#well I mean I got blossom as my number one result so that answers my question lmaooo

[bugeyedfreaks]

Take this ancient What PPG Character Are You? quiz created by someone named Caroline, located on an eyesore of a website, and share your results. Here are mine:

The typical result, but I genuinely feel like a failure to see that Mojo’s my #2 result. 😩

[hikari-kaitou]

Capcom's Official AA Fanclub Surveys - DGS Edition

Many Western fans may be familiar with the Turnabout 4koma comics that get posted on the official AA fanclub site that Capcom runs, thanks to some lovely fans on tumblr and elsewhere who have shared their translations. What fewer people seem to know about is the character surveys.

Back in the old days, they used to hold a survey on Capcom's official AA fansite every few months where they'd write about the seasonal activities of a handful of characters and ask fans to vote for the funniest/most pleasant/strangest/etc answer.

They stopped doing them in like... 2016? 2017? The original text is lost for good as far as I can tell. Even the wayback machine couldn't help because the content was password locked and you can't get past the password wall while remaining in the archived version.

Fortunately, I saved some of my translations of them so I thought I’d share them.

Cut for length...

"February has begun, and the DGS cast is nearing the end of their journey aboard the RFS Alacrei. Which of them acted the most strangely?"

Ryuunosuke ~ Exhausted from his intensive study session, he decided to try some katana swinging practice as a change of pace and to combat his recent lack of exercise. But because he wasn't used to handling the katana, he swung it too hard and it went flying out of his hands and got stuck in the wall right next to Sherlock, who had just entered the room. Sherlock asked him, "aren't you supposed to be studying right now, Mr. Naruhodo?" and handcuffed him to his desk.

Susato- worked on developing a curriculum for Ryuunosuke. 'If we keep going at this pace, he won't be able to learn it all in time... It'll be hard on Naruhodo-sama, but we'll have to work hard through a couple of nights together.' With that thought, she created a harsh study schedule, and almost seemed to be looking forward to it for some reason.

Sherlock- Driven by excitement over the thought of returning to England after a long absence, he went up on deck to stare at the ocean. Being February, it was very cold out there and he ended up being chilled all the way to the tips of his fingers. He returned to the ship cabins and amused himself by putting his frozen hands on Ryuunosuke, who was stuck in his room studying.

Van Zieks- Upon hearing from Vortex that there was a Japanese exchange student coming to England to study law, he smashed a Lord's Bottle. He apparently also didn't care for the fact that that Japanese student wouldn't be alone, because he proceeded to shatter his chalice, too.

Hosonaga- in order to provide a respite from studying, he provided some hot chocolate. They enjoyed a pleasant tea time, marveling over how sweet and delicious the drink was until Sherlock piped up with some unnecessary trivia: 'Actually folks, chocolate has long been used in Europe as an aphrodisiac!' Everyone promptly spat it out."

"The long winter is nearly over and spring is on it's way, putting the DGS cast members in a celebratory mood. Who found the best way of enjoying spring?"

Ryuunosuke: the Yuumei University faculty members were holding a flower viewing event, and he joined the assistance committee. He exhausted himself keeping the blankets clean so the intense shower of flower petals wouldn't pile up too high on them, delivering sake and snacks, and mediating whatever pointless fights arose. To top it all off, for some reason his compensation was only a single piece of leftover candy. Talk about a sad result!

Susato- her father and the others living in his dormitory were  holding the flower viewing event, so she got up early to prepare the bentos. But her father carelessly forgot to tell her that they wanted tea cakes, so she had to go around the house and neighborhood collecting sweets. For some reason, she ended up being able to gather caramels, biscuits, candy sticks, basically everything but tea cakes, for the tea ceremony.

Sherlock- he disguised himself as a beat officer and infiltrated Scotland Yard to have some fun. There was a real beat officer napping on his feet in the spring sunshine, and while observing him, Sherlock ended up falling asleep too. Detective Gregson gave them a good scolding when he found them, but then Sherlock revealed his true identity with a "hey, it's me, folks!" "What the blazes do you think you're doing?!" Gregson shouted, his rage growing even more, and Sherlock ended up making a run for it.

Van Zieks- went to the vineyard to oversee the production of the contents of his Lord's Bottle. As he viewed the still unopened grape blossom buds, he thought about how they would someday grow up to fill his Lord's Bottle, and ended up going around to look at each one. But the farm hands couldn't stop wondering whether the bottle itself or its owner's heel might come flying at them and were quite uneasy.

Asougi: exhausted himself running around since early morning helping with the professors' flower viewing event. When it was over, he took a break, sharing his reward candy stick [the name of the candy literally translates to 1,000 year candy] with Ryuunosuke, who had also been helping out. 

"I wonder if the candy's effect is halved if you share it with someone."

"That still gives us 500 years."

They laughed and enjoyed looking at the flowers until dark. Then they parted ways with a handshake and a "see you later, best friend."

(This one was something about celebrating New Years. For some reason I didn't save the original question)

"Ryuunosuke ~ To celebrate New Years, he planned to pound mochi with everyone at the office. He somehow managed to get his hands on some mochi rice and he and Sherlock started pounding. Iris was having such fun watching them that she steamed a whole bunch more mochi rice so they could have some to share, and he and Sherlock spent the whole evening pounding mochi like crazy.

Asougi~ Because it's New Years, he went around to a bunch of shrines. When he drew his new year's fortune, he got a "horrible luck" result. "I'm not worried about it," he claimed, and headed up to the mountains early on New Years morning and work hard on a full training course of purification by water, meditation under a waterfall and wooden sword practice. It seems that he was working really hard to clear his mind of all earthly thoughts

Sherlock- Agreed to help Ryuunosuke pound mochi. As Ryuunosuke was flipping the mochi over, he carelessly dropped his badge into the bowl and Sherlock mixed it in without noticing, so they had to crack open both the hard and soft mochi to look for it. Fortunately they found it in the 4th one they checked, but apparently Sherlock got his hands and face covered in sticky white mochi in the process.

Susato- Wore a furisode and went with her father to do the first shrine visit of the year. The shrine was incredibly crowded and they had to wait in line for a long time, but she brought the Encyclopaedia of British Law and a copy of the Strand Magazine in her sleeves to secretly read as they waited so she actually ended up enjoying the wait.

Van Zieks- Ryuunosuke cheerfully gave him some mochi as a New Year’s (which at that time was celebrated at the same time as the Chinese New Year) gift, which he accepted confusedly, wondering “...Can the Japanese not even keep track of when the New Year is?” Because Ryuunosuke referred to it as a rice cake, he tried to eat it like a regular cake without softening it with heat first. It was so hard that he couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be food, and ended up misunderstanding the Japanese even more!

"Autumn has arrived, and the weather is starting to cool off, which means that everyone is becoming more active. Which character chose the most pleasant autumn activity to keep busy with?"

Iris was making bread but her hands are small and it’s difficult for her to knead the dough, so she asked for Ryuunosuke’s help. She wanted to make enough to hand out to Gina and all the other homeless children in the East End, so she made a massive amount and Ryuunosuke was stuck kneading this massive mountain of bread dough all day. Apparently he became such a expert at kneading that he could be a baker now.

Asougi was practicing with his sword, slicing autumn-colored ginko leaves as they fell from the tree. He cut so many leaves, though, that he ended up making a big mess on the ground, the number of fallen leaves now having increased, and it took him a long time to clean it all up.    

Sherlock: Ryuunosuke told him that he was making anpan (bread filled with sweet red bean paste, the bane of my Asian-dwelling existance) and asked Sherlock to help by being in charge of getting the poppy seeds they’d need to sprinkle on top, so Sherlock went out and gathered a ton of poppy seeds. In fact, he got so many of them that no one knew what to do with them all cuz they had a huge amount of leftovers. Sherlock said, “Well, they’re only the size of poppy seeds! Surely you two can deal with them somehow! Ahahaha!” and Iris scolded him.   

(I couldn’t capture it in English, but Sherlock’s line contained a pun, and a pretty stupid one at that, so that’s part of why he got scolded)

It’s grape harvesting season, so Van Zieks commutes to the winery regularly to direct the production of the contents for his “Lord’s Bottle.” He demands perfection in everything from the selection of the grapes to the way they’re squeezed, and the winery staff is terrified by the “grim reaper’s” gaze and heel swinging (i.e. the leg thing he does in court) so they grumble as they work. 

"Hearing that there’s a holiday in the West called Halloween, the people involved with the court in Japan decided to try it out themselves. Naturally Halloween is a big deal in England as well. So, which member of the DGS cast had the best celebration?"

Team Ryuunosuke and Asougi- Asougi got Naruhodo up on his shoulders and they draped a white sheet over themselves to make a ghost costume. They went out like that, but Naruhodo had such exaggerated reactions to the fear of the people who saw them and to bumping his head on tree branches that they ended up losing their balance and falling on top of each other?!   

Sherlock Holmes- went wearing a horse’s head mask. Iris used her skills to make it a fancy horse covered in stars, but the eye holes weren’t well made and he had to wander around blindly. Because of that he tripped hard over a pile of coal! He ended up getting so dirty that the stars on his costume were covered up!

Van Zieks- took inspiration from his nickname and dressed up as the grim reaper. He covered himself up with a skeleton mask and hood figuring no one would know it was him. Unfortunately he got angry when he saw Megundal (McGilded) pass by and started throwing bottles and glasses and ended up giving himself away.

"November has arrived, and autumn is nearing its end. However, the DGS cast is still keeping busy, even on their days off. Which character chose the most interesting way to spend their late autumn day?"

Ryuunosuke- Thinking that he’d better learn more about British culture if he was going to be a defense attorney in Britain, he went down to the East End with Gina for a little observation. However, because an Asian like him stood out so much, he got mobbed by the other children. On top of it all, his arm band got stolen from him and he had to send a replacement request to Yumei University on the other side of the ocean.

Asougi- He went for a meal at La Quantas. The customer at a nearby table got a persimmon for dessert and scarfed it down, saying “Mm! This is it! This sweetness makes it worthy of being called a treasure among foods!” Asougi tried to comment on this by saying, “The customer at that table sure is enjoying his pershim--gak!” but he may or may not have accidentally bitten his tongue in the process and been unable to finish his sentence.

Iris- She accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and prepared a bagpipe and kilt costume for him. “This outfit sure is breezy,” Ryuunosuke said shyly upon trying it on. With Ryuunosuke now dressed, he, Iris, and the others from their office headed over to Gregson’s place to get him to treat them to some fish and chips.   

Sherlock- He accepted Ryuunosuke’s request to learn more about British culture and cooked up some European style curry for dinner. Thanks to the fact that his secret ingredient was a large amount of Chinese herbal medicine style spice, it caused some strange side effects and Ryuunosuke, who’d eaten it, ended up passing out and falling over.

“Another taxing trial for Ryuunosuke has finished and now it’s December. As the year draws to a close, which character acts the strangest?”

Ryuunosuke- he was recruited to help with snow removal around Yumei University and the courthouse and he enthusiastically began his task with the help of a large shovel. He got a little carried away, though, and ended up accidentally burying his umbrella, which he’d left propped up against the side of the building, in the snow he’d just finished shoveling.  He had no choice but to share Asougi’s umbrella on the way home.

Asougi- On the way home, he nods silently to Ryuunosuke’s question of whether he’d finished his travel preparations and changes the subject: “...Come to think of it, it seems that tomorrow is celebrated in the West as God’s birthday.” “I’ve heard that they eat chicken as part of the traditional celebration. Wanna try it?” Ryuunosuke asks invitingly. Asougi is strongly opposed to that particular menu item, however, and they end up going out for their usual beef stew that night instead.           

Susato- in addition to her year-end travel preparations, she also was busy with straightening up the book room in her home. She managed to get the law books in order when she suddenly stumbled upon some old issues of Strand Magazine! She hurried through the rest of her cleaning, then began flipping through the magazines she’d found, trying to decide which to take with her on her trip. She accidentally lost herself in her reading and didn’t realize it until it was already the middle of the night.

Sherlock- he was in the middle of a long ship voyage when Christmas night came. His mind on his partner in a far-off country, he made a toast alone on deck, when suddenly the crew began shooting off fireworks with a cry of “Merry Christmas!” Sherlock had to dart back and forth across the deck to prevent the fireworks from hitting him and setting off the explosive chemicals he carries with him.

Main series edition

[kanene-yaaay]

Sentence Starters - Part 1

I decided to gather all my Sentence Starters in a post. This is the first round! 

Thankys for all the awesome askys and lovely words. It was very fun to rite all of this!

[~.~]

[Is that a smile?]

"Wait, wait," Kaminari stopped the study session, gathering everyone's attention as he got up from his chair, hands resting on the tabletop as he inclined himself on Iida's direction, a grin on his face, "is that a smile?"

Iida immediately blushed, the smile disappearing as he brought his attention back to the notebook in front of him. "No. It was not and I-I apologize for the distraction."

"No, no, wait, dude! Make it come back! Oh, the pain of the seriousness descend upon us again." The blonde cried in faux despair, Kirishima at his side picking up the opportunity of having a break after hours of studying, his eyes flying to the TV's screen behind them.

His eyes sparkled as he saw the characters having a tickle fight on it.

"Bro," he felt a true smirk blossoming on his face, looking his gaze with Kaminari, only to see the same playfulness mirrored at him. "Don't tell me that-"

"AS I WAS SAYING!" Iida immediately cut his sentence, wobbly lips and loud gestures, his gaze flying just about everywhere. "I just remembered I have a very informative and rich book about this topic in my room!" He got up, titters already bubbling on his throat when he noticed his friends following his movements.

He took a few steps away. "I will get it and be back shortly!" Iida adjusted his glasses, strict pose. They wiggled his fingers.

"Don't worry! We will help you."

"Yeah, bro! It wouldn't be very mainly of us to not offer a hand after all the help you gave us, right?"

"Oh," Iida reasoned, "I see."

And then he dashed away.

He managed to just have a few steps before two arms hugged him from behind in a firm, yet gently, grip. The blue haired-boy will forever deny the true squeal that escaped from his lips at this moment, or the barely contained giggles as Kaminari appeared in front of him, fingers clawing the air next to his ribs.

"Now, let's see that dazing smile, shall we?"

[~.~]

[Awww, you’re just a big, strong, giggly bear!]

"Awww, you're just a big, strong, giggly bear!"

Yagi almost could feel the smirk, just as much as he could feel the heat completely taking over his face, smile going from an ear to another, snorts and fast giggles pouring from his lips.

"Am nOT!" His voice failed when Hizashi found a very tickly-ticklish spot right on his upper rib, prodding and poking there, "Nonono nohohoho, wait! Not thehehehere!" his other hand scribbled lightly on his neck, not helping in any way his actual, rather silly, state. "I am!! I ahahaham!"

Now was Hizashi's turn to laugh, taken back with how quickly the number one hero gave up with just a few gently tickles. "Quick like that? Come one, little listener! Where is your resolve? Your determination! You fire!!"

Yagi just shook his head, a squeak running from his mouth. "Plehehehehease!"

"Well, well," Hizashi made a big show of thinking, giving Toshinori some time to take a few breathes, "if you really want me to stop you already know what to say!" And, in a few seconds, he was back at his 'attack', scratching his nails on the other's side, snickering as his friend wiggled on the place.

"No! Anyhihihihi- Anything but thahahahahat!"

"I am waiting. ~"

"Okay! Okay!!! Plehehehehease!" Yamada hummed, slowing his tickles to a finger going up and down Yagi's torso, keeping giggles, yelps and titters filling the air. "I-I ahaham an ahahahamazing friend and peheheherson and - oh gohohohod, no pokes! - and Ihihihi deservehehee nice thihihihihings!"

"You sure do!" Hizashi stopped his attack, blinding smile. "Your giggly bear."

[~.~]

[ I promisse I am doing my best!]

"I promise I am doing my best!" Midoriya half grunted, half protested, pulling the capture's weapon from his friend and only managing to trap him further on it.

"I can see." Shinsou deadpanned, doing his best to not smirk with the other's slight pout in his direction. He laid his head on the tree behind him, closing his eyes, already accepting his fate to hear Aizawa's complaints of him being reckless for doing extra training with a new move and no supervision. "I am going to die here. Give everything I have to my cats, except for the Eraserhead's autograph, that will be buried with me."

That time he failed to control his smile when the fanboy gasped. "YOU HAVE AN ERASERHEAD AUTOGRAPH?"

"Yep."

"Shinsou. I need to see it. Now."

"I can't man, I am stuck." And in a flash all Midoriya's efforts where redoubled. "You're really such a fanboy."

"It's an autograph from Eraserhead!!! You know how much rare this is?" He cried (not literally) in response. "Can you try to at least help me?"

Shinsou opened one eye, lazily, the excited gaze staring him back almost made him feel bad about his next words.

Almost.

"Nah, I am going to take a nap."

"WHAT. Shinsou!"

Shinsou didn't answered, keeping his eyes closed.

"Shinsou."

That was, until he felt a squeeze on his hips, a surprised squeal flying from his mouth, eyes flying open.

Midoriya was smiling, eyes gleaming.

"Midoriya." Another couple of squeezes, his body squirmed from a side to other, a wobbly smile starting to take form on his face. "Midohohoriya, don't you da- NO! You suhuhuhuck!"

"Don't worry, Shinsou! With both of us giving our best you will be free in no time! Plus ultra!!"

[~.~]

[Shhh! you gotta be quiet!]

"Shhhh," Sero chastised with no heat on it, trying with all his soul to not laugh out loud with the mess of giggles and half-French sentences that was Aoyama. "You gotta be quiet! You don't want Aizawa-sensei finding us wake at this hour, right?"

The other just shrieked on his shoulder, hugging him tighter as Sero concentrated his tickly efforts on the back of his ribs, poking his way to the spine and coming back to re-start the cycle.

"Çahahah chatouille! So muhuhuhuch!"

"Sorry, man, I literally understood nothing you just said."

"Mehehehercy! Sero, mercyhihihihi"

"I know that one!" Sero beamed at the change to tease more his friend, happy in see the previous bad mood from the blonde's nightmare disappearing at each snicker. "Merci is 'thank you'. Awwww, you're welcome man! You know I am always here, even if it is to tickle-tickle-tickle all your sadness away!"

Aoyama yelped at the silliness, attempting to concentrate, words and languages losing meaning on his mind. He still tried, nevertheless.

"Tickles!!!! It tihihihihickles!" The black haired boy changes his technique to scribble all over Aoyama's neck, fishing a couple of squeaky giggles. "Non, Sero, non!"

"Yes! Tickles! It's such a cute word, right?" Sero ignored his friend's denying, especially as his words were accompanied by the other melting more on the hug, arms never pushing him away. "And it has a nice ring on it. Like, tickle tickle tickle tickle tickly ticklish tickles. ~"

Giggles and snickers cut the night, filling their hearts and smiles with warmth and joy, and, at this moment, that was all that mattered.

[~.~]

[ "You can't be serious about this." ]

"You can't be serious about this."

"Well, you dipshit, I clearly am! Let me fucking go, now!" For the fifth time, Bakugou struggled - not enough to really escape, but both decided to be quiet about this detail - on Todoroki's hold that pinned him on the floor of his room. Colored eyes stared him back, blinking a few times, curious.

"WHAT." He questioned, ignoring the slight heat to dust his cheeks.

"So, you're not ticklish?"

"Of fucking course I am not. I am not weak like you extras!"

Todoroki hummed and poked his stomach. "I don't think it's a weakness." He watches with analyzing eyes the way the other squirmed and his lips were pressed firmly, looking for any real discomfort but receiving only a 'tsk' on his way. Huh. Adorable.

Poke. Poke. Poke. A quick scribble. Prodding. Prodding. Prodding.

"And this looks like it's affecting you."

"That is because - tch, stop that damn pohoking! - you keep touching me, you half and half creep!"

"No, I think it's because you're awfully ticklish." He wormed his hand to the blonde's armpit, scratching there and freeing a tiny smile for the way his friend's chest shook with trapped laughter. "I am ticklish too."

Bakugou's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "I am getting you back!"

Todoroki hummed, nodding and letting go of Bakugou's hands, immediately attacking the boy's armpits with a vigor that resulted in a mix of crackles and loud laughter.

"Okay," he dodged from Katsuki's hands, which flied on his direction, trying to tickle any available ticklish spot they could find. "I won't let you succeed, then."

[~.~]

[ Theeeere we go! There’s my happy girl/boy! ]

"Theeeere we go! There's my happy girl!" Eri squealed in response, squirming, wiggling and thrashing in an attempt to escape the nimbly fingers scribbling on her armpits, her legs kicking just about everywhere. "That is right! Hear those awesome laughter! Oh, is there a song more melodious than that? I don't think so."

"Paaaapaaa!!" The younger girl protested, "don't behehe mehehehean!"

"Sorry, sweetie, but there is no Papa here!" Hizashi stopped the tickling in order to hold the girl in the air, his 'malefic' grin losing for a second its evilness to show a genuine smile as Eri giggled harder. "I am now the Tickle Monster and I love to tickle sweet little girls just like you! Mwuahahaha!"

"Dahahahahad!" And in less then a second Eri was captured by Aizawa, who held her in a hug, blowing raspberries on her neck. "No! No!" She shrieked in delight "No more tickle monstehehers! Nahaha!"

"You smile is beautiful and don't let anyone say you otherwise." He mumbled, giving her a final, loud raspberry before meeting her eyes. Eri nodded, reminiscent giggles and squeaks still escaping from her mouth, especially when Yamada decided to crush both in a bear hug.

[~.~]

[ “Come on bro-you needed this.” ]

"Come on, bro," Kirishima tried to not laughter out loud as Bakugou turned at him, flames on his eyes as the bucket - previously full of water - fell from his now wet hair. "You needed this."

Bakugou tensed his legs, arms spreaded, ready to attack.

"I was just, ya know, helping you to cool down."

"I WILL SHOW YOU THE DAMN COOL DOWN, YOU SHITTY HAIR."

Kirishima even tried to dodge and run, however it didn't take more than a minute to find himself laid on the floor, Katsuki pinning his arms under his knees, hands kneading his thighs with vigor enough for him to immediately fell in belly laughter, not that Ejirou would try to hold his reactions, anyway.

"Come on duhuhuhude! Takin- ah, not that! - Tahahahaking revenge! That is sohohoho unmanly!!! Hehehehehehe!"

"MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT IT BEFORE DUMPING A FUCKING BUCKET ON ME!" Bakugou retorted, with no real harm, hands switching between tickling the thighs and squeezing the calves, eyes attentive in finding the best spots so he could focus there, snorts freely following his actions. "Stupid rock and his stupid puns. I am going to kill that fucking chicken when I see him again."

"Bu-buhuhuhut, bro! Didn't you know that revenge is-"

"Don't you dare!" The blonde attacked his sides, scratching and prodding there, all his efforts concentrated in not letting the other's next words come out. "Don't you fucking dare if you know what is better for you, you shitty hair!!"

Kirishima struggled, crackles flying from the gigantic smile plastered on his face, a playful glint on his eyes showing how much fun he was having with that. He did his best to take a deep breath.

"Don't." His explosive friend warned.

"Dihihidn't you know that revenge is better served cold- nO NO BAHAHAHAHAHAKUGOU! I'M SAHAHAHAHARRY!!"

[~.~]

[Did...did we just break Todoroki?]

"Did..." Midoriya gulped, staring at the teenager still laid on the floor, back turned to them making it impossible to see his previous red face, with a big, full grin stretched on it. He had been like that for the past three minutes. "Did we just break Todoroki?"

Iida peaked from his hiding spot behind the couch, had been dragged there after Midoriya thought the other would be quick and merciless on his revenge. "I don't think so, Midoriya. Maybe he is just resting in order to recover his energies!"

Izuku nodded, hand holding his chin as he frowned in a thoughtful face.

'Or he is planning a sneak attack.' His brain provided and the one with green curls found himself staring at Iida, who still faced their other friend innocently. An evil idea lighted his mind, not even slightly heroic but...

He felt the sudden urge to giggle, the mental image of the serious, taller boy laughing and having fun too much appealing for him to stop his next words. "You should go check him."

"Me?? Why? Don't you think he will ti-" a lightly blush painted Iida's cheeks and he stumbled a bit on his words, adjusting his glasses as distraction, "I mean, attack me?"

'Oh, absolutely.' His mind provided, making it even more difficult to keep his straight face.

"No. And if anything happens you're the quickest one here!" Midoriya beamed, adding when the teen didn't seemed convinced. "And I think he actually fell asleep."

"On the floor?!" Iida was up in an instant, walking on Todoroki's direction. "That is unacceptable! He can suffer from an awful back and neck pain from being on this position for too loONG!"

His last words were broke by a shriek as his legs slipped on the patch of ice created under his feet, making him lose his balance enough for Todoroki to jump and lock an arm around him, digging his fingers on his armpit.

"Boo."

A wall of ice surged in front of Izuku, making him 'eep', Iida's laughter and incoherent babbling filling the air as Shoto clawed his stomach, eyes staring deep into Midoriya's soul when the boy turned to look at him, a playful small smirk plastered on his expression.

"You," the one with green hair felt a shiver run down his spine, a wobbly, excited smile taking over his features "are next."

[~.~]

[ It’s been a while since we’ve done this.]

"It's been a while since we've done this." Her words came out in between reminiscent giggles, the ghost feeling of fingers from their tickle fight still gazing at her skin, the night breeze being enough to lead to a few small yelps before her laughing began to finally die. "I almost forgot how adorably tickle you both are!" She took total advantage of the fact she was laid in the middle of them to distribute a couple of playful pokes.

"Mehe too!" Mirio smiled, bright and happy, pushing her hand away only for her to lightly push him back and both be captured in a roughhousing, his attention being deviated when Tamaki turned to the other side, curling in a ball, silent giggles shaking his body still. "Hey, Amajiki, how didn't you tell me your calves were ticklish?!"

A flustered squeak flew from the shy boy, who needed a few seconds of silence before being able to answer.

"I didn't knew about it too..."

"Aw man! So many tickle fights I could've won!"

"You're welcome! Now, because of my brillant discovering we can enjoy plenty of snorts from our cute Suneater here!" Nejire winked, sneaking a pinch on the blonde's cheek, who retailed with a quick squeeze on her side, both snickering at Amajiki's whine. "Wait, you used to lost the tickle fights?"

"Yeah!!" Togata rolled to pull his childhood friend on a side hug, letting him hide his red face on his neck. "Amajiki has the best sneaky tickly attacks! I never saw it coming before it was too late!" They chuckled. "The best sneaky attacks and the best sq-"

His sentence was stopped by a crackle as two fingers tased his ribs and made him jump away from the other.

"I-" Tamaki gulped, keeping the determined look firm on his face, even as he felt his cheeks burning again as his two friends turned at him with surprised smiles. "I am g-going to ti-tickle you. A-again."

Mirio blew a raspberry at him, Nejire full laughing in the background. "Your neck is almost as bad as his calves, though."

Suddenly her voice was extremely close and Mirio turned around in the exact moment her index finger was almost touching the said spot. "Hey! Don't!"

"Your face!!" She only laughed harder. "Remember... Remember on our first year when I sat behind you?"

"Yes," now was his time to laugh, the memories of high pitched squeaks when the girl would randomly scribble her pencil on his neck flooding their mind. "Mic sensei praised my 'high note', that one time!"

"I think Aizawa sensei almost expelled you both because of those." Tamaki added, in a small - but deeply fond and amused - tone.

"I couldn't help it! You jumped every single time." She protested, too much distracted to notice Togata getting closer, a playful smirk on his face. "It was so cute!"

"I bet it wasn't cute than this!"

"Nono! Mirio!! Nohohohot agahahain!"

Tamaki only smiled, the sound of teases and laughter making a warm feeling take over his chest.

They never said the exact words but it was very clear by the smiles, the memories, the care in every act.

They would be forever happy for the friendship they had.

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

[sxfterhearts]

40. [8:59 am]

➳ pairing: mark x reader

➳ genre/warnings: fluff, coffeeshop!au, barista!mark, side!jackson,yugyeom (being silly)

➳ word count: 2,038 words

➳ summary: “I made this for you”

➳ author's note: for @strxwberri-milk​ 💖 i truly truly appreciate you!!! :”) and thank you for indulging me with your story hehe i hope something similar to this happens to you 🤭

➳ inspired by: (no one asked but) the bookstore in hear, here!!

You were early.

On regular meetups with your friends or even your dreadful 9ams, you would be running at least fifteen minutes behind schedule.

Today, however, you were early.

Therefore it goes without saying that meeting your Chemistry lab partner in the café he worked at to discuss your upcoming report was anything but a regular meetup, especially because said lab partner is none other than Mark Tuan, also known as the intelligent, introverted shooting guard who mostly stuck to and looked after his group of six other basketball jocks. Or your crush for the academic year, for short.

Taking in a nervous breath of air, you reached for your phone and began to type.

[08:59] Me: Hey, I got here early. I’ll go inside first and save us a spot.

Your feet tapped against the pavement as you stood beyond the café doors, your fingers gliding across the screen as you began typing another text to describe your outfit, just in case he couldn’t spot you amongst the sea of café patrons. It’s busy on Saturday mornings anyway, you rationalised your decision to double text, who cares, right?

[09:00] Mark: Yellow jumper and white Converse??

He had beat you to it. Your fingers halted its motions, staring intently at the panic-inducing typing bubble.

[09:00] Mark: I like your outfit :)

[09:00] Mark: And good morning!!!

It took all the self-control you had within yourself to not jump into a little happy dance right in the middle of the street. Calm down, Y/N, your inner voice rang clearly through your fuzzy thoughts, it doesn’t mean anything. Don’t overread his texts. Don’t overthink. Don’t –

“So,” A deep mellifluous voice broke you out of your daydream, its owner’s head poking out of the doors with his signature charming smile as an invitation. “Are you going to come in?” Your ears not failing to pick up the slightly teasing lilt in his tone. “Or are you going to stand there?”

For a few moments, you slowly tilted your head up, staring at Mark with a mildly shocked expression. Mark, with his fluffy permed hair and neat barista outfit, a white button up, black apron and a tiny bowtie around his neck. Mark, holding the door open for you, welcoming you into the humble establishment with a guiding hand. “Ah, Mark. Hi.” The words awkwardly stumbled out of your lips as you stepped inside. “Thank you.”

It felt like you were stepping into another universe, eons away from the quiet neighbourhood beyond the double doors. The café was situated a distance away from your home, hence why you never visited until now, despite many of your classmates’ recommendations of the café for group study sessions. Being more of a library person yourself, you couldn’t imagine being able to focus in a place where customers were constantly entering and leaving, and people were allowed to talk over one another.

This café, you realised, was different. Its white-bricked walls were lined with shelves upon shelves of novels, with colourful volumes of all shapes and sizes on display. Most patrons seemed to be preoccupied with their own reading or chatting quietly amongst themselves, mindful to not disturb or distract others with loud noises. The atmosphere was peaceful; serene. The only audible sounds were the rhythmic whirring of the coffee grinder or the low whistle of the milk steamer, which didn’t bother you at all.

“What can I get you, Y/N?” Mark asked in a practiced manner. You followed him deeper into the café and admired its interior, which strongly resembled a bookstore. While you were busy perusing the selection of CDs behind the counter, you felt a clipboard being thrusted into your hands. It was the menu. “Should I choose instead? It’ll be a surprise.” He offered, noticing how your eyes glanced over the paper repeatedly, never settling on a single item.

“Yes, please.” You were simply spoilt for choice – there were one, two, three, eight choices of coffee beans and over ten varieties of tea! “I’m not picky. I like coffee and sweet things.”

“Breakfast?” Mark asked. You shook your head. “Leave it to the capable hands of the experienced barista. Go take a seat at the table by the window, I’ll join you real soon.”

Heeding his words, you made your way towards the French windows, but not before browsing through a table full of literary classics. As you sat down, you decided that this quaint little book café was not a bad place to study after all.

Which reminded you, you made the thirty-minute commute here to discuss the results from your Chemistry experiment. Pulling out your notebook, your chest was filled with the same pang of disappointment as yesterday when you found out Mark left early for an away game and was unable to join you for the experiment. He sent you a text full of apologies and pleading eyes emojis, the first one you received from him after exchanging numbers. It took you another three or four exchanges to realise that the real Mark was very different to the Mark you thought you knew. Who would’ve thought the boy you had only admired from afar, the one who always seemed to watch over his friends wordlessly, blending seamlessly into the background, would’ve been such an enthusiastic texter? He had thrown in a generous dash of emojis, a sprinkling of GIFs and one too many exclamation marks, which never failed to pull amused smiles out of you.

“Finally decided to change the flowers on that table, hyung?” A male voice questioned mockingly from behind a nearby bookshelf.

“About time he did…” Another voice chimed in.

“Shut up, Jackson, Yugyeom.” You heard footsteps approaching you and looked up from your neatly-drawn results table to catch a glimpse of the playful glare Mark shot at his co-workers-slash-best friends. You began to wonder whether your girl friends frequented this café due to the favourable ambience or the attractive baristas.

You gave him a little wave as Mark stood in front of you and set down the serving tray. Your eyes feasted on the stunning array of goodies it carried – a cappuccino with a stunning Rosetta pattern and heavy dusting of chocolate powder, two slices of chocolate mud cake, a plate full of scones, jam and cream, and a butter croissant. The small jar of fresh, seasonal blooms in the corner – roses, daisies, chrysanthemums, daffodils and buttercups in shades of white and yellow immediately drew your attention. They complemented the shade of your mustard jumper perfectly.

Mark carefully positioned the flowers on the table before offloading the rest of the tray’s contents. “Flowers for you, Miss Y/N.”

The more you were around him, the more he surprised you. You fought hard against the blossoming heat on the apples of your cheeks, reminding yourself again to not overthink his words. Perhaps he’s just like that with every girl he talks to, you figured, there is no way he’s flirting with me.

“Surprise!” Mark exclaimed, moving onto the seat directly opposite yours. “I got a little bit of everything, so I hope you brought your appetite with you. There’s our signature chocolate mud cake, super rich and moist, wonderful scones and homemade strawberry jam, and our flaky butter croissant. Oh! Here,” He pushed the large cup of coffee towards you. “I made this for you. Try it!”

His brown orbs sparkled and twinkled as he eagerly watched you pick up the hot beverage and place your lips on the cup. A strong whiff of fragrant aroma drifted into your nose as you took a sip, your tastebuds instantly flooded with the creamy deliciousness of the coffee. You may be biased, but it was undoubtedly the best coffee you’d ever had. “It’s really good!” You finally said after several long sips. “Why is it so good?” You wondered aloud to yourself.

“Because I made it with care and love.” Mark answered without missing a beat. Upon hearing his bold declaration, you halted all movements and simply stared at him, steadily swallowing your coffee and feeling the warm liquid travel down your throat. “It also helps that we only brew the finest coffee beans and use the highest quality, imported full cream milk. A matchmade in heaven, really, I – ” He paused, noticing your unwavering stare. “Sorry, am I boring you? It’s just that, I really do love my job and I love talking about it and I’ve also been told I talk too much when I’m nervous. Sorry.” Mark cringed, frowning apologetically while visibly shrinking into his chair.

“No! No, not at all. Don’t say sorry. Actually, I like hearing you talk. As in, you sound so passionate just then. It’s just, it’s nice to hear you talk?” You wanted to facepalm yourself. Perhaps you should just dig a hole in the ground and hide in it forever. At least that way you would never have to face him ever again.

“Is that so?” Mark sat up a bit straighter, the corner of his lips pulled into a wide, heart-stopping smile. The tiny pair of adorable canines poking out of his mouth were all too distracting. “Well, why don’t you dig into your breakfast while I run you through what I’ve done so far for the report? Try the croissant first, it’s a good one to start on, fluffy and light. Alright, I stole the titration results from Youngjae’s group and used it for the calculations.” He quickly pulled out a pile of papers from his apron’s pocket while you savoured the sweet pastry. You had to admit, you never expected Mark to get any work done after his game last night. His hardworking attitude and dedication amazed you. “I wrote out the hypothesis and the matching observations for each reaction, pretty straightforward. There’s also the equations at the other side of the page, here, along with the calculations. They were a bit of a pain and I am this close to finishing up but unfortunately there’s still two more left. I can finish it while you’re eating, though, no big – ”

“Mark,” You called amidst a small, polite mouthful of cake and a light giggle, pausing his lengthy monologue. “You’ve done so much already. Leave some work for me too! This is a group project, remember?”

“Ah, right. Sorry.” He apologised sheepishly, a hand coming up to rub against his neck, embarrassed. “I guess I just wanted to make it up to you. I feel really bad about leaving you alone yesterday, Y/N. I wish I was there, with you. I would choose to watch solutions turn purple with you over playing ball any day of the week.” Mark admitted sincerely.

“Why?” You breathed. Your brain had started to get ahead of itself and pieced together the clues he’d left. Apart from his voice and your drumming heartbeats, your ears blocked everything out.

“Because I want to spend time with you.”

“Like… right now?”

“Well – ”

“Hyung! Mark hyung! Hey,” Yugyeom came running towards your table in a hurry. “Sorry to interrupt your date but,”

“It’s not…” You started, your tone shy and your eyes refusing to meet Mark’s.

“Date, study date, whatever it’s called. Sorry, Y/N, but I have to steal Mark hyung for a moment.” Yugyeom turned towards said boy. “It’s an emergency. Jackson dropped an entire crate of teacups, they’re all broken.”

“He what?!”

“There was a bee, apparently! I don’t know, ask him! He got scared and freaked out.”

Mark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, suppressing his urge to bust out a string of profanities in front of you. Once he felt reasonably calmer, he faced you. “Forgive me, Y/N. I have to go clean up after a child. I’ll be back, okay? In the meantime, make sure you eat up.”

You nodded vigorously and motioned for him to go, understanding the urgency of the situation.

“I’ll bring you another coffee later!” Mark called over his shoulder, to which you responded with two thumbs up.

A date? You thought to yourself. I guess it is a date, after all… The sweetest of smiles brightened your face as you gazed fondly at the flowers, now viewing them in a new light.

[faulty-writes]

Warning: None. 

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Characters: All Might x Student!Reader 

[ This is my fourth piece for the hero bingo event hosted by @bnhabookclub​​ the theme for this square was flower picking. Originally I was going to do this piece with Himiko but as I was looking through some bnha fanart. I saw a picture of Midoriya giving All Might a bouquet of flowers and suddenly a new idea was born. I hope you enjoy. ] 

[ When All Might announced he was the newest teacher at U.A. you could hardly contain your excitement. Despite being a third year, you couldn’t help but fan over your favorite hero and decide to try and thank him somehow. But what could you possibly give the number one hero? Luckily Midoriya has an idea, but you were a little hesitant if it’d work ] 

When All Might began teaching at U.A. you were in your third year, slightly trailing behind the Big Three. Of course, it gave you plenty of motivation to improve. Along with the fact that your favorite hero was now a teacher, it made you train twice as hard and you often used up any extra time you had, with your teacher's permission, using the training field or USJ to improve your combat and quirk tactics. 

On occasion, All Might would show up and observe you, which made you a little nervous but you tried to remain calm. If anything to try and impress the number one hero, sometimes it worked but when you happened to mess up, you took it rather hard. All Might never seemed to think less of you, “Do not fret young Y/n!” he’d say as he placed his hand on your shoulder. “I believe you have improved yet! Do not give up! For I am here and I believe in you!” he declared and you couldn’t help how your heart raced. Being around the number one hero would make anyone weak in the knees. 

Still, you thought All Might’s dedication to not only the world but the students of U.A. was admirable and you wanted to try and do something special for him. Of course, you weren’t sure what you could get the number one hero that he didn’t already have. More than likely he had riches beyond belief and could get anything he desired at the snap of his fingers. So what could you possibly manage to get him that would impress him or at least earn you a hug? 

You weren’t sure, but you knew of one student that might have the answer. He was supposedly teased about being All Might’s number one fanboy and though you had heard stories of how he couldn’t control his quirk yet. You decided he might be your only chance and so you tracked down the green-haired boy known as Izuku Midoriya. He was a student in Class 1-A and though he was a tad bit too ecstatic when you walked up to him asking for help. You managed to get his attention just long enough to tell him what you needed help with. 

“Huh?” he seemed confused at first, you knew it was a strange request. Asking what type of gift you could get All Might, “I know, it’s weird. But...he is my favorite hero and he’s already supported me so much. I just want to do something nice for him.” you explained before Midoriya tapped his chin, you could hear soft muttering before he finally spoke. “Well...All Might did mention once that the Cherry Blossom Festival is his favorite nonhero event,” he said and your eyes lit up. “Maybe you could get some Cherry Blossoms? I mean...I don’t think he’d r-reject them or anything.” you smiled and reached over to pat Midoriya’s head. “Thanks,” you said, feeling more confident than ever that your gift would impress All Might. 

You had actually skipped a day of extra training to go hunting for the Cherry Blossoms, locating them wasn’t a difficult task. However, climbing the Cherry Blossom tree to get the precious flowers was. You got several looks despite the fact you were dressed in your school uniform. But no one asked any questions so you continued on, picking every small branch of flowers you could get your hands on and tucking them away in the basket that hung loosely from your arm. Once you believed you had enough, you carefully climbed back down. Smiling as you looked at your now full basket, “I just know he’s going to love these.” you said before running off. 

You had planned to give all Might the basket of the flowers the next day, though you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. So you went to find Midoriya once more and he looked rather surprised you had taken his advice. “So do you think he’ll like them?” you asked and watched as Midoriya reached over to take a small branch out of the basket, he looked it over and brushed his thumb across the pedals. “I...I mean I’m sure he’ll like...them,” he said as he glanced down and a soft blush came to his cheeks. You partly wondered why he was so shy around you, but either way. At least you had the approval of the number one fanboy. 

Still, you kept the basket of cherry blossoms safely in your locker, you weren’t about to risk them getting damaged in any way. Though your classmates noticed you seemed distracted throughout the day and you had almost gotten injured during training because of it. Well, that and the fact that All Might had shown up to yet again observe the hero students. Your heart raced thinking to the moment when you’d give him the flowers, there was that small doubt you’d make a fool of yourself. 

It felt as though the rest of the day progressed rather slowly and honestly, you were a little drained by the end of it. But you knew, more often than not. All Might was seen at the training grounds with Midoriya during free hours, though knowing the first-year would be there was a little intimidating. You still planned to give All Might your gift, so you changed into your hero costume and proceeded to the training ground. 

“Ah, young Y/n!” All Might said as he saw you, his bright smile followed after. “As always it’s wonderful to see you here! Training hard to match up to the rest of us Pros I see!” he said as he raised his muscular arm into the air and you watched those fingers as they chopped through the air with ease. They could just as easily snap your neck if All Might so desired, it was amazing how strong and yet gentle the hero could come off as. 

Still, you appreciated his praise, as much as a student could. Despite the fact that much like Midoriya, you might have the smallest crush on him. But who couldn’t? The man was amazing and it was an honor to be in his presence let alone have him speak to you, much less know your name and encourage you. “Uh...y-yeah! Anything...to be like you All Might!” you replied and almost face palmed yourself, damn why did you say such a stupid thing!? However, you heard the hero chuckle and your anxiety lessened. 

You had placed the basket of Cherry Blossoms by a tree near the training field, your goal was to give them to All Might before he left with Midoriya. Though it annoyed you that Midoriya continued to give you knowing glances, it was almost like he wanted to watch you give the Cherry Blossoms to All Might and a part of you was almost suspicious that he’d want to write it down in that little notebook of his. Still, you proceeded to go through three rounds of training before leaning over. A sweaty mess, you might have overused your quirk but with All Might present. How couldn’t you? 

You nearly shivered when you felt a hand on your back, gently patting it. “Wonderful job! You’ll make a fine hero yet, though I wouldn’t overdo it! When a hero overuses their quirk, well heh heh it could result in some minor consequences.” he warned you, though his advice wasn’t wrong. You took a deep breath and turned around. “Thank you, All Might,” you said with a smile, taking a moment to admire him. 

Unfortunately, it seemed like his training with Midoriya was over and he nodded. “Well,” he said, bringing two fingers to his forehead in a salute type fashion. “Young Midoriya and I must be off, you know hero work!” he turned to leave and you panicked for a moment. “W-Wait!” you cried out and before you could register your own actions, you grabbed his arm. He turned to you with a surprised look and you blushed before releasing his arm. 

Though you managed to get away with your actions after you explained you had something for him, a gift of sorts. “Well, that’s very nice! Hurry now.” All Might warned, though you were unaware of his quirk limitation and he needed to get back to the safety of the U.A. teachers lounge before his quirk timed out. He turned to look at Midoriya as you ran off to get the gift. “Go on ahead Young Midoriya! I will be there shortly!” he said and much like a good little fanboy, Midoriya nodded. “Uh, y-yeah of course! Anything you say All Might!” he said before running off. 

You were a little nervous as you approached All Might, the basket was hidden behind your back and your stomach twisted with butterflies. “Uh...so um…” you tried to form words, but they all came out jumbled and you cursed yourself, now wasn’t the time to make a fool out of yourself. You took a deep breath before looking up at All Might. “I got these...f-for you, um...I thought you’d like them,” you said as you slowly brought out the basket. You watched as All Might’s expression went blank and he reached out for it. 

You swallowed as All Might picked up a branch and a smile came to his face when he realized what it was. “Ah, Cherry Blossoms! Quite lovely…” he said before looking at you, “Thank you, for bringing such beauty to U.A. and for me, I couldn’t be any more surprised!” you gasped as you felt his strong arm wrap around you. Oh God, he was hugging you. The feeling of being pressed up against the muscular hero was nothing short of amazing, however, you didn’t get the chance to return the hug as All Might suddenly stepped back. 

You looked confused before you noticed a thin amount of smoke begin to surround the hero. “Uh…” you wanted to ask if he was okay, but then you noticed the small trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He cleared his throat, “Thank you! Dear Y/n for the flowers, I appreciate it! Now I must go meet with Young Midoriya!” he said and before you could call after him, he used his quirk to make a hasty getaway. Leaving you a little confused and concerned, but at least he liked the flowers. 

[pars-ley]

Until Tomorrow | Part two

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Summary: You’re a happily single magazine editor in London, that is, until you’re set up with a handsome musician, who’s not exactly forthcoming about being in the biggest boy group in the world. But with your days together numbered, will this blossom into something more or crash land, leaving your heart broken.

Genre: Idol!au / Fluff / Romance / Comedy / Slight hint of smut 

Rating: 15+ (sfw)

Warnings: Mentions of sex and sexual activity / Kissing

Word Count: 6413

Part one | Part two Notes: Beta reader @ditttiii​ Thank you so much for your help, you are such a queen! 

I knock lightly against the boss’ door and wait. 

Janelle Rogers is the editor-in-chief for our magazine, she’s brilliant but also a bit eccentric. She always has some kind of wacky blazer on and yet, somehow always manages to look professional. She’s also the messiest person I know, resulting in her desk always being untidy, but she claims it to be organised chaos instead.

Who am I to argue with that kind of logic? 

She’s tough and a lot of her employees are terrified of her, but if you work hard and do a good job she usually notices and shows her appreciation in some way, which makes her quite pleasant to work for. 

I get on with her well on a personal level too. We’ve been out to dinner a few times and it’s always fun. It also always turns into a late night drinking session. Going out with her, usually means I am in for a two day hangover, which is why it doesn’t happen all that often.

“Come in!” She calls.

Swinging open the door, I step in. 

Janelle is pacing back and forth, phone tucked under her ear, as she searches through the papers in her hand. Hearing me enter, she looks up and removes the phone from her ear, before she says, “Y/n, I heard you wanted to speak to me, please come in. I won’t be long.” 

She indicates to the empty seats across from her desk. 

I sit down and cross one leg over the other, trying not to listen to the heated discussion she’s having. 

“I appreciate that I do, but I need that piece before the end of the week.” She says, her tone clipped. I see her jaw tense as she grits her teeth to whatever response she gets. “And I understand that, nonetheless, you’ve had plenty of time to figure it out. Your story needs to be in by the end of the week, otherwise I’ll use someone else’s. End of discussion.”

She hangs up the phone, almost slamming it back down onto the base unit and sighs. 

Sitting down, elbows on her desk, she gives me her full attention. “Some people will use any excuse to avoid a deadline.” She shakes her head and then meets my eyes. “Please tell me you’re here to give me some good news.”

I grimace slightly. “Well the magazine is on track...mostly. The music segment however…” I pause. “It’s unfinished.”

Her face drops. “What?” She mutters, her voice low, brimming with anger. “What do you mean, it’s not finished?”

“Only half of it is complete.” 

She slams her hand on her desk. “God Dammit, Toby.” She runs her hands over her hair, smoothing her tight, black curls. 

Toby was one of our writers, mostly for the music assignments. He did interviews with the artists, went to gigs, reviewed albums but recently had gone on a holiday for some kind of meditation retreat. ‘No phones permitted and no contact from the outside world’ kind of place, not my type of holiday but who am I to judge?

“Can’t we just use one of our other music pieces?” I ask, knowing the answer before she gets the chance to respond.

“No, we need that segment. Our sales were up last month because we featured that story about the k-pop group selling out Wembley, now we need to report what the shows were like.” She sits back in her chair. “BTS are very current, it’s what we need. They’re our ticket to the younger generation buying our magazine.”

“Well, that’s why it’s not finished, the concerts are this weekend and Toby’s obviously not going to be here for them. He didn’t seem to have tickets for them either.”

She lets out a long, drawn out breath. “Ok, well we need to get our hands on a ticket.”

I put my hands up to stop her. “I’ve already got people on it but I need another writer to rewrite the segment.”

She nods. “Toby won’t like it but that’s not my problem. I’ll get George on it.” She picks up the phone and within seconds it’s all arranged and passed over. 

I stand and make my way to the door.

“Y/n?” She calls as I open the door to make my exit. I turn back to her. “Good work, keep me posted, we need this story.”

I give her a sharp nod, not sure how possible it will be to achieve this but of course I’ll try my hardest to make it happen.

I head back to my desk, sending more emails and making more calls, when my personal phone vibrates against the wood. I glance down at the screen and my stomach flips when I see who the message is from.

Taehyung [14.09]: So, how’s your day going?

A wide grin spreads across my face. He’s thinking about me. My chest swells at that thought alone and I type a quick reply and press send.

Y/n [14.10]: So far? It’s a day from hell. What about yours?

His reply is  immediate.

Taehyung [14.11]: 😥 I don't like to hear that. My day is fine. Will be better later, hopefully I can cheer you up...If you’re still free?

I smile at my phone. I couldn’t wait to get out of here and meet him. It’s the only thing keeping me going through all of this work, knowing that he would be there at the end of it. And clearly he was looking forward to seeing me too; my ego was quite inflated. 

Y/n [14.11]: Of course, can’t wait. What time?

I put my phone down and carry on clicking through my emails, relieved to discover that I’ve sent and replied to all I needed to, for now at least. I decide to take a much needed break. I put my earphones in and shuffle my Spotify playlist of metal and rock songs that I had put together and turn the volume up to as loud as it can go. 

The ear buds thrum inside my ears as they blare out classic 80’s rock sounds with ‘Pour some sugar on me’ and I lose myself in Def Leppard. Turning in my seat, I look out of my office window. 

The landscape of London is truly something to marvel at, and I would never tire of this view. The way the entire city reflected in the windows of the high-rise buildings, the way the sun bounced off the river and the classic style of our oldest landmarks. London is a remarkable place. 

I sigh and put my feet up on the low window ledge, crossing my ankles. My phone vibrates in my lap and I smile as I see his name on my screen, reading the message.

Taehyung [14.21]: I’ll be working for a while, is 7 too late for you?

I sigh, I had another early start tomorrow but I can’t pass up the chance to go on a date with the only guy I've been interested in for two years. Who knows how long he’ll be over here for? I can deal with being tired for a few days.

Y/n [14.22]: I can make an exception for you. Let me send you the address.

I sent him the link with all the info of Yoshi’s restaurant. If he was anything like me, he’d be looking over the menu and planning his meal.

Taehyung [14.25]: Then I am flattered. See you there :)

I grin at my phone like an idiot. God, how old was I? I’m sitting here embarrassing myself, acting like a seventeen year old love sick teenager over a guy I barely know. 

I kept picturing his face, his smile, the way he raises an eyebrow so seductively, or the way he runs a hand through his dark brown hair. I’m not sure if my memory of him does him justice. 

I pause my playlist and quickly dial Yoshi’s number, waiting for him to pick up.

“Yo! What’s happening, jelly bean?” His usually cheerful voice rings out.

“I’m wondering something?” I ask hesitantly.

“Wondering...if I’m as good in the sack as people say? Why yes, I am.” He quips.

I roll my eyes. “No one says that and I would never be wondering that.” 

His laugh vibrates my ear. “Your loss. So what are you wondering then?”

“Well, do you have a table for two for tonight at seven?” I bite my lip, waiting for the response.

“If the table’s for you, for sure! Who you bringing with you this time? Taylor?” He asks, mentioning one of my oldest and closest friends who has been with me to his restaurant many times.

I hesitate. “...No. I’m bringing a...date, actually?” I hold my breath as I wait for his reaction.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!” He exclaims, so loud I have to quickly turn the call volume down before he deafens me. “Hold up, you can’t just drop a bomb like that on me! Who is it? How did you meet? It’s the tourist guy you bumped into, isn’t it? I told you y/n, I told you he thought it was a date.” He bombards me, laughing out of excitement.

“Actually,” I cut in, “It’s not him.” I hear the groan of disappointment on the other end. “It’s his friend.” I laugh.

“Well damn girlfriend! I’m impressed. I can’t wait to hear more about this. Your table will be ready at seven, don’t worry, I got you.” 

I smile. “Thank you, I really appreciate it. And Yoyo?”

“Yea?” He waits, the grin in his voice audible.

“Please, nothing embarrassing.” I practically whine.

He gasps. “Would I ever?” He pauses. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that. Heart crossed and hope to die, I shall be on my best behaviour.”

My shoulders relax a little. “Thank you. See you later.”

I hang up and remove my earphones, releasing a long, slow breath. That didn’t go as badly as I had imagined it would, he let me off surprisingly easy. Maybe going there tonight won’t be as mortifying as I’m imagining.

My work phone rings and I push the thoughts of Taehyung and tonight’s date out of my head and get back to work.

The afternoon goes slow, my eyes constantly finding the clock to see how much time has passed; counting down the hours till I could leave and meet him. 

I wade through my workload; like trudging through mud. I haven’t had any luck with finding a ticket to the BTS concert at the weekend. Any hope I did have was fading fast, well aware of the fact that I was running out of time. I had 3 days until the concert took place, I couldn’t give up; my boss wouldn’t allow it. 

I work past my usual time, wanting to get as much as I can done today, so it might allow me some more freedom for the rest of the week.

At six o’clock I am strutting out the door, after touching up my make-up and fluffing my hair in the washroom. I had decided to take the underground to ride the few stops to the restaurant. Once out of the stuffy tube station, I send a message to Taehyung letting him know that I’m walking from the station and will be there shortly. The text I get back however, has me practically running to the doors of the restaurant.

Taehyung [18.47]: I’m inside :)

My heart drops. But surely Yoshi wouldn’t have any idea who my date was or what he looked like, so Taehyung should be safe.

I yank open the heavy, double doors frantically searching for him. When my eyes finally find him, I gulp. Him and Yoshi are both sitting at a table, deep in conversation. I quickly rush over, interrupting them.

“Taehyung, I see you’ve met my friend, Yoshi.” I smile nervously, as they both stand up to greet me.

Yoshi gets there first, pulling me into a tight hug and squeezing me hard. I pat him on the back. “Ok, I tap out.” I wheeze,and he releases me. “Try to not injure me before my date, will you?” 

He laughs. “Introductions have already been made, so you don’t need to worry. I was just filling  Taehyung in here, about some of our adventures.” He winks.

I scowl at him. “Ok, ok, enough embarrassing stories.” I take my bag from my shoulder and put it with my blazer onto the far side of the seat in the booth. 

Yoshi grins. “Ok, I’ll leave you to it. Taehyung, very nice to meet you. Someone will be over soon to take your order. Enjoy guys!” He says with another wink, before he quickly proceeds to leave us alone.

We both stand there smiling at each other before I lean in, kissing him on the cheek. I linger there for a moment but I stiffen when I feel his breath at my ear. 

“Nice to see you again.” He greets softly. His deep voice like silk, doing things to my body I didn’t expect. 

I pull away, blushing slightly. “Shall we?” I indicate to the seats in the booth. He nods and we slide in. 

One of the best things here was the decor, it gave us a lot more privacy than other places I’ve been to. The booths had partition doors which I could close completely or leave open slightly. The partitions behind our seats were completely covered with painted japanese murals and there were beautiful, pink blossoms hanging from the ceiling.

“Were you here very long?” I ask, trying to gauge how much time they would have had to speak to each other.

He shakes his head. “Long enough to hear how you met each other and the story about the time you spilt a drink in your lap at a theme park and he told everyone you walked passed, that you had wet yourself.”

I laugh and roll my eyes at the memory. “That’s Yoshi for you. Never passes up the chance to embarrass me.”

Taehyung smiles. “He also said some very nice things about you.”

“That is good to hear but he has to, he knows I’d bully him otherwise.” 

He laughs at that. “You two seem very close.”

I nod. “We are. He’s been my best friend for a long time.”

“It’s good to have someone like that.”

I nod again, agreeing. “Do you have a best friend?”

He smiles. “Yes, his name’s Jimin.”

“And would he embarrass you like Yoshi does to me?”

He shakes his head, then leans in closer. “Worse, much worse.”

I chuckle. “Well in that case, I hope I get to meet him one day.” I reply, a smirk playing across my lips. 

He fights his smile. “Perhaps you will soon.”

I raise an eyebrow at him quizzically. “Is he over here also?”

He nods slowly. “Yep and yes, he’s another musician.”

He answers my unasked question and I lean back in my seat, surprise evident on my face. “Really? I’m guessing you still don't want to tell me about your job?”

I notice a flicker of sadness flash in his eyes, before they look down and away from my questioning gaze. I feel immediate guilt in my gut. “Hey, it’s ok, you don’t have to tell me anything, you just seem quite secretive about it. I was saying it more as an observation.” I reassure.

He looks up, eyes wide, “I’m not secretive!” He exclaims, shocked. “I want to tell you but—”

“Hey,” I cut him off, “No need to explain. Don’t worry, you can tell me whenever you’re ready.” I give him a reassuring smile and a gentle pat on the hand he had placed above the table.

I see him stiffen for a moment and my response is to do the same, until he turns his hand over, so we're palm to palm and gives it a little squeeze. His shoulders relax and so do mine, even though my heart hammers wildly with excitement. I can feel my palm starting to sweat the longer his touch lingers on me, it feels like a lifetime before he finally lets go and pulls his hand away. 

I can breathe and think straight again.

While I was more than happy to wait for him to tell me about his work, I found myself growing increasingly curious about the subject. He’s so mysterious, I can’t understand why he won't talk about it. I would assume that being a musician would be a  cool profession to divulge about,  most would probably gush till their heart's content, given the opportunity. 

But, in a way I’m glad he’s not like that, I don’t think I would be able to  stand the egotistical bragging.

“Can I take your drink order?” A sweet voice asks, stepping in between the sliding doors. I look up and recognise the server as Emiko. She’s worked here for a while now, and is always pleasant

“Oh, hi y/n! So nice to see you.” She beams her usual toothy grin.

“Nice to see you! How have you been?” I ask.

“I’ve been good!.” She giggles. “I won’t disturb you too much, what can I get you two?”

I order a lemonade and Taehyung orders a coke. I did contemplate an alcoholic beverage, but I don’t want to be the only one drinking on a date, that’s how I'm sure to embarrass myself.

I pick up the menu and skim through it, even though I'm sure I know it by heart by now. 

Glancing up as he too studies the menu, my eyes rake over his broad shoulders, the light beige shirt he wears falls flatteringly over his broad chest, clinging to all the right places. His black cap conceals his hair, but I can tell it’s all swept back off of his forehead. I watch the way he juts his jaw to the side as he mulls over what to order. His tongue dances across the inside of his lips, my eyes trained on it, mind drifting off again to wondering how soft his lips would feel. How that tongue would feel moving against mine...or other places. He looks up at me and instantly a flush of red travels up his neck. 

“What?” He asks quietly, giving me a bashful smile.

“Nothing,” I look back down at my menu, feeling flustered myself. “What are you going to order?” 

“Hm, maybe the Yakitori chicken skewers, any recommendations? Yoshi told me you’ve tried everything on the menu.”

I laugh. “That is true; I'm a big fan of his cooking. And yes, you should get that, it’s—,” I give a kiss to the tips of my fingers, chef style. 

He laughs and leans back in his seat. “So tell me, why was your day so awful?” He frowns, genuine concern on his brow.

I roll my eyes and groan. “Work is a joke at the moment, I’m covering for someone so I have twice the usual work load and that’s not even the worst of it.”

Emiko returns with our drinks, interrupting me. I pause as we order our meals and some sushi to share, then she leaves in a rush.

He raises his eyebrows at me and leans his chin on the palm of his hand, listening intently and waiting for me to continue. 

“Ok, so, my boss is hellbent on this particular story. The writer of said story has gone off on an unreachable holiday and it's only half done. So, now I have to try and get a ticket for a show that is apparently so high in demand, it seems impossible, so we can finish said story.”

He frowns. “I’m confused. What’s the story?”

I sigh as I fiddle with my napkin. “About some boy group and their shows at wembley.” I have a realisation then. “You’ve probably heard of them? BTS? They’re from South Korea too.” I’m not sure but for a brief moment I think I see him stiffen out the corner of my eye. His expression unreadable. 

“Yes, I’ve heard of them.” He says, nonchalantly. 

“You don’t like them?” I ask, wondering why his face suddenly looked so solemn. “Don’t tell me they’re your musical rivals?” I tease attempting to lighten his mood.

He smiles and some of the tension seems to leave his body. “No. They’re cool. So why do you need a ticket?”

“So the writer can review the show and tell the readers all about it. Our boss is trying to appeal to the younger readers and she’s convinced this is the way to do it, through this group.”

“What will happen if you can’t get the ticket?” He asks, eyes wide with worry.

I shrug. “My boss will be very, very pissed. I don’t plan on finding out though. I’ve got a few more days, it always works out in the end, one way or another.”

He watches me carefully. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

I grin as our meals arrive, steaming hot and smelling incredible. We eat in silence for a while, enjoying the taste. I watch as the noises and faces Taehyung pulls assure me of the fact that he’s very impressed and my chest swells with pride for my friend. 

I do, however, let my mind wander into thinking about hearing those noises of appreciation in other aspects. Like me...on my knees...underneath this table. Snapping myself out of less than innocent thoughts, I focus on my meal. 

Why couldn’t I control myself? Why did everything about him appeal to me in such a powerful way? Is it because I haven’t had sex for over a year? Or is it simply that he is just the perfect specimen of a man? Maybe both.

“That was amazing. I’m blown away.” He sat back in his seat, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 

“I’m glad you liked it! Yoshi will be thrilled.” I beam and take a long drink of my cold lemonade, hoping it cools the heat inside me. I could feel tiny beads of sweat forming down my back and along the nape of my neck. 

We sit and talk until Emiko returns to clear our plates and Taehyung asks for the check. 

“I’m afraid, I cannot stay out late with you tonight.” He says solemnly.

I try to ignore the disappointment I feel; not ready for this date to be over. “Ah, that’s ok, I know you’re busy.”

He shakes his head and puts his hand on top of mine, leaning forward. I mirror him automatically. The warmth of his palm slowly flows through me and my eyes can’t help but float down to our touching skin. His hand feels soft and yet strong with his long, delicate fingers enveloping mine. I look back up to his intense eyes blazing into mine.

“It’s not that, It’s just—” He pauses looking away, my stomach drops as I’m left wondering as to what on earth he’s going to say. He doesn’t want to see me any more? He’s not attracted to me? He sees me more as a friend? What excuse is it going to be this time?

“...I turn into a pumpkin at midnight.” He says, his face so serious it takes me a few moments to register the words that have just left his mouth. Relief swamps me as I feel myself relax back into my seat and laughter vibrate through my body. He joins me, his boxy grin spread across his face but as he does, he lifts my hand, turning it over and laces his fingers through mine. 

My laughter fades, and I look down at our entwined fingers. Normally, an action like this so soon after meeting would have me running for the hills, but with him, it just felt...right.

“Is this ok?” He asks hesitantly, a crimson shadow forming on his cheeks.

I nod and swallow; my mouth suddenly dry. “Yes.” I reply simply, frozen in shock.

He relaxes a little and leans forward on his elbows, his thumb gently tracing small circles on the back of my hand.

“I should go back to my hotel…”

“But?” I query.

He side smiles, looking up at me seductively through long lashes and the sight is enough to make my belly clench. “I really don’t want to.”

My heart knocks violently against my ribcage at his admission. “I don’t want you to either.” I blurt out, surprising myself.

His eyes widen slightly before he side-smiles again and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad it’s not just me. I cannot tell what you think about me.”

I let out a small, slightly nervous laugh. “Is it not obvious?” I raise an eyebrow, surely he must be joking. I have never been so red, flustered and embarrassed with a guy in my whole laugh.

He shakes his head. “Not really, sometimes I think I know where your head is and yet at other times it’s hard to read you. I wish I knew what you were thinking.”

It's almost a question; giving me the option not to feel obliged to answer, but I don’t want to leave him hanging and wondering. Maybe laying my cards out on the table wouldn’t be such a bad thing, before I get in too deep.

I lean on my elbows that rest on the table and angle myself towards him slightly. “Ok, just so you know where my head is at…” I shift slightly under his now intense stare, as he hangs on my words. “I like spending time with you, and even though we’ve only just met...I feel I’ve known you for a long time, which is rare for me, to have such a sudden connection. I find you insanely attractive that it’s hard to think straight when I’m around you.” He beams at that and a deep crimson glow burns his face. 

“We seem to have a lot in common and I’m definitely enjoying our time together and getting to know you. You have an air of mystery about you and to be honest, it just makes me more intrigued to find out more about you. Since I met you at the museum, you have been on my mind more than I was expecting and this…” I lift up our joined hands. “would have frightened me to the point of running and hiding, if it was with anyone but you.” I say, quite fast, the words leaving me in a rush, as the urgency of having to say them takes hold of me. 

I exhale and hesitantly meet his stare.

His boxy grin is wider than ever as his eyes sparkle with excitement. I find myself mirroring his smile.

“I’ve got to admit, I was not expecting that but a part of me was hoping you felt that way.” He beams. “When I’m with you, I feel like I can completely be myself, no personas, no hiding, just me. I’m not too experienced in matters of the heart and this is a first for me; feeling this way. You’re so beautiful that it’s distracting especially because I find you fascinating and I want to know every little thing about you. Every story, every thought, everything but when you talk or smile, I can’t help but want to kiss you.” He stops, leaving that last part hanging heavy in the air.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips while he watches me. My stomach tightens with anticipation, hoping he will, waiting for him to lean in and do it. I stare at his mouth, heart beating so hard that it’s all I can hear pounding in my ears. 

He leans forward until he’s just inches from my face, his scent swirling around me, his soft, plump lips inviting me, calling to me, when the screen doors to our booth open abruptly. 

Taehyung is back against his seat in a flash, his hand no longer touching me and I suddenly feel cold without his skin against mine. 

My head snaps up, only to be met with Yoshi’s grinning face.

“Hey guys, I hope you were happy with your meals?” He asked, eyes eager for approval, completely oblivious to the moment he just disturbed.

I slump back in my seat. “Perfect as always, Yoyo.” I smile, trying to hide the disappointment that swells inside me.

“Yes, it was amazing. I will definitely be returning before the end of my trip.” Taehyung says softly, offering a bow of his head.

Yoshi slaps him on the back, the action making Taehyung’s eyes pop with surprise and I muffle a laugh behind my hand.

“Thanks man, I really appreciate that. You’re welcome here anytime, just drop by and I'll make sure you’re taken care of.” 

Taehyung smiles and nods. “That’s very kind of you, thank you.” 

“Here’s your bill.” He places the little, leather book with the paper inside on the table. “Well, I’ll let you two love birds get back to your date, we have a ‘no fondling, foreplay or sexual activity’ rule here though, so be sure to take that outside if the mood strikes.” 

My icy glare burns into him as he grins and closes the doors before I can throw something at him. I hear his laughter and his footsteps as he leaves.

I look over at Taehyung who is fighting a laugh himself. 

“Don’t you start.” I warn, resisting the smile that twitches the corner of my mouth. 

He laughs out loud. “I love it when you scold me.”

I shake my head at him, feigning shock and unable to hide my amusement anymore. “You’re not supposed to enjoy it.”

He shrugs and gives me a bashful grin, then checks his phone and groans. “I really do have to go. I’m really sorry.” 

“Hey, don’t worry, it’s fine.” I grab my bag as he glances at the bill. 

“I’m getting this, no arguments.” He says sternly. I smirk at the authority in his tone, wondering if he’s that commanding in bed too. Mind out of the gutter.

He places his cash down with a very generous tip, that has my eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

I grab my blazer and slide out of the booth. “Lets go.”

I lead the way over to Yoshi, who is busy entertaining the customers sitting around the counter where he cooks and chats away. I wave to get his attention.

“We’re off Yoshi!” I call out. 

He nods, drops everything and rushes around to us. He pulls me into a quick, tight hug and before he’s even let me go he’s reaching around to shake Taehyung’s hand. I squeeze out of his grip and return to Taehyung’s side.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Yoshi waves.

“You too, thank you again.” Taehyung replies.

“My pleasure. Call me later, doll.” He points gun fingers at me and waves as he returns to his station. 

We head to the doors, opening them to the heavy, night air; warmth swirling around me in a complete contrast to inside. I hear Yoshi’s voice behind me call out. “Use protection!”

I put my middle finger up behind me without even looking in his direction. His laugh bellows out before the doors shut behind us. God, I really hated him sometimes. 

We walk to the car that had arrived to pick up Taehyung, the driver waiting patiently behind the wheel. 

“Jump in and we’ll drop you off.” He said, opening the door for me. 

I slid in across the comfy, fabric seats. Taehyung spoke to the driver then climbed in next to me. I was surprised to see the black partition between us and the driver and the small, dark curtains covering all the windows. I’ve never seen a car with these before, how odd.

My thoughts are interrupted by his hand on mine, the heat from his soft skin, searing through me. I look over to find he’s watching me from the corner of his eye, he gives me a side smile and I thread my fingers through his.

“You know, Yoshi did say something before you came in…” He says into the quiet. 

My stomach drops, nervous with apprehension. “What?”

“He...mentioned your ex.”

I felt a small flare of anger course through me. How dare he speak to Taehyung about him. Why bring up my past with someone I might have a future with? I let out a long breath. “What did he say?”

Taehyung looks hesitant. “Not much, honestly. Just said you dated a real arsehole, who broke your heart in the worst way. Then you came in, he didn’t get to finish.”

Thank god. This was my business to talk about, not Yoshi’s. I nod slowly.

“I think...” Taehyung cuts in quickly, worrying he’s upset me. “I think he was warning me not to hurt you, that’s why he brought it up.”

That was probably the case but I’m still pissed off at him. “That does sound like Yoshi.” I reply, quietly.

“And while I would like to hear about your past, including past relationships, I will wait until you’re ready to talk.”

I nod again, mulling that over. “Tomorrow. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, if you want to hear it.”

He squeezes my hand. “Only if you’re sure.”

I smile at him, my anger slowly extinguishing, not wanting to ruin the moment with Taehyung because of something Yoshi said.

“Do you get a lunch break at work?” He asks, randomly into the silence, breaking any tension left.

I nod and my brow furrows. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“I have a packed schedule tomorrow evening, so I cannot see you but I need to.” He hits me with that intense stare again. If I weren't already sitting, my knees would be trembling trying to hold me upright. “Are you free to meet me on your lunch break?” His pleading eyes melt my insides.

I feel heat race from my chest to my cheeks as my blush spreads. “For you? Of course.”

He smiles, genuine excitement in his eyes and he looks down at our joined hands. Sitting this close to him, arms and thighs almost touching, so close and yet, so far. The urge to shift closer to him is almost overwhelming but for some reason I resist. There’s an invisible current I can feel from his body to mine, almost electric, sending tingles through my body.

“Taehyung, we’re here.” A voice sounds out from a speaker somewhere making me jump and interrupting my thoughts. I realise then, the car has stopped, too focused on the sheer magnetism I could feel towards him.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your door.” He climbs out, hand only leaving mine for a second before he’s grasping it again to gently pull me out the car. He leads me up the steps to my door and when I turn to him to say goodnight, we’re suddenly face to face, inches apart. 

My heart knocks rapidly against my ribcage, even as my lungs seem to stop working and my breath stills. His hand comes up to push the hair off my shoulder and I feel him linger on my neck. Warm, long fingers slide up to hold each side of my face, as he tilts his head and suddenly, before I can think, his lips are on mine. Gentle, soft and magical. 

My senses go crazy for a moment, overloaded with stimulation before I reciprocate eagerly. The taste of him like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, I want more. 

He pulls away suddenly, still close enough for me to feel his harsh breathing against my face. 

“Sorry, I should have asked first.” He says breathlessly.

My core is on fire, I feel ready to explode as I grab his light shirt by the collar and pull him against my lips again. My hands find their way to his neck, as I grip to keep him close to me and yet it’s not close enough. His hands wind around my waist holding me tight against his body. Heat and fire replace my thoughts, as I can only focus on my erratic heartbeat and the painful throbbing between my legs as his perfect, angular lips dance with mine. 

He breaks away to breath, sending a trial of kisses across my cheek to my ear.

“Until tomorrow.” He whispers breathlessly, before gently releasing me and taking a step back. He captures my hand, brings my fingers up to his lips, like he did that first night and places a gentle lingering kiss against them.Then he’s turning abruptly, dashing down the stairs and into the car. 

I stand there, dazed. Wow. Did that just happen? 

I fumble with my handbag, my head feeling fuzzy and unable to control the rest of my body.

I eventually find my keys and clumsily let myself in, walking through my apartment in a trance. I mechanically get ready for bed, my body on autopilot while I replay the kiss over and over in my mind, unable to think of anything else. As I lay in bed, my phone vibrates against the top of my nightstand, pulling me out of my Taehyung daydream.

Taehyung [22.30]: Made it back in time, no pumpkins here—

I laugh. Attached to the message is a close up photo of him laying down in bed, resting on an arm, his almost ebony eyes wearing a smile and staring straight through the phone into me. He looks gorgeous. Did I just kiss him? How on earth did that happen? 

My grin starts to hurt my cheeks but I can’t seem to stop it. I try to force it into just a regular smile, nothing too over the top or creepy, I fluff my hair out on the pillow and take a mirroring selfie, hitting send after.

Y/n [22.32]: Good to know, none here either 😊

Taehyung [22.33]: Haha! Good. I’ll let you get some rest, see you tomorrow lunch time. Goodnight! 😉

I reply, wishing him a goodnight in return, just before my eyelids finally start to droop. As I drift off to sleep I replay the images of his lips moulded on mine, my fingers in his hair and his warm hands on my face, hoping he will appear in my dreams tonight.

Thank you so much for reading, if you could leave me some feedback it would be much appreciate, even if it’s just a little comment to tell me what you thought 🖤

[renxamamiya]

Theatre of Mirrors - The Empress Theatre Part 2

This took me a month plus and 20k+ words LMAOOOOOOO. I’m trying a lot of things in this chapters, including writing a fight scene and taking feedback into account.

Special shout out to @rui-the-galax-angel and @digifangirl97 for helping me with this!!!!

Also please check out the fic on AO3 here!

I’ve also added notes on certain things at the bottom of the chapter, so please read them!

“Is that Goro-?”

“He’s alive!?”

Ren and Joker gasped as they both stared at the same monitor, stunned that the brown-haired detective was alive, disbelief in their expression as they mirrored each other: wide eyes, mouth hung agape, exhaling gentle yet purposed breaths. Both Ren and Joker blinked, Ren shifted in his seat to get a better look, Joker leaned on the console table as he looked closer at the projected image in front of them, seeing their Phantom Thieves going through their shared bewilderment. Neither of them made a sound.

“Is he a...?” Ren trailed off after a long silence, turning to ask his shadow who was observing the detective with careful eyes. Joker gently shook his head in response, an amused half-smile slowly appearing on his lips, barely making eye contact with Ren as he continued to stare at the screen in awe. Goro was here. The invitation he sent, the one he thought would be the only one which would fall on deaf ears, instead called his Crow back to him once more. Though he did not dare show it to Ren, he felt elated at the sight of his rival, alive, well, and scowling at his friends.

Yet this small joyous moment of his did not last. He felt himself suddenly getting tired as he spotted Ren’s eyes gleaming with newfound hope at the sight of Goro. Joker hid his sneer as he got up from his leaned position, standing up, gloved hands tucked back into his pockets. He hated that look of optimism in his other’s eyes, wanting to snuff it out right there and then, but he stopped himself. No; his plan would suffice enough to allow him to slowly crush that hope Ren held; and more, he reminded himself. He turned on his heel, walking out of the room. Ren noticed him leave; before he could utter a word his shadow had slammed the door shut to his prison, not bothering to lock the door as darkness all but swallowed him, the sounds of chorused chatter of the cognitive guests the only thing keeping him company.

Joker snapped his fingers as he continued his stride, an audible click echoed the room. Two shadows belonging to his twisted theatre erupted from the floor to join him as he reached for the door leading to the rest of the building pausing only for a moment to converse with the shadows followed obediently.

“Now, remember the script,” he ordered the both, impatience in his tone as he pulled the door open, wind rushing towards him, gently ruffling his messy hair and flapping his tailed coat. He turned to look over his shoulder, a golden eye glinting murderously at them as he wore a serious expression, “This needs to go perfectly. If you fail, I’ll make sure to kill you as painfully as possible, you understand?”

“Yes, boss.” they both replied in unison. Joker’s stern expression melted at their reply, now grinning wildly with anticipation, his heart starting to beat rapidly with a newfound thrill, blossoming into a crescendo, feeling the tips of his fingers beating with anticipation as he found himself drowning from the thumping of his own excitement. He turned to look down the bland hallway before him, eyes narrowing, vision sharp as he inhaled a deep, deep breath. On exhale he promptly stepped forwards, another he broke into a run, focusing only towards him, his vision tunnelling as he heard his lackey’s footsteps behind him.

“It’s showtime!” he thought to himself, laughing out loud with thrill as his performance commenced.

---

"Akechi-senpai, you're alive!"

Goro heard Sumire before he saw her, the redheaded gymnast wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into a sudden, affectionate hug. He squirmed instinctively in her embrace, not used to displays of affection, and not used to ones that involve touch.

“Yoshizawa.” he growled, hoping that his unamused tone would give her the hint he needed to attain freedom from her grip, yet she did not loosen her grip around him, “Get. Off.”

“Oh, sorry,” Sumire mutters as she lets Goro go, hiding her hands behind her back as she looks away from him. Her face flushed slightly red, obviously embarrassed by the impulsive hug she had given him.

“I’m so sorry, Akechi-senpai.” she apologizes, moving her hands to her side as she gave him a formal bow, “I’m so sorry. I was just happy to see you.”

“Yo Akechi, is that really you?” Ryuji inquired, looking at him sceptically as he places his hands casually on his hips, “Or are you just a cognition?”

“I can assure you that I’m no such thing.” Akechi said, closing his eyes as his face contorted to an expression of great offense, “To think of me being here as nothing more than a figment of Amamiya’s cognition...”

“If you’re not cognition, then why are you here?” Ann said, her and Futaba now with the rest of the group, staring at him suspiciously, “Are you trying to kill Ren again?”

“More importantly, if you are indeed alive, then what have you been doing all this time?” Yusuke inquires, stepping towards the former detective, Goro looking at them, unamused.

“I do not have to answer the latter question, nor do I want to.” Goro said, clearly annoyed by Yusuke’s prying question, “As for answering Takamaki’s question: I’m simply here for curiosity’s sake.”

“You mean you have the app as well?” Makoto asks. Goro’s head snaps towards her, his eyes widening in astonishment, “With the strange notification, correct?”

“So, you’ve gotten it too?” Goro queried rhetorically, yet all of them answered with a single nod. He pursed his lips, furrowing his brows in thought as he looked down at the carpeted floor, “It makes sense for you all to be here. But why-”

“Hey, where’s Mona?” Futaba whispered, poking her head from behind the rest of the group as Goro continued to mutter to himself, “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Mona?” Haru said, perplexed by Futaba’s question, yet a second later she realised that the feline was nowhere within the group, “Wait, has anyone seen Morgana? I thought he was with us?”

“I dunno, I was with Futaba the whole time.” Ann said, looking at both the faux blonde and the fluffy-haired girl, “I mean, I thought he was with you guys. You did go up before us after all.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t see him, he must have run off somewhere.” Ryuji sighed, reflexively kicking the floor in frustration and disappointment, “That cat’s always runnin’ off somewhere. I guess we should find him before he runs into trouble again.”

"I think I saw Morgana-senpai run that way." Sumire said, pointing to where the cognitions were congregating, no doubt to head to the numerous auditoriums that were located within the Palace, "I didn’t see clearly though, he ran by me so fast."

"It's as good of a lead as any," Makoto said, ignoring Ryuji's string of curses towards their missing teammate. She walked a couple of steps, all the other thieves following her casually, but noticed Goro still in contemplative thought, one his hands cupped his chin while another held his phone.

"Akechi, aren't you coming with us?"

Goro looked up, red eyes gazing into her own.

"Me?"

"Yeah, him?" Ryuji asked in earnest, which resulted in him getting elbowed sharply in the chest by Ann, "Hey, what was that for!?"

“You can’t say stuff like that in front of people!” Ann exclaimed, annoyed by Ryuji’s boldness towards Goro, eyebrows crossed in an angry expression, “Besides, we have no idea what’s in this place. I don’t like the idea too, but we have strength in numbers, and we can keep an eye on him if he tries to do something to Ren.”

“Thank you, Takamaki, but I’ll be fine on my own.” Goro said, resisting the urge to grimace at Ryuji and Ann’s words (though he was not surprised in the slightest in the fact that they did not trust him), “I’ve had more than enough experience in combat to take care of myself. That, and we’re obviously not considered as threats. I doubt that whatever’s happening to your leader, will in turn put any of us in immediate danger.”

“Still, it’s still an awful thought for you to get left behind.” Haru said, although she did not sound too eager with the prospect of Goro coming along to find their furry friend, “Even if it’s you...”

“As I said-”

“Please, Goro-senpai?” Sumire pleads, giving Goro the biggest puppy-eyes she could muster as he turned to look at her, her bottom lip quivering, trying to evoke sympathy from within the detective, “Please? We haven’t seen you for a long time, and I know you really want to come with us...”

Goro looks at Sumire, his expression firm and unreadable, his gaze piercing, yet the girl continues to pout. The rest of the group looked at each other, not knowing how to break the tension between the two of them, waiting for either Sumire to succeed in her attempt to convince Goro, or for Goro to win in his efforts to further distance himself from the group.

The victor was decided when Goro broke his gaze, sighing deeply in defeat while Sumire smiled and cheered in triumph.

“Thank you, senpai!” Sumire grins, going in for another hug, only to be stopped by Goro’s hesitant scowl.

“I’m doing this only for you, Yoshizawa.” Goro muttered under his breath, though he can’t help but smile a bit when he saw her growth in confidence over the last year and a half. He turned to look at Makoto, “Lead the way, Queen.”

“With pleasure.” Makoto huffed, trying not to get worked up by his use of her codename, seemingly brushing it off as she resumed her pace towards the inner area of the foyer.

It did not take the group long for them to spot Morgana. He stood still as cognitions passed by, some of them muttering happily as they noticed the feline gazing upon something. A few steps more passed the crowd of cognitive people did they find what he was looking at.

“Is that?” Ann gasps, looking upon the fountain statue of Joker. The glint of the gold that accented its mask and buttons and eyes sent a shiver down her spine, its grin, smug and sinister, unsettled her, and she dare not make eye contact with the gaudy decoration. The others shared her uncomfortable reaction, a loss for words as to why such a decoration would be displayed all to see. They knew Ren, knew how he acted, knew the confidence he held in himself, yet did not associate him with the apparent narcissism they were currently gazing upon.

Morgana’s ears twitched, sensing the others as they approached behind him, turning to greet them with a sombre expression as he stood in front of the fountain.

“I think this was where Ren was caught.” Morgana informed the group, yet no one in the group found any comfort with this information, “I saw some commotion around here until I got thrown out by those shadows.”

“Where could they have taken him?” Haru asks, yet she knew Morgana’s answer, “Could he possibly be somewhere deeper in the Palace?”

“He has to be.” Morgana said, turning to look up towards the top of the twin stairwells, “I don’t know how to explain it, but I can feel him somewhere up there, calling for us.”

“Futaba, can you check if that’s the case?” Makoto asks the girl. Futaba snaps back into attention, the fountain statue previously lulling her into a trance. She looks at Makoto with a dazed expression, blinking several times as she tries to grasp what she had said to her.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that, Queen.” she confesses, Makoto sighs.

“Can you confirm that Ren’s somewhere in his Palace?” Makoto again asks her, though she could not help but send a sympathetic expression towards the girl. The man that had helped her free herself from the shackles of her distortions was now trapped from his own, and admittedly, none of the thieves have yet fully come to terms with the formation of Ren’s Palace.

“Oh yeah, why didn’t I think about that,” Futaba said, abruptly squatting down as she puts her laptop on the carpeted floor. She opened it, her device flicking to life, and started to type rapidly on it, focused on her task, “It’s gonna take a while for me to find him.” she informed the rest of the group, raising her voice slightly to be heard above the chatter of the cognitions around her, “Though I can tap into the Palace to get a look at the place, I can’t exactly pinpoint him with ease without my Persona.”

“That’s alright.” Makoto said, “We can work on finding him once we get a rough idea as to where he’s located.”

“Hey Yusuke, you’ve been really quiet since we’ve entered the Palace.” Haru said, looking at the blue-haired artist with concern "Are you okay?"

"Hm? Oh. I am, thank you for your concern, Haru." Yusuke smiles, "I'm sorry if I caused any worry, I was simply marvelling the architecture of the Palace. It's simply beautiful"

"But isn't that weird? I mean this is Ren's Palace after all." she said with concern, a hand pulling back a strand of her hair as she continued, "I mean, it's nice here but, I don't really see how it could be considered 'beautiful'."

"That's okay, I understand completely that finding an aspect of Ren's distortions 'beautiful' is less than savoury; however, I do marvel at the detailing of the architecture especially. It certainly has a lot of Western influences. Definitely matches his more Western interpretation of a rebel."

"Like the 'Gentlemen Thief' persona huh?" Haru mutters, "That makes sense. After all, Arsene does wear a top hat."

"Precisely." Yusuke said, "Details like that do put a smile on my face."

"Well, I guess you can say-"

The screams of cognitions from the floor above interrupts their conversation, all the thieves snapping their heads to see the guests fleeing from above, down the twin stairs in a desperate panic in order to run from an unseen danger. Blue flames suddenly erupted from each of the members, exposed skin and fabric alike replaced with their iconic thief outfits, another flash across their eyes placed their masks as their forgotten powers and Personas electrified their veins.

“Shit!” Ryuji exclaimed in surprise at the sudden eruption, tightly gripping his mallet, already anticipating a fight. The rest of the thieves sans Goro immediately sprung into a fighting stance, readying their weapons as they grouped together, prepared for whatever was causing the commotion upstairs. The only not in the front lines was Futaba, who was hoisted to safety by her Persona Al Azif, hovering above the group as she prepared to support them.

“It seems we were finally acknowledged,” Goro grumbles, yet he could not help but smirk at the idea of taking down the enemy approaching them. He unsheathed the serrated sword he used while in the Metaverse from his side, feeling the familiar echo of Hereward in his mind as the mask he adorned gleamed slickly in the light, “Finally. I was getting on edge with how   the atmosphere was.”

“Oracle, what are you seeing?” Makoto asked the girl, already springing quite comfortably into the lead role as Futaba typed rapidly across the different screens surrounding her from within her Persona, “Are there any dangerous shadows heading in our way?”

“Two of them. They’re pretty strong, but nothing we can’t handle.” Futaba informs Makoto, still tying away across her screens, her eyes flickering rapidly from one window to another, “They seem to be chasing something. Another shadow. A powerful one at that!”

“Why would they be chasing one of their own?” Yusuke muses as he readies his katana, his gloved hand resting delicately on the decorative hilt, “Unless-”

Two gunshots rang in the air, followed by the screams of the shadows, a blur of black and red suddenly appearing, sliding down rapidly from the polished stair rails while being pursued by two shadow guards, their head turned back as to keep an eye on their pursuers, yet they could see a smirk on their lips. Before the Phantom Thieves could realise who, the shadows were chasing, the figure turned towards them.

The gold and black mask. The red waistcoat. It was Ren’s shadow. He looked just like the fountain statue nestled between the twin stairs of the foyer. He landed in front of them with practised, familiar poise, turning around towards the shadows, gritting his teeth as he readied a knife the thieves found familiar.

“There’s the fugitive!” one of the shadow’s yelled, pointing to the golden-eyed thief as another indistinguishable shadow joined its side, “Help me snag him! The boss’ll have our heads if we keep lettin’ him run free around this place.”

“Ren-”

“Call me Joker, Queen.” he interrupts Makoto, turning back his head to give her a signature wink before turning back towards his assailants, the two shedding their suits to reveal a Dionysus, Titania and Oberon, all ready to attack, “I know you all have questions right now. I’ll explain later, but first you have to help me with taking these guys out.”

Makoto nods at Joker, agreeing with his commands as she readies her mask. The shadows jumped towards Joker, the Dionysus charging with electricity, static climbing across his multicoloured arm.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Morgana shouts, lunging forward towards the shadow as he summons his Persona, “It’s payback time! Diego, Miracle Rush!”

The Persona erupts from behind the cat, a strong, dashing, masked man with a comically tall moustache and long black cape appeared surrounded by blue flames. A single swish of his sword was enough to summon multiple golden boxing gloves supported by springs that aimed at the shadows. They reeled in back, and then suddenly sprang into action, punching the Dionysus square in the jaw and knocking it off its feet, but unfortunately missing the other two shadows in its company.

“Nice shot, Mona.” Ryuji compliments the cat as he rushes forward, assisting the feline with his enemy, readying the large mallet on his side, “But you missed the other two, might want to work on your aim.”

“I’m rusty-!” Morgana squeaks, looking at his friend with an offended expression as Ryuji brought the mallet down on the shadow, sending it straight down onto the floor, “What about you huh, you’re gonna just let the shadow get up?”

“Huh, you got a point.” Ryuji said, and went on to summon his Persona, dramatically gripping his hand onto his metallic mask, “Alright, William! Give this guy a hand. A God’s Hand to be exact!”

As soon as he did so the mask burst dramatically into the same blue flames, licking harmlessly on Ryuji’s face, rising to conjure a figure beside him. His Persona, dressed in a black and white hood, a skeletal face with its eyes behind red goggles rode atop a yacht triumphantly, conjured a fist out of nowhere, propelled by what looked like a rocket, dancing circles above its target’s head before slamming right down on top of it, injuring the shadow further.

“Skull, that was terrible.” Morgana sighs, frowning at his friend’s pun as he readies his cutlass to strike the incapacitated shadow

“Aww don’t be such a moaner, Mona.” Ryuji chuckles, Morgana ignoring the blonde as he strikes the shadow, “I’m just havin’ fun!”

“Skull, I know these shadows are nothing but total squishies, but you still gotta be careful.” Futaba buzzes through their ears, Al Azif hovering away a safe distance from the battlefield, “We can make terrible puns AFTER we’ve dealt with these shadows.”

“Hey, my puns are not-”

He did not see Morgana dodge Dionysus's attack, only hearing the electricity from its Ziodyne attack before it was too late. His head turned at the sound of the wild crackle of electricity heading towards him. His eyes widened as the bolt connected, a section of the bolt diverged and struck the carpeted floor, causing him to be engulfed into a cloud of dust and smoke.

“Skull!” both Futaba and Morgana exclaimed, calling out for their friend in a panic. Morgana summons his Persona, commanding Diego to blow away the cloud of smoke that obstructed their view of Ryuji with a quick Garudyne, only to find him completely unharmed.

“I’m okay!” Ryuji yells out, waving out to them to attract their attention, “Barely even touched me, you on the other hand.” he said as he almost sneered towards Morgana.

“Hey guys, you can fight all you want later, right now you’ve got a shadow to toast.” Futaba hisses at the two, reminding them of their situation as Dionysus charges for another attack, “Another Ziodyne coming towards your six!”

Both Ryuji and Morgana exchange brief sour expressions towards one another, before shifting their focus towards the enemy before them. --- The Oberon thrusts its sword forward towards Joker, the boy sidestepping each time it swipes towards him, golden eyes carefully observing his opponent as another swipe of the shadow’s sword barely misses him. Makoto readies into position, resting her hand on her mask as she instinctively climbs on the Persona that appeared beneath her.

“Agnes, hit it with an Atomic Flare!” she said to her Persona, and Agnes complied, a ball of blue aura appeared in front of the attacking shadow, growing before independently detonating in the shadow’s face. However, the Oberon dodged it with ease, escaping the otherwise effective attack.

“Dammit!” she whispered harshly under her breath as Ann went in to strike the Oberon, uncoiling her whip as she swung it, a sharp ‘thwack’ echoed as she struck the Oberon on the face.

“How dare you strike me!” the shadow hissed, swinging its sword towards her only to be stopped by Joker’s dagger. The weapons clashed. And they clashed again, Joker slowly driving the attacking shadow back as Makoto readies another attack.

“Agnes, Atomic Flare!” Makoto commanded her Persona again, the same blue orb appearing to engulf the Oberon, but the attack yet again missed as the Oberon evaded it.

“Queen, got any ideas to stop this shadow from moving so much?” Ann hisses as she ducks a swipe from Oberon’s sword, “We could really use some help right now!”

“Maybe slowing it down would help?” Joker said out loud before parrying multiple slashes of the shadow’s sword with his gun and knife, “I don’t have any ice skills on me. Maybe we should call over-”

“We don’t need Fox. I have an idea, just follow what I say!” Makoto instructed her teammates, Joker and Ann both nodded at her with acknowledgement as they continued to dodge the wild attacks of the shadow.

“Joker, aim your shots at its wings!” Makoto instructed Joker. He raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

“Panther, get ready to cast Agidyne on the Oberon!” Makoto yells towards Ann, who nodded in acknowledgement, her gloved hand resting on her mask as she readies herself.

A shot from Joker’s gun rang out, and another, and another. two of the three bullets managing to tear through the thin membrane of the shadow’s left wing, the shadow howling in pain. Joker aimed carefully; a single bullet left in the magazine of his gun. He looked down at the sight of his pistol. He aimed at the Oberon, who was hovering in the air, wobbling back and forth in pain from its injury. He squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

The last bullet tore through the shadow’s wing. The Oberon cried in pain as it floated down, its injuries too great to keep itself airborne.

“Now Panther!” Makoto shouted. With a quick shout of her Persona’s name, Ann summons Célestine behind her, the avatar of her heart standing tall, nonchalantly blowing a piece of gum as the overhead light reflects from her glasses.

“Agidyne!” Ann ordered her Persona, and Célestine lifted her hand towards the crippled shadow. Heat gathered beneath it, and before it could react, a tower of fire erupted from the fire, consuming the shadow, leaving it with embers still singeing its skin.

---

“Ella, use Kougaon!” Sumire said to the bride like Persona behind her, Ella responded by summoning a pillar of white light to strike Titania, the shadow grunting in pain as she took the attack. Yusuke followed up with a swipe from his sword, yet the fairy-like shadow managed to dodge him with ease.

“Psiodyne!” Haru shouted, her Persona, Lucy, towered behind her, one hand holding an elegant looking briefcase while another one held its masquerade like glasses in front of where its face would be, summoned forward pink swirling circles with colours accenting them towards the shadow. Titania managed to evade her attack, retaliating with its own spell as it casts Freidyne.

“Noir, watch out!”  Sumire shouted after her, Haru trying her best to escape from the Nuclear-based elemental attack, yet the blue ball persistently followed wherever she went. It was Yusuke who had saved her, pushing her out of the way just as the nuclear ball exploded, taking the brunt of the attack. He grunted audibly, Haru’s eyes widening in alarm.

“Yusuke are you okay?” she asked the artist. Yusuke responded with a smile, standing from his previously hunched position.

“I’m fine,” he reassured her, “the damage I received was less than anticipated.”

“But you still took damage, are you sure you’re-”

“We haven’t the time to worry about injuries!” Goro hissed at the both as he spots the hands of the Titania glow green. He sprints forward, his sword held by his left hand as his right clasps his mask. He cries out wildly for Hereward, and the black, bow-wielding Persona erupted behind him, an arrow pulled back as it readies for Goro’s command.

“Hereward, Laevateinn!” he commanded his Persona, Hereward complying as it lets go of the strung arrow. A sword descended onto the Titania, a lucky strike by Goro as it tumbled down onto the ground, its healing spell interrupted.

“Regroup, everyone!” Futaba instructed the Phantom Thieves, all of them listening to their navigator as they jumped back into a defensive position, their various ranged weapons all pointed towards the downed shadows.

“W-wait!” The Oberon shrieks as the embers on its body continue to injure it, “Please, don’t kill us!”

“Yes, please, we were just following orders!” Titania said, whimpering on the floor, her hands curled on the carpeted floor.

“Yeah right!” Ryuji said, cocking the barrel of his shotgun, aiming his sights towards the wounded fairy, “Orders from who? Certainly not our friend Joker here, you practically attacked him!”

“Well… He-”

“Alright, I’ve had enough of them.” Morgana said, clearly annoyed by the situation as he held his slingshot ready, “Everyone, it’s All-Out Attack time!”

Before the shadows could utter another word all the thieves pounced towards them, weapons out and ready. Each thief took turns slashing at the enemies, a flurry of attacks as the sound of weapons echoed throughout the hall. Joker dealt the last swipe, a clean cut through the three of the shadows, before he flipped backwards, away from them.

A second passed, and soon a black ooze erupted from each of the three shadows before their bodies evaporated into thin air.

Joker scanned the rest of the foyer, readying his weapon as the others put away theirs, his back towards them, senses still alert as adrenaline still flowed through his veins. Al Azif descends slightly down towards the floor before allowing Futaba to gracefully float down to join the rest of her friends before dissipating, blue flames gently caressed her face as her Persona became her mask. They stared at Joker, watching him anticipate yet another attack. No additional shadows came, and he stood up, his shoulders relaxing, and he tucked away his weapons before he turned to face them, golden eyes staring at them. He smiles gently at them.

“Hello, everyone.” he greets.

“Ren… is that-”

“Ren!” Morgana cried out, interrupting Ann as he rushed towards him, arms wide to embrace him with open arms. Before the masked thief could properly react to Morgana, the bipedal feline jumped, and Joker caught him instinctively.

“Ren! Ren, I was soooooo worried!” Morgana said as he hugged Joker, burying his face affectionately in his chest. Joker returned Morgana’s hug, petting the feline with his free hand as Morgana purred audibly, “I’m sorry for interrupting you Lady Ann!” he continued to shout, trying to sound apologetic despite his joyful tone conveying otherwise, “But I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“But isn’t that senpai’s shadow?” Sumire points out, her expression guilty as she feels as though her observation had spoiled the moment between the two, “I’m sorry for being so rude, but we shouldn’t trust him-”

“Yoshizawa’s right.” Goro agrees with her, eyeing Joker carefully beneath the red filters of his mask, “Like it or not this is not the Amamiya you know and love, but an ugly, distorted version of him.”

“Am I really that-” Joker started, reflexively responding to the comment with an air of jest, yet when his shining, golden eyes met Goro’s hauntingly red ones he stopped himself, mouth still open, hanging agape. Silence fell between the two, Goro looking at Joker closely, his face expressionless, eyes narrowed in contemplation and suspicion as Joker looked at him with stunned disbelief.

“Crow, you’re-”

“Alive? Yes, I am.” Goro said, not taking his eyes off the shadow, “And you’re a shadow. Now, tell us where Ren is so we can get on our way, thank you.”

“He’s still Ren, even if he’s his shadow.” Ann huffs, her tone of voice clearly irritated by Goro’s total rejection of Joker, walking up to the shadow’s side, “Besides. Him helping us still means that Ren’s not only here, but his shadow can help us rescue him, right?”

“Yes, you’re right, Panther,” Joker nods, “I’ll be more than happy to help, and please, call me Joker.”

“Why? Do you prefer to be called that? I’m so sorry if I-”

“It’s okay, Panther.” he smiles reassuringly, touched by Ann’s kindness in accommodating his request so readily, “And yes. Though I am his shadow and should share his name, I am more comfortable with using Joker.”

“Note taken, now come here, Joker!” she exclaimed, running to join in with Morgana’s hug, wrapping her arms around his neck in affection, “Even if you’re Ren’s shadow, we’re still so glad to see you!”

“Yeah, we were so worried when we saw you had a Palace,” Ryuji said, walking to rest a comforting hand on Joker’s shoulder, “So it’s good to see you here and well buddy, and we’ll deffo help in stealing your treasure and easing your distorted heart.”

“And I’m glad to see you, Skull.” Joker smiles at his long-time friend, “If there’s anyone who can help me get rid of the distortions of my heart, it’ll be you.”

“I am happy to be here.” Yusuke smiles, walking up to stand next to Joker, the close proximity he stood next to his friend’s shadow enough to ease his heart, “Though it is unfortunate that you… our friend… have a Palace, we are honoured to be here if only to untangle the distortions that have brought this theatre in the first place.”

“And it’s nice to see you too, Fox.” Joker laughed, clearly amused by how flowery Yusuke’s language was.

“Joker!” Futaba yells, running towards him and wrapping her arms around his torso from his side, “Joker you’re okay! You’re really okay!”

“Well, ‘okay’ is putting Joker’s situation quite mildly,” Haru laughs as she joins the thieves in greeting their leader’s doppelganger, “But I have to agree with everyone, seeing you here with us, even if this is your Palace. ”

“Does the idea of me having a Palace really make you uncomfortable, Haru?” Joker asks her, eyebrows knitted as he looks at her with concern, “You can always leave if you’d like, Noir. I won’t judge you; it must be hard considering...”

“Yes, it does.” Haru answers for him, yet the spark of resolve she had in her eyes did not flicker as she looked in his golden ones, “But I promised only the others, but also myself, to be strong for you, and to help you in any way I can in getting rid of your distortions.”

Joker smiled at her, touched by her kind words.

“Thank you, Noir, I’ll be counting on you then.”

“She’s not the only one you can count on.” Makoto said, as she walked towards him, “I don’t think it’s far-fetched to assume that all of us here are more than willing to lend you their assistance should you need it, Joker. We are here to help heal your distorted heart, after all.”

“But what if I just want a kiss from my advisor.” Joker cooed at her. A blush slightly reddened Makoto’s face as she coughed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she cleared her throat.

“I’m sure, I can accommodate that request of yours,” she said confidently, yet the blush on her cheeks grew a deeper red. She leaned in, gently caressing his free shoulder, and gave him a peck on the cheek, Joker grinning delightfully as his golden eyes twinkled brightly with joy.

“A peck on the cheek is all I get?” he said, mockingly pouting at her, “But I thought you were here to ease my distorted heart.”

“We can kiss more when we steal your treasure; besides, the others are...” Makoto trails off, the mention of the other thieves reddens her face more in embarrassment, Joker giving her a toothy smile, only deepening the flush on her face.

“Okay, if you insist, my Queen. I’ll hold you to that promise.”

Someone audibly clears their throat. Joker looks past the group of friends that surrounded him to see Sumire standing in the middle of the foyer, her body tense, her legs straight, the girl grabbing her arms as she looks down on the floor with a saddened expression. He lightly shook his shoulders, his friends stepped away from him, Joker put down Morgana, and he walked towards her.

He stopped in front of her, not speaking a word, looking at her sympathetically yet allowed Sumire to converse with him when she was willing to.

“I’m sorry, for doubting you, Senpai.” she apologised, stepping back from her previous spot as she gave him a formal bow.

“Violet, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Joker smiles at her, slightly amused by her formality towards him, “In all honesty, you all have the excuse of being wary of me. Most of the shadows we’ve encountered were pretty hostile after all.”

“Like mine.” Futaba mutters to herself.

“But there are kind shadows, right? Shadows who just want help from us to steal their treasure, to return to normal. They exist, do they?”

“Yes.” Joker laughs, and Sumire couldn’t help but smile herself.

“Then…” she trails off, before throwing herself towards Joker, arms wide, Joker catching her with ease as she hugged him with all her strength.

“Violet, you’re hurting me.” Joker wheezed as Sumire squeezed her arms around him, and Sumire freed him from her embrace, apologising profusely.

“Oh, by the way,” Futaba said to the group, “While you guys were fighting, I picked up a signal that’s unusual to what you normally find in the Metaverse. I think it’s Ren.”

“You found where Ren’s being held?” Haru inquired the navigator, Futaba, shaking her head.

“Probably.” Futaba said, a frown on her face, pulling out a general map of the Palace to the rest of the group, a green blip pulsating on what looked to be the top of the cognitive building, “This is the signal that I found. It’s unusual for sure, the signal unlike any shadow or cognition we’ve ever encountered, and certainly not the treasure-”

“Oh right, the treasure!” Ryuji exclaims, interrupting Futaba, who reacted with an annoyed expression. “You got anything about the treasure, Futaba?”

“Remember, codenames, Skull.”  Futaba warned her teammate, “And as for the treasure....”

She trails off. The others stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Oracle?” Makoto said, walking slowly towards her, “Oracle, you okay?”

“...Um…”

“There’s no treasure, is there?” Goro interrupted. All the thieves snap their heads to look at him, shock and disbelief on their faces except for Futaba, Joker and Goro, “At least, the treasure has yet not materialised.”

“Wait, no treasure, are you crazy!?” Ann stammered, clearly uncomfortable and confused by this revelation.

“Yeah, every Palace we’ve encountered has a treasure!” Ryuji said hysterically, “What do you mean this Palace ‘doesn’t have a treasure’!?”

“I……. I…...I….”

“...I think we should discuss this somewhere else.” Joker informed the others, stepping in to protect Futaba from the bewildered Phantom Thieves, “I know a safe place. Follow me.”

---

The shadow led his friends up to the above floor via one of the twin stairs, cognitive guests staring at them as they followed Joker up, whispering amongst each other with excitement and curiosity, yet Joker paid them no mind as the rest of the thieves could only try to ignore their presence.

They arrived on the first floor, the foyer one decorated differently compared to the entrance below. Soft lilac replaced the colour red on the carpets and curtains, pristine, white marble replaced where gold would be, shapes of different flora carved in the stone, accented by gold paint which glittered under the bright light from the chandeliers above. There stood four doors around the foyer that lead to what the thieves assumed to be separate auditoriums: two of them closed with golden number plaques next to them; the third one, sealed behind two tall doors, had the words ‘The Empress Theatre’ titled atop of them.

Joker gestured to a large booth, one of many that occupied the room along the walls, a white curtain made of linen used to give the privacy the thieves needed to discuss their plans, hiding them from curious eyes.

“After you.” he said, smiling as he held the curtain open. Futaba was the first one to go in, diving onto the seat before sliding inwards to allow Haru to follow her in. One by one they went into the booth, Morgana having to be picked up by Ann, not tall enough to reach for the seat, and sat on her lap as his head rested just above the small table in front of them.

“I’d rather not.” Goro said, the only still standing other than Joker, crossing his arms as he looked towards the booth with scorn.

“Why not?” Joker asks, tilting his head as he looks at the reluctant detective, “Don’t you trust me, Goro?”

“Do not call me that.” Goro snapped, and Joker flinched visibly, “And to answer your question: I don’t. I don’t trust you at all.”

“Akechi-senpai, it’s okay.” Sumire said, immediately going into Joker’s defence as she pokes her head out from where she was sitting, “He helped us, remember? I’m sure Joker-senpai would never hurt us. I mean… I trust him, and I think everyone does as well, and they have way more experience than I do.”

“Yeah, Akechi,” Ryuji said, also coming to Joker’s defence, “And this is Ren we’re talking about. I mean, sure it’s his shadow but isn’t like the shadow the something true self or something?”

The others nodded in agreement, Goro looking away, a cross expression on his face. There was a small amount of movement that caught the corner of his eye, and he looked up to see Joker himself sliding into the booth to join his friends.

“You can have the end spot if it makes you comfortable.” Joker smiled at Goro, and while he did not want to admit it, he was feeling slightly fatigued from the earlier fight. He took a moment of hesitation, staring at the spot next to Joker, and sighed before he complied with the shadow’s request.

“Now that we’re all here,” Makoto said, her eyes scanning the group as she spoke, “We need to discuss-”

“Can someone please pull the curtain,” Morgana said, an expression of disappointment on his face, “We’re not exactly in a safe room you know, have you guys forgotten everything I’ve taught you!?”

“I can do it if only I wasn’t stuck here.” Yusuke offered, gesturing to both Haru and Ryuji of either side of him. The thieves lightly bickered amongst each other; one person would offer to close the curtain if the other person moved, which would cause the other person to gesture to the person next to them. This cycle, absurd and tedious as it was, repeated until all eyes landed on Goro.

“Hm, you’re asking me to close the curtain?” Goro said, not bothering to hide his unamused expression towards the Phantom Thieves.

“Well Crow, you’re the only one who can actually get out of here.” Futaba points out, gesturing to the column piece that obstructed her path to freedom, “And everyone can’t exactly move out easily as well. You gotta do it bird brain.”

“Bird brain?!” Goro scoffs in both surprise and offence. He growled in anger, trying very hard not to retaliate at the girl sitting across him. He sighed, muttering ‘fine’ as he slid out of his seat, reaching for the curtain and gently pulling it across until it hid the group from view before sitting back down again.

“Okay… so now that’s out of the way, we need to discuss several things that are imperative to ensure this infiltration is successful,” Makoto said, addressing the group around her, “First of, we need to discuss who will lead the infiltration, seeing as Ren isn’t here.”

She turns to look at Joker.

“Can you lead us?” Makoto asks, Joker replies by shaking his head.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” he admits, Makoto giving him a confused look, “I’m a shadow. The shadow of Ren. While I do know the ins and outs of the Palace, I fear that if I were to lead you it’ll compromise the mission in some way. In addition, I think it’s best for you guys if you could plan strategies somewhere out of the Metaverse.” “That is true.” Makoto nods, “But if you’re not going to lead us then, who will?”

Joker simply smiles at Makoto. Her eyes widened, the deep blush on her cheeks from earlier flushed her cheeks.

“Y-you want me to lead?!” she stammers, Joker nodding in response, and Makoto swore she would have fainted right there and then.

“Of course.” Joker said, “Everyone trusts you, and you yourself have the necessary leadership skills. There’s no one who I trust more.”

Makoto laughs, Morgana exclaims with a ‘hey!’ at Joker as Ryuji rolls his eyes at what he’s witnessing before him.

“Geeze get a room you guys.” he groaned, yet there was no malice in his tone as Ann and Sumire snicker at his comment.

“If Makoto’s our leader, then it would be appropriate to elect ourselves someone to replace her in the advisory role.” Haru said, “I was thinking about Mona being our advisor since he’s more experienced than all of us when it comes to Metaverse stuff.”

“Well, I am knowledgeable with the Metaverse itself.” Morgana said smugly, crossing his arms as he holds his head out proudly, “And I did teach you all how to be the best thieves possible. Sure, I’ll gladly take on the advisory role.”

Goro rolled his eyes in annoyance, Joker noticed him do so, and he smiled in amusement.

“Great, now that’s out of the way, we need to now discuss our course of action in regard to our infiltration: how we will conduct it, where Ren is, why there is no treasure being detected, and if it does apply, when we need to invoke a change of heart.”

She turned to look at Joker, the shadow nodded in acknowledgement.

“As you all know, Ren’s been kidnapped by the shadows of this place.” Joker said, his gaze cast to everyone except Goro who sat right next to him, “He’s being held in the uppermost auditorium of the Palace: The Fool’s Theatre.”

“The Fool’s Theatre? I don’t like the sound of that.” Ann mumbled under her breath, a look of concern on her face.

“Why is it called the Fool’s Theatre?” Sumire queried Joker, her eyes glittering in perplexity. Joker shrugged; his expression confessed uncertainty.

“I don’t know.” he said, “But what I do know he’s kept there. I honestly think they caught him, thinking they were me. Apparently, I’m a nuisance in my own Palace, which is quite absurd if you think about it.”

“Then we should go there now.” Ryuji said, “You know, bust him out and stuff if it’s just at the top floor, no problem!”

“I’m afraid it’s not that easy.” Joker frowned at the blonde, wincing as he saw Ryuji’s enthusiasm falter a bit, “The doors to the auditorium itself are locked by special keys which are held by what they called the ‘Lead Actors’ that reside in special auditoriums. I would have entered the Fool’s Theatre myself, but it’s the only room which I can't even access.”

“And who are these, ‘Lead Actors’?” Goro asked the shadow, “What do they look like? And where are they located?”

“I… haven’t seen any of them, so I don’t even know what they look like.” Joker confessed to the group hesitantly, “But I’ve heard they reside in the auditoriums like that one-”

He gestures to the Empress Theatre on the floor.

“-and they seem to only open their doors to patrons who meet two special conditions.”

“How do you know this?”

Joker turns to Goro and smiles at him.

“Goro, I’m a thief, sneaking about and eavesdropping is what I do best!” he said. Goro only narrows his eyes slightly in response.

“And what are the two conditions, exactly?” Makoto inquired.

“The first condition-” he started as he turned to Makoto, “-is to watch the performances on each of the floors. For example, I heard that in order to gain permission to even get within the Empress Theatre, you must present a ticket with punch holes showing you’ve watched the two performances located within numbered halls.”

“Well, that’s easy enough,” Ryuji said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his legs, Makoto ignoring them as Joker continued his explanation.

“The second condition is to enter the auditorium with the person who matches the Lead Actor.”

“Matches the lead actor?” Ann said, looking at Joker with confusion, “What does that even mean? And how are we gonna get in if we’ve never seen the actor before?”

“I suggest we concentrate on the theatre watching first,” Morgana said, crossing his arms, easily slipping into the advisory role he’s been assigned. He turned to Joker, “Joker, do you have any idea how to get these tickets to access the halls?”

“Actually, I have them here already,” Joker said, pulling several golden tickets from his sleeve, the slips of admission shimmