“See you later, Janis,” she whispers. They don’t stop holding hands for as long as they can and Janis is still looking at her until she’s out of view, walking back down the hall with Damian, maybe getting lost again. Down the hall, to the right, into the elevator and out the double doors. Bus stop down the street, next stop home. They ride together until Damian gets off and Cady stays on. All the while she stays here, IV in arm and her phone buzzing, talking to them until she falls asleep.

[meganshinsou-tm]

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter ten: forgive me

❧ genre:  tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: snakes

❧ chapter song: Forgive Me by Evanescence

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Kirishima groaned as he threw a hardened punch, the sharp edges of his fist cutting through his victims flesh like butter. A few teeth flew out, along with a gush of dark red blood.

“I know I fucked up, you can get off my back about it!” He snarled.

Bakugou chuckled and wiped blood from his cheek before gearing up to land his own solid punch. Sheer brute strength was all he needed for his knuckles to break skin as they landed on a strong jaw, causing an agonized groan in return.

“Tch, acceptance is the first step. Now you just need to grow some balls and tell her!”

The two panted, red eyes staring back at each other, both covered in blood.

“Please, stop no more -” a voice choked out, causing both men to look at the battered and beaten victim they were using as a punching bag, a literal punching bag.

He was hanging upside down in an abandoned warehouse, swinging back and forth every time Kirishima and Bakugou laid into him. The man was what they deemed ‘the usual’, serial rapist and woman beater. 

He had evaded law enforcement and heroes for quite a while, leaving them no other choice than to call in reinforcements, i.e. the The Shop. 

After finally tracking down the man that not even the pros could catch, Bakugou and Kiri decided to give him a dose of his own medicine and let off a little steam of their own. As much as the blonde wanted to pulverize his numskull friend he decided to give him one last shot to fuck up before it came to that. And it goes without saying that Kirishima needed some kind of outlet to rage about what he had done.

“Bakugou, I can’t, look at us!”

Kirishima shouted, holding up his hands, showcasing the blood and bile dripping from them that wasn’t his own, but that of someone he was paid to kill, paid to be their executioner. 

He was a monster, a chaotic good monster but nonetheless - a monster. 

He could only imagine what you would think if only you knew what he was doing right now, no matter how disgusting and undeserving of life this criminal was. When Kirishima’s hands weren’t covered in black latex and ink, they were drenched in his own type of ink which was the blood of his targets.

“She doesn’t need this in her life, she doesn’t need all this violence and filth. That fucking -” he paused and sighed defeatedly, a hand combing through his hair, the blood on it slicking his already red hair to the side, “… that goddamn fucking smile of hers is the only clean and pristine thing any of us have anymore, it’s not right for us - for me to dirty it.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t you think she should be deciding what she does and doesn’t need,” he replied before sending the body between them straight into Kirishima with a swift and hard kick, the sound of ribs cracking and agonized screams filling the ambiance.

“Look, that nightmare, those scars, those fucking burns, they’re all there for a reason and from the looks of it, a real shitty reason. You think you’re protecting her by doing the childish bullshit you’re doing but in reality you’re not. If anything she needs someone like you idiot, needs to know that you will protect her. I’m not stupid and I know you aren’t … to an extent. Her ex did that and she isn’t telling any of us a damn thing about it which puts up a lot of fucking red flags, if I had to bet, I’d bet she ran away from him and she’s hiding out meaning he’s looking for her.”

Bakugou paused for a moment, the sounds of screaming and incredulous pleading giving him a migraine. 

With a growl he took the man’s head between his hands, “See you again in hell fucker,” he spout out before explosions erupted from his palms, obliterating the skull that was once there to messy pieces. 

With a relieved sigh Bakugou stood straight and shucked the blood and brain matter from his hands and off his shirt as he walked to face Kirishima, fire-red eyes burning into him.

“What are you gonna do when he finds her huh - and takes her back, away from us, away from you.”

A car horn blaring as it passed by the shop caused Kirishima to jump. 

His heart beating rapidly from the small scare. He groaned and let his head fall into his hands, foot tapping impatiently on the floor while he waited before the counter. He had been there for half an hour already, way earlier than he usually is, but he had to get there first, had to be the first one to see you.

Two full, excruciatingly long days had passed since he last saw or spoke to you. The image of your dull (e/c) eyes and face devoid of a smile burned into his brain, an image he never wanted to see again. Kirishima wanted to see you walking through the door, bright as ever, eyes sparkling and you overall radiating. 

He missed you, god did he miss you. 

Just walking into the shop that morning he could faintly smell your chocolaty scent, a scent he had grown so used to and even developed an addiction to. While Kirishima waited, his read eyes skimmed over your sketchpad that still remained on the counter by the shop computer.

Since joining them you took up an interest in learning how to draw and from the looks of it, you had promising skill. The book was filled with mostly just doodles and rough sketches of your favorite anime characters. There were random eyes and hands, flowers and animals here and there. A twinge of a smile crossed Kirishima’s face and he thought back to the multiple times he’d watch you sitting in the same spot he was, doodling away. (H/c) strands of hair falling into your face and your hand brushing and holding them out of the way, tongue in cheek, eyes focused. Sometimes you’d growl in aggravation from messing up and others you’d snicker to yourself at something off the wall you’re mind came up with. It was creepy to say but Kirishima really did enjoy just watching and admiring you from afar, lost in your own little world making these cute faces and sounds. 

He chuckled and closed the sketchbook - fuck he missed you.

After his ‘heart to heart’ with Bakugou, Kirishima was more than ready to return to the shop. He was hellbent on apologizing from the moment you stepped foot through that front door.

The bell to that exact door rang suddenly, making his red eyes look up and dilate.

“Hey Red.”

A smile grew on Kirishima’s face, one razor sharp fang peeking out as he looked upon you. You wore black skinny jeans and a black hoodie, a long grey coat layered it. The hood was on your head and you removed the sunglasses, revealing those sparkling pools of (e/c). Your eyes squinted at him and a smile of your own grew, it couldn’t be helped and it made the red-head a puddle.

“Hey there little one.”

A gust of wind blew through the still open door and you shuddered, quickly closing it and getting covered in even more snow flakes. Kirishima couldn’t help but inhale that sweet scent he loved so much when it carried along with the wind and came his way. Not being able to take it anymore he had to ask.

“What is that?”

You looked up at him, dusting snow from your clothes and quirked a brow, “What is what?”

“That smell, whatever you wear almost every single day. It smells like chocolate.”

Giggling you pulled the hood from the hoodie down and shook like a dog.

“Sympathy for the Skin - it’s this lotion I use religiously and it’s pretty much engraved in my skin now. There’s all kinds of stuff in it, cocoa butter, almond oil, bananas and vanilla.”

Kirishima hummed and burned the name of the lotion into his memory.

“Well it smells really good - you smell really good.”

You smirked and leaned on the counter, arms crossed and tilting your head at him. “Are you trying to butter me up Kiri?”

The tattooed male chuckled and gently plucked a snowflake from your eyelash. “Maybe … is it working?”

Playfully, you rolled your eyes and tilted your head, gently motioning his hand away from your face before standing straight and going to walk into the kitchen.

“You’re something else Kirishima,” you mumbled.

Suddenly there was a hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“(Y/N) … please, hear me out.”

The touch felt like fire, causing you to be back in that truck, wrists pinned to the ceiling by the same hand. At that point in time the fire was welcoming but right now, you weren’t quite sure what it was but deep down you longed for it to feel as good as it did before. There was a desperation in Kirishima’s voice as he pleaded, when your head turned around just the tiniest bit to get a peek, you could also see the desperation in his eyes. Those enraging beautiful red eyes.

“Goddammit,” you spoke under your breath before your hand turned, palm open to him, “Fine, but I need some tea.”

Kirishima was somewhat taken back by your action. Nonetheless though he wasted no time in taking hold of your hand, letting you lead him into the kitchen before letting go and going to dig through the cabinets for your favorite tea. The male took it upon himself to take the kettle and fill it with water as you gathered two mugs. He placed the kettle on a hot plate that sat next to the sink then watched you prep the mugs with the tea bags before going to sit at the small table.

He turned to face you, leaning against the counter and rubbing the side of his neck. You sat in the chair, leg crossed over one knee and arms crossed. There was a look on your face, one that told him he should get to talking and fast. For once he was intimidated - by little old you.

“I’m sorry,” he started off.

You shrugged your shoulders and tilted your head, “I know you’re sorry, now apologize.”

“What?”

“Feeling sorry isn’t an apology, they’re two different things. One is an emotion, a feeling of regret, while the other is an action, it’s you expressing that regret.”

Kirishima’s red eyes widened, he was speechless. He knew you’d probably be reluctant when it came to forgiving him but he didn’t expect for you to be well …like this.

“Okay. I’ll start with saying I fucked up, I know I did. You asked me not to poke anymore for information and I did, I tried pushing you to do something you weren’t comfortable with and that was wrong of me. I apologize for also just kissing you like that, even if I did intend to just shut you up at first, it wasn’t the best thing to do and only made things worse.”

You listened, not once taking those (e/c) eyes off of him, it made him feel so exposed for some reason.

“Most of all though, I apologize for what I said to you. I tend to want to get the last word when I’m heated like that, I end up saying things I don’t mean, really shitty things. I hope you know by now that obviously what I said was a lie. Truly, I wish I could go back in time and just take it back.”

“Well you can’t,” you quickly replied making Kirishima wince at your sharp words, “ … but I can tell you’re sincere and that you really are sorry so - that’s a start.”

Suddenly your frame was picked up from its seat, feet hanging in the air when strong thick tattooed arms caged you in a massive bear hug. Your face was squished against a hard and heavenly smelling chest, arms dangling at your sides and eyes wide with shock. Kirishima was spewing ‘thank you’s’ as he rocked back and forth, holding and squeezing you like a child with their most precious stuffed animal. You couldn’t exactly breathe but you also couldn’t help but giggle.

“Kiri, I’m uh, I’m losing air.”

The red-head gasped and quickly released his iron hold causing your body to slip from his arms with a yelp and almost fall over when your feet hit the ground. Thankfully he thought fast and grabbed you by the elbow, helping to steady you again.

“Uh - I’m sorry, I don’t really register how small you are compared to me and forget my own strength sometimes.”

Nodding, another giggle escaped your lips, “It’s fine, just took me off guard, that’s all. I wasn’t really expecting such a thing from you, it’s like you’re a massive overly excited puppy.”

“I’m just relieved,” he breathed out while straightening your clothes and hair back to normal.

“Well, I accept your apology but you’re not off the hook just yet!”

The tea kettle went off, causing you to both jump at the noise and chuckle.

“That’s fair,” Kirishima replied as he turned to turn off the hot plate and remove the kettle. “Is there something you need me to do, punch myself, walk around with the word ‘asshole’ drawn on my forehead all day?”

You quirked a brow, shocked at Kirishima’s desperation. From the sound of it, he was willing to do almost anything for your forgiveness. He seemed to be at your mercy and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t entertaining. There were so many things you could probably get him to do, public humiliation, self-mutilation, maybe make him shave off all his hair? 

Nah, you liked his hair, that needed to be left alone. You needed to think of something that would really show he didn’t mean those crummy words. A representation of the real Eijirou Kirishima.

Soon a mug was placed in front of you, before you could ask for honey Kirishima was already pouring some for you, he even knew exactly how much to pour which made you smile. After being handed a spoon, Kiri took a seat and took a sip of his own tea then looked at you, awaiting his sentence.

“I got it! Everyone in this shop has gone with me on shop runs - everyone except you,” you leaned over and poked Kiri’s chest making him chuckle, “That’s your first trial, chauffeuring me around from place to place for supplies and just spending the day with me. I want to see how we truly get along without any bets in place, you’re not required to act nice if that’s truly someone you’re not, I don’t want the fake Eijirou, I want the real one.”

“I can do that no problem. What else?”

You snapped your fingers and smiled, “You also owe me lunch, a really good lunch too!”

“Is that all?”

To be honest Kirishima was shocked at the mercy you were having on him. Spending the day with you and having lunch together didn’t sound bad to him at all, in fact he was more than excited to spend this time with you, one on one. He was ready to start fresh and redeem himself.

“No that’s not all, I just can’t think of anything else right now but I will. I’m only being so merciful because I’m pretty much over this now and it’s not something I want to dwell on. I really do want to be friends Kiri and to hold a grudge and be bitter about things doesn’t help. So now, where we go from here is all up to you.”

And there it was finally, the pressure. The pressure to not fuck this up royally, again!

Kiri let out a breath before nodding with a determined look on his face. “Alright little one, what do say we get these trails started?”

You moaned and groaned after plopping into the passenger seat of Kirishima’s truck, hands gripping at your stomach as you felt it eating away at your spine and body slumping over onto the middle console. Kiri settled in his seat by now and looked down at you.

“Eijirou, I’m dying here.”

“(Y/N), throughout the whole store you got every single free-sample there was, plus a massive slurpee and a cookie!”

Whining even more your buried your face into his arm, “Those were just teasers! Now feed me real food before I start to shut down!”

“Yes your majesty,” he chuckled and started the truck before taking off.

For the next ten minutes you went from groaning to being completely silent and almost lifeless. At one point Kirishima really thought you were dead before a sneeze left you. 

So far the day was going well and you were getting along as if nothing happened. The first stop was to get tattoo supplies and you left Kiri to get everything like you would with the others since they knew exactly what to look for. After that it was off to get bulk supplies like paper towels, gloves, drinks for the kitchen, cleaning materials, etc. 

Quickly Kiri learned why all the guys hated going to that one place with you, not only did you specifically seek out free food but you had this bad habit of just dipping off out of nowhere, silent as a ninja. Each time Kirishima wouldn’t notice until he was talking to himself and turned around to find you nowhere in sight. His heart would drop every time and he’d frantically search for you. Eventually he made it a rule that you walked in front of him at all times. It was like shopping with a child basically but still you were so cute to him.

It was nearing Thanksgiving and the stores were displaying all their Christmas items - tree, lights, figures, ornaments. Anytime something bright and shiny caught your eye, Kiri found himself being jerked by the hand and dragged to the point of interest. Each time he could’ve easily stopped you but he didn’t want to. Not once has he ever witnessed this much of you, normally he’d shack up in his studio and avoid being around you or leave if he was around you too much. 

He wasn’t used to all the touchiness, you absentmindedly clinging to his arm if someone gave you an eerie feeling, tugging at his clothes or shaking him when another free-sample stand popped up, and the hand-holding, so much of it. He wasn’t blind or new to any of the stores you stopped by that day, he knew where to find certain items, but still when it came time to look for the next item on the list you’d grab his massive hand in your small one and lead the way as he’d pull the buggy.

Kirishima knew you were a touchy person, hell he’d even seen you dragging Shouto, the most reserved of them all around the shop by the hand to show him something so he shouldn’t feel that special about it but he did. Yet at the same time it didn’t feel off, it felt right. 

Just like it did that night at Sero’s, holding and keeping you close to him like it was the most normal thing ever. It could become normal too, if he really tried, he could have you like this every day. Still though, Kirishima was unsure about whether he should truly retire his whole ploy to keep you at a safe distance. 

Did he want you? Of course he did. Most of all though, he wanted to keep you safe he just couldn’t decide though whether being with him really was safe or not for you.

“Are we there yet?”

Kirishima looked down from the road briefly to see you still laying over on the console, chin resting on your forearm as your finger traced the squares of the flannel fabric dressing his arm.

“Almost little one. You okay? You’re really quiet.”

With a small smile you nodded, “I’m just hungry Red.”

Kiri chuckled and licked his bottom lip, “Well where we’re going, you can eat to your pretty little heart’s content.”

“Oh Kiri don’t tell me that, I’ll make you regret it!”

Soon the truck came to a stop and Kirishima unbuckled his belt. He leaned over you, looking at each other eye to eye. 

“Try me.”

“Thems fighting words Red, are you challenging me!”

A razor sharp smile was now on the red-heads face, making you smile just as wide, you knew what was coming and you were already agreeing.

“It’s not so much a challenge when I know I’ll come out on top little one. You see I have a pretty insatiable appetite myself and I’m sure it’s much bigger than yours.”

Your lips pouted, a prideful gleam sparkled in your eyes, “Tsk, tsk! You may be twice my size but I’m positive I can eat just as much food as you, if not more!”

A sharp tooth bit down on Kiri’s bottom lip at the sound of a challenge. 

Last time the two of you made a bet it didn’t end well but this one was harmless. Something inside of the red-head liked to challenge you, and he could tell you liked it as well. You were such a little spitfire and he loved it. 

He hummed in amusement and let his hand fall next to your head, his thumb brushed over your parted bottom lip mindlessly but neither of you minded.

“How about you put your money where that pretty little mouth is then?”

“You’re on, first one to tap out has to pay for the meal,” you spoke before nipping at the thumb still on your lip and making Kiri snatch it away with a smile.

You sat up to unbuckle the seat belt and waited while Kiri got out and came around to open your door. He helped you hop out of the tall vehicle, neither of your hands letting go of the other even after your feet were on the ground. He closed the door and walked you across the street, when you looked and realized where he had brought you, a massive shit eating grin spread across your face. 

It was one of the conveyor belt sushi places, where you could get a lot of food for your dollar and the perfect place for a food eating contest.

“You done messed up A-Aron!”

Shaking his head, Kirishima let go of your hand and slung an arm around your shoulders before leading you into the restaurant and to begin your little game.

After sitting down you both agreed that whoever had the most plates by the time you were ready to leave would be the winner, giving you time to actually enjoy yourself and not throw up in the process. As time passed you’d talk, you told Kirishima about the tattoo Sero gave you and about Hitoshi who was probably still passed out in your bed. You both ate plate after plate of sushi in between chatting and had two stacks piling up rather quickly. The employees had to be used to shenanigans like this everyday so neither of you felt particularly bad about the massive amount of food being devoured.

“So, you still haven’t come up with my last trial,” Kiri asked as he stacked another plate and leaned back in his seat.

Your head shook in response and you chewed on a piece of sushi that was a little too large for your mouth. The man chuckled at how fat your cheeks looked and leaned over to wipe a small amount of soy sauce from the corner of your mouth before licking his thumb clean.

“Indirect kiss,” you muffled.

“Whatever, finish your food before you choke,” he replied and took a sip of his tea.

You quirked a brow and finished chewing then proceeded to swallow your food with a loud gulp, “Oh I never choke, Eijirou.”

Kirishima quickly covered his mouth and choked down his drink, you started to cackle at him then groaned and grabbed at your stomach when it hurt to laugh from being so full. Your face landed on the table, lulling side to side in misery.

“That’s what you get,” Kiri snickered at your pain, “are you done?”

“Never,” you groaned out pathetically.

Smirking the red-head crossed his arms and leaned onto the table, one of his hands reached out and gathered your hair from the surface before it could land in the dirty plates and tucked it to one side. 

“Well I’m done, you win.”

You quickly shot up and glared at the man, “Lies, you’re letting me win!”

“It doesn’t matter I was going to pay for the meal anyway. Plus, you proved me wrong, you really can put away just as much food as I can, maybe you ate a plate or two more, so you really did win.”

You turned from looking at him and to the plates, he could tell you were counting them. After a few moments you turned to the electronic screen, browsing through the menu with a determined look on your face. Kirishima couldn’t help but chuckle at your resilience, even if it was just a silly contest he liked how headstrong and iron-willed you were.

“I do have one more plate than you but I still have room for dessert.”

“Of course you do!”

After selecting a parfait you sat back in the seat with a disgruntled huff and hands rubbing your bloated stomach. 

“So, anywhere else we need to go before we head back to the shop?”

“Actually yeah, I need to stop by the pet store and get some dog food.”

Your eyes widened and twitched, “Dog food? You have a dog?”

“No little one, I like to have a nice bowl of it before bed every night.”

Right as the words left his mouth a chopstick was flying straight for Kirishima’s face. He quickly deflected it and laughed. You rolled your eyes and picked your parfait up off the belt and started to eat it.

“What kind of dog?”

“She’s a pit bull, I rescued her from the shelter last year,” he replied and took his phone out, scrolling through his pictures and then showing one to you.

“Aww, Ei! She’s precious! Look at the sweet pupper, oof look at her snoot,” you cooed.

Kiri continued to show you more pictures of the grey and white dog. There were pictures of them together on the couch, at the park, even some of her and the guys. The tattooed man told you stories of her, that she was pretty goofy and playful but also a big snuggle bug. The dog was like a child to him and it was adorable to see him gleaming over the animal. 

Seeing this side of Kiri was exactly what you wanted. When he wasn’t thinking too much about it, he seemed to really open up to you, almost like breathing. He really was trying hard to fulfill his quest and you appreciated him sharing this part of his life with you.

“What’s her name?”

“It’s Duchess. She’s a little spoiled,” he smiled and finally put the phone away.

“I can’t believe I’m just now finding out about this, it’s like you were trying to hide your child from me. I want to meet her one day!”

Kirishima smiled while pulling out his wallet and started to pay for the food with the machine at the table. 

“Next time I’m out at the park with her, I’ll let you know. Or -” he put his wallet away and smirked as he leaned back in his seat so casually, “You could always come over, you know to meet my dog.”

“Well I mean, if that would please your dog then maybe.”

With a smile Kirishima stood from his seat and walked to yours, holding out his hand to help you up out of your own, “I think it would please her very much.”

After leaving the restaurant, you made a stop by the pet store. Overjoyed you quickly ran inside and for once left Kirishima in the dust. He chuckled and jogged in after you, yelling to wait up. 

With big bright eyes and a massive smile, you awed over all the animals, needing to pet every single one of them. A bunny here, a ferret there, a couple of kittens. Next you made it over to the birds, pressing your hands to the glass and marveling over their bright colors, baby talking to them though the barrier. 

Not once did Kirishima interrupt, he was too caught up in how happy you were to interact with all the animals. He had a feeling that the moment you met his dog, he’d become like chopped liver. 

After having your fill, you turned and looked at the red-head then behind him at the aisle markers. Taking his hand you went to walk towards the dog food aisle but Kirishima didn’t budge, causing you to grunt as you pulled.

“Kiri, dog food is this way.”

The man nodded and rubbed the side of his neck with his free hand, “I know but let’s go down this aisle and around.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, you turned to look in the right direction, not seeing anything strange or out of place.

“Why,” you chuckled and tugged, “Let’s just go this way, plus I want to see the reptiles and they’re right there,” you pouted with the biggest most pathetic puppy dog eyes and pointed.

Kiri’s hand squeezed yours and he looked conflicted, finally though he gave in and let you drag him towards the right aisle. 

“Those stupid pretty eyes,” he thought with a smirk. 

You came to a stop before the reptiles, bending at the knees slightly to get a better look at the ones on the lower level. Kiri left you to look at them as he went and got dog food, after locating the right brand he got the biggest bag and turned to make his way back to you.

“Okay, little one let’s get - ah,” the massive man yelled when he turned the corner to you holding a snake in his face.

Quickly Kiri turned away, his fingers gripping the dog food.

“Isn’t it cute? They let me hold it,” you chimed and brought the snake back to your chest as it sat like a rock in your hand.

“Cool, now put it back and lets go.”

Your brows furrowed yet again, a quizzical look on your face. 

“Kiri what’s wrong? It’s just a little sn - ake,” you spoke slowly after finally realizing what must of been the issue this whole time.

First Kirishima didn’t want to walk down the way you came and now he wasn’t even facing you and looking tense as hell. You asked him to turn and look, but he shook his head and mentioned how heavy the dog food was and that he was ready to leave.

“Bullshit Kiri, I weigh more than that dog food, now look at me - please.”

The red-head bared his sharp teeth at the sound of your pleading, so soft and wanting, and totally fucking up his life. Only after a few hours together, you now had this hold on him, like some leash around his heart that tugged in every direction you went, dragging him along like a puppy, only wanting to please you as long as it kept that dumb smile on your face. 

Finally, Kirishima sheathed his teeth back behind his lips, taking a deep breath before he turned around to face you, his red eyes not once leaving your own (e/c) ones.

“Yes your highness,” he questioned, trying to hide his nervousness.

You gave him a soft and calming smile, “Ei, are you scared of snakes?”

“I’m not scared of them, I just don’t like them.”

Your teeth were now chewing on your bottom lip, eyes looking down to the cold-blooded creature in your hands before flashing back up to him. He felt a shudder run up his spine at the scheming yet alluring look you held, almost like a siren. Kirishima knew that whatever you were thinking wasn’t good for him but he couldn’t help but be lured in, frozen in place.

“Eijirou,” you softly spoke and took a step towards him.

He wanted to take a step back but he didn’t, the way his name always fell from your lips was a terrible weakness of his and you were starting to realize it. He could only swallow harshly, jaw clenching and clutching the dog food tighter.

“(Y/N), don’t.”

“I know what your final trial is.”

Kirishima sighed and let his head fall back, an aggravated ‘fuck’ escaping from between his triangular teeth.

“Hold this noodle for ten seconds and you’re completely forgiven, clean slate.”

The tattooed man looked down and cringed at the sight of the reptile. It was balled up in your palms, it’s beady head resting on its body. Bright yellow and pretty fat looking. Up close it didn’t look slimy or really that intimidating, if anything it looked fake. 

Kiri looked back to you, his brows rising and eyes softening with one last plea but you chuckled and shook your head. Groaning, he sat the dog food on the floor and scratched his head. His blood was pumping, growing more nervous as he brought his palms up. Once you started to move the snake towards Kirishima he looked away, taking more deep breaths. Soon he felt a light weight in the middle of his hand and cold scaly skin - and then it moved.

Kiri stiffened and shook his head, trying not to freak and make the animal move any more but it continued to slowly slither.

“I can’t do this (Y/N), take it pl-”

You cut his words off by cupping his cheek with one hand, turning his face to look at yours and placing your other hand on the underside of his.

“Eijirou, you can do this. It’s already been almost five seconds. You’re halfway there. Don’t focus on the snake, look at me. I know how much you like to do that.”

An almost strained chuckle came from Kirishima’s throat but he listened to you and focused on the one thing he’s been focused so much on for the past month.

His red eyes zeroing in on your pink lips, watching as they moved while you counted for five more seconds. Gradually his heart-rate was decreasing and his nerves were settling. Before he knew it the snake was being removed him his hand and replaced with sanitizer, making him blink rapidly and look down. The tension literally melted from Kiri’s body and he huffed while rubbing his hands together and smearing the disinfect. You were doing the same with a pleased expression and Kirishima felt embarrassed. When you looked up to him though there wasn’t any humor or cockiness in your face.

“I’m not going to ask why you don’t like snakes Eijirou. I understand everyone has their own fears and you don’t owe me an explanation about them. I am proud of you though, I’m sure that was difficult for you but facing your fear just for me, it means a lot.”

Kirishima smiled and tousled his spiky hair, “So - am I forgiven now?”

You smiled and rose up on the tips of your toes, hands coming to rest on Kiri’s chest for balance as you placed a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

“You’ve been forgiven since buying me food Red.”

Crimson eyes narrowed at you and you snickered, quickly walking towards the cashier. Kirishima growled and he picked up the dog food before running after you.

“I really hate you sometimes little one.”

You squealed once he caught up and wrapped his free arm around the front of your waist, easily picking you up and squeezing as he gnawed on your shoulder. You giggled and tried to push him away. 

“I hate you too Ei.”

[ourooboroos]

Intermission

HELLO. @the-ghost-of-william-herondale and I have begun a TSC AU Challenge wherein we each write AUs and then must use some part of each other’s fic for our next AU. 

(They’ve also posted a fic and it’s wonderful and I 10/10 recommend you go read it!) Here’s my first one! 

Read the full thing below the cut or on my AO3. 

***

“Alec? You’re drooling.”

Alec whirls around, releasing his grip on the thick rope next to him. It springs up a tiny bit, and the pulley above it shudders. Izzy’s smirking at him, her face caked in stage makeup and wearing a loose orange jumpsuit.

“I am not,” Alec says, but he swipes his sleeve over his mouth just in case. “I’m just, uh. Getting ready for intermission.”

Izzy snorts. “Intermission isn't for, like, three scenes.” She reaches out and pats him on the shoulder, and Alec rolls his eyes at her. “It’s okay, you can admit that you like what you see.”

“Shut up.”

“Only because you asked so nicely.”

Alec waits until his sister has gone further into the wing before turning back to the stage. Izzy’s right, they have another song and a half until intermission, plus a short scene and two set changes. He has no reason to be so close to the curtain pull. But. Can anyone blame him for being a little distracted? The school’s star is on stage at this very moment, dressed for their last rehearsal in much too large trousers and an oversized sports coat, and he looks absolutely stunning. Also, he’s singing. And Alec may be in love with his voice.

When Alec’s parents had divorced and his mother had packed up her life along with his, Izzy’s, Jace’s, and Max’s, Alec was… upset to say the least. He loved his life in New York and moving in the middle of his senior year because his father had had an affair was not high on things he wanted to do. Another thing that was not high on that list was working tech crew for his new school’s spring musical.

But then Izzy was cast as Brooke Wyndham and she didn’t have a car to drive home after rehearsal every day and Jace was on the baseball team so he couldn’t help and Izzy begged Alec and the guy playing Emmett was so hot…

So here he is.

It’s been three months of rehearsals and Emmett (his name is Magnus, dammit, Alec reminds himself) has just gotten better and better and could probably play Elle Woods himself, if matters depended on it, and look damn good doing it (as it stands, Helen is playing Elle, but like… Alec can just tell that Magnus would be really excellent as any character, okay?). But Alec hasn’t been able to endear himself to Magnus at all. In three months. And the first actual performance was tomorrow night with three following over the weekend and then, come Monday, Alec would have no reason to see Magnus anymore (he had come to realize, belatedly, perhaps, that they shared no classes or their lunch period, which, quite frankly, was just cruel).

Alec sighs and turns his head back to the stage just as Magnus is moving into the final line of the song. It’s like music to his ears. Well. Better than music. Like angel’s singing. Or something. Whatever.

“Hey,” comes a voice from behind him, and he looks over his shoulder to see another member of the stage crew, a girl he hasn’t spent much time with, but who painted a lot of the sets. He thinks her name is Carrie? Maybe? Her shockingly red hair is much easier to remember than her name, all things considered. “Ready for the set change?”

Alec’s eyes drift over to the large wooden cut out of a mobile trailer set off to the side. “Yeah,” he replies. He and Clary move over and each grip a side of the set piece and wait until Magnus finishes the last note he’s holding and the stage lights dim. A small group of stage crew members pop out from the other wing and carry off the Harvard set and Alec and Clary get moving. Raj runs out with a trash can and a piece of sheer fabric with trash and debris attached to it. The trailer is set slightly to stage right, with the trash can next to it, the fabric spread along the stage floor. Andrew moves to stand behind the trailer, dressed in a grubby tank top and boxers and carrying a large stuffed bulldog. Clary turns and jogs quietly back to the wing and as Alec follows, he bumps into Magnus, who has turned his eyes to the floor as he finds his next mark.

“Sorry,” Alec whispers, but Magnus just sends him a kind smile and raises his hand in apology. Alec’s heart thumps heavily, rapidly, and he ignores it as best he can as he stalks quickly to the wing. Izzy’s watching him, grinning, when he gets back to his spot. “Shut up.”

****

Opening night arrives in a flurry of tickets and programs and two dollar concessions in the school lobby. Alec is standing around backstage with the other stage hands as the cast members prepare in the dressing rooms down a nearby hall. Clary’s doodling something in her sketchbook and Raj is telling some story that Alec is only pretending to listen to. He’s relieved when Izzy pops out of the hallway connecting to the dressing rooms and grabs his arm. “Come with me,” she says, and tugs him into the hall.

Alec furrows his brow but lets her drag him. “Izzy, wha-” but before he can finish, she’s opened the door to the men’s dressing room and shoves him in with a smile. Alec stares at the door for a moment, confused, but spins when someone clears their throat.

Magnus. He stands across the room, near a vanity, already in costume and makeup. His hair is free of its normal faux-hawk and instead parted neatly on one side and combed loosely back. He’s in another too big sports coat and ill-fitting trousers that reach the toes of his Converse, and he’s missing the glitter and jewelry that he donned before dress rehearsals began. His smile is gentle and his voice soft as he says, “Hi.”

Alec knows his eyes are wide, and he can feel the heat creeping up his neck. He’s glad the rest of the room is empty - which, how? - as he backs up a little and his back hits the door. “H-hey.”

Magnus’s smile falls as Alec wrings his hands in front of him. “I don’t…” he pauses to clear his throat again and his gaze darts to the floor before he meets Alec’s eyes again. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t even think-”

Ah, shit. “No,” Alec interrupts. “I’m not… okay, I am, but it’s not a bad thing,” he says, sputtering slightly. When Magnus’s lips twitch, he lets out a breath and runs a hand over the back of his head. “What… uh, why did Izzy bring me here?” His eyes flick around the room - the bright lights on the vanities that line one wall, the open wardrobes along the other, the backpacks and sneakers scattered along the floor - before landing on the top of Magnus’s head. Meeting his eyes, which Alec has just realized are the deepest, richest shade of brown, is just too difficult.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Magnus says easily, and Alec’s face grows hotter.

“...Why?”

Alec sees Magnus glance at the clock above the vanities, and takes a peek himself. They have half an hour until places. Magnus takes a step forward and Alec watches, motionless. He wonders, briefly, if this is what an antelope feels like when it sees a lioness about to attack. “You’re new this year.”

“Yeah.”

“And we don’t have any classes together.” Another step.

“No.”

Magnus pauses a few feet away and smiles and Alec finally meets his eyes. They’re shining in the fluorescent room. “So I just… wanted to get to know you better. I’m sorry it’s taken me three months to say anything, but-”

“Better late than never,” Alec blurts out. He resists the urge to clap a hand over his mouth, because, fuck, he’s embarrassing himself, but then Magnus laughs, loud and bright. “Exactly.”

They stand there silently for a moment, simply looking at each other. Alec feels like he’s allowed to now, maybe, and his eyes rove over the planes of Magnus’s face, his strong jaw and his smooth skin, even as he has stage makeup coating his face. It feels weird, staring at him so openly after months of covert glances and watching him from the shadows backstage. At the same time, he can sense Magnus’s eyes on him, and he wonders what he thinks. Perhaps, one day, he can ask him.

“So…” Alec begins, not sure where this sentence is heading. He scratches his cheek. Magnus is smiling at him encouragingly. “You’ve been, uh, really good. Brilliant, I mean. Y’know, out there, as… as Emmett.”

Magnus laughs again, and Alec grins. He thinks he could get used to that sound - it’s almost as melodic as Magnus’s singing. “Thank you.” He gestures to his costume and tugs at the sleeves of his coat. “I’m not a huge fan of the costume, though.”

“I mean,” Alec clears his throat, “there’s the, uh, shopping scene. You look pretty great there.” He quickly averts his gaze, but looks back just in time to see Magnus’s face redden. He preens a little.

“Thank you, Alexander,” Magnus says, voice even softer than it had been earlier, and Alec’s heart nestles tightly in his throat, nearly causing him to choke. Nobody calls him Alexander. Not his mother, his father, any of his siblings or relatives… he’d never been okay with anyone calling him Alexander. But coming out of Magnus’s mouth, it sounds right.

Alec opens his mouth, about to say as much, when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Are you guys done in there? I need to finish getting dressed.”

Magnus and Alec meet each other’s eyes and crack matching grins.

****

Opening night had gone off without a hitch (except for when Lydia tripped over her jump rope during “Whipped Into Shape”), and now it was Saturday. There are two performances today, one at noon and one at 7pm, and everyone involved is ready for it to be a long day. Alec’s packed himself and Izzy a few granola bars, bottles of water, and energy drinks (despite how much he loathes them) just to keep himself awake.

It’s not like he spent most of last night thinking about Magnus and their talk in the dressing room, or the way Magnus had hip-bumped him during intermission, or the way he’d asked Alec for help fixing his hair before the final scene, or the way he’d given Alec one of the flowers that his friend Catarina had brought for him when they bumped into each other in the parking lot before heading home.

Anyway.

The matinee is going smoothly so far, and it’s nearly intermission (actually, this time. Like it really is almost intermission) so Alec is standing near the curtain pull, just waiting for the stage lights to dim and the music to die down. He knows his cue. It’s the end of the scene where Elle finds out she got the internship.

And it’s because he knows his cue that he doesn’t feel bad about blatantly watching Magnus as he points to the board on the Harvard set, pinches Helen, and then quietly makes his way off-stage, heading towards Alec’s wing. Alec smiles at him and goes back to watching Helen sing. But before he knows what’s happening, he’s being shoved against the wall behind him. His eyes widen as Magnus grips his shoulders and leans in quickly and without warning.

And then they’re kissing. Alec relaxes as Magnus presses against him, his lips soft and his body warm. He faintly hears quiet golf claps coming from further backstage and he raises a hand to flip off whoever it is before his hands settle on Magnus’s waist.

Magnus pulls back after a long moment, and Alec can do nothing but stare at him, grinning widely. Magnus is smiling back and I can get used to that, Alec thinks.

“...than before!”

The stage lights flicker out.

Alec spins, pulling the rope and swinging the heavy velvet curtains closed as Magnus laughs behind him.

And yeah. He could get used to this.

[swan--writes]

Hey! How about "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me" for the Feb asks?

I did not edit this. At all. Not a single sentence. Heard you were having a rough time though, so I wanted to get this out tonight. I hope you feel better, and if you need to talk you can chat with me!

Warnings: VERY negative self-talk, total despondence, just a really bad day man

Words: ~1,380 (this will probably be the longest request I write this month)

What’s the matter with the clothes I’m wearing?

You held the thick paper with one hand, shading with the other.

Can’t you tell that your tie’s too wide?

The radio played softly in the background. You sat hunched over your wooden kitchen table, the light hitting the page just right through the window.

Maybe I should buy some old tab collars?

“It’s a sign,” came a voice from over your shoulder.

Welcome back to the age of jive.

“What’s a sign?” you murmured. You didn’t look up from the comic strip you were working on. It was your morning warm-up – a pointless little piece about two chairs having an existential debate à la Calvin and Hobbes. Personally, you agreed with the sturdy, elegant armchair, but of course, the folding chair had the final word.

Dewey turned up the radio, then set his briefcase on the bench beside the door. Dewey with a briefcase was still a very…very strange sight, but Peggy and Ned had given it to him for his birthday a few days ago and damnit, he was going to use it whether he liked it or not.

Your boyfriend came to stand before you. “Look at me.” Serenely, you obliged. Shiny oxford shoes, grey pants, scarlet and burnt orange knit vest over a white button down and orange tie, floppy wavy hair. “I look ridiculous. I can’t go out like this, there’s no way.”

Where have you been hidin’ out lately, honey?

Raising an eyebrow, you let go of your pencil and stood. “Well yeah, you gotta tuck your shirt in.” Dewey’s breath went shallow when you straightened, only a few inches from his soft, stunning body. “Where’s your belt?” You lifted your leg over the chair you had been sitting on and hopped away from the table, heading over to the coffee maker.

You can’t dress this trashy till you spend a lot of money.

“Uh, it’s in the bathroom. Always forget it.” You smirked at his breathy tone, loving the affect you had on him. “Um…” Dewey’s feet seemed to carry him toward the bathroom before he had made a decision. Swaying to the music, you poured the rest of the coffee you had made earlier into a travel mug, spooned in some sugar, screwed on the top, and shook it. He always swore he could tell when his coffee was stirred, and apparently it threw off his whole day.

Dewey came back into the kitchen, going to stand where he had been moments earlier. His button down was tucked in now, and he wore a belt. You walked up to him, handed him the travel mug, and loosened his tie.

“You’re trying way too hard, love.”

“Right,” he laughed shakily.

Everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout the new sound…

When you slipped his down out from his collar, you could feel the heat radiating from his neck. You smiled at him sweetly, kissed his cheek, and smacked his hip gently with the tie like you would with a dish towel. “Enjoy the meeting.” He nodded, picked up his briefcase, and rushed through the door before you could do anything else.

Funny, but it’s still rock and roll to me.

You spent the full day drawing comic after comic, writing plotline after plotline, singing along with old song after old song.

Nothing seemed to turn out right. You tried turning off the music, it was too quiet. You tried turning it up, it was too distracting.

Oh, it doesn’t matter what they say in the papers ‘cause it’s always been the same old scene.

You moved with the sunlight. You took breaks, dancing around the living room of the apartment you and Dewey shared.

There’s a new band in town but you can’t get the sound from a story in a magazine…

You doodled aimlessly in the cheap sketchbook Dewey had given you for your anniversary. But nothing you tried helped. Nothing worked. Eight hours and you had not produced a single goddamn worthwhile thing. How – fucking how did this become your job?

Aimed at your average teen.

Eventually, you collapsed onto the couch, your legs hanging over the arm.

That’s how Dewey found you when he came home after music coaching. The plan had been for him to get changed and get a drink with Ned and some other guys they had gone to high school with. The plan had been that you would be at home working all day. The plan went out the third story window and crashed to its rather graphic death the moment he saw you lying half-on the couch, staring at the ceiling with your hands clasped on your abdomen like a corpse.

Ooh, what’s the matter with the crowd I’m seeing?

“Honey, what are you doing?” he asked, not entirely without humor but clearly concerned. You couldn’t see him, he was standing at your feet and you were still staring at the ceiling, but you imagined a creased brow and a nervous smile. You shrugged as best you could with your shoulders pressed into the cushion beneath you.

Don’t you know that they’re out of touch?

“Chillin’. Maxin’, relaxin’. How are the kids?”

“Stuck up little brats.”

Well, should I try to be a straight-A student?

“Talented brats,” you pointed out. He made a playfully indignant noise. “You love those guys.”

“Yeah…” For the first time since Dewey had left that day, you smiled.

If you are, then you think too much.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly. It wasn’t often that his tone became this gentle, but when it did you knew you couldn’t brush him off if you tried. Dewey came to sit on the couch. You thought he would sit beside your head, but instead he slipped his soft, strong hands under your head and the center of your shoulders and lifted your head into his lap. He stroked your hair and leaned back, clearly prepared to listen to you.

Don’t you know about the new fashion, honey?

“Nothing I do is good enough,” you rasped, gravity pulling an involuntary tear from the corner of your eye.

All you need are looks and a whole lotta money.

“That’s not true.” You shook your head at Dewey’s insistence. What did he know about visual arts? This was your job, not his. And you were failing. But trying to explain it to him would be too much, and you knew it.

“Forget it,” you said, stretching an arm across your torso. “Can you just scratch my arm?”

It’s the next phase, new wave, dance craze, anyways…

“Uh-uh, not until you talk to me.”

The sigh that escaped you nearly took out a lung tissue sample. Dewey just raised his eyebrows and waited. You forced yourself to speak through your readily tightening throat. “We all have industry standards, and I am falling miserably behind.”

It’s still rock and roll to me.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” you insisted.

“Y’know who else fell behind?” You simply watched him and waited. “Every artist who’s ever lived. Me. This time last year, I was a basement-dwelling trashcan who literally impersonated my best friend so I wouldn’t get kicked out.” His voice was flat but sympathetic, pressing against the doubts crashing through your head and trying to force them behind the dam that had been in place that morning. “So get out all the dumb shit. Trust me, I know it’s in there.”

At that, you had to laugh. You couldn’t help it.

He laughed with you and slowly started scratching your arm soothingly. “I’m serious, let yourself make terrible art! We went to the battle of the bands with a song written by a ten year-old because I couldn’t write anything worthwhile. It’s okay to make bad art–even just art that you think is bad. Just make art, a’right?” Dewey lifted your hand and kissed it.

“But it’s my job,” you protested, voice cracking.

“Technically, teaching was my job, and look how that turned out.

“It turned out perfectly.”

“I almost got arrested, Y/N!”

Everybody’s talkin’ ‘bout the new sound…

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled. He laughed at you and nuzzled the back of your hand.

Funny, but it’s still rock and roll to me.

.

.

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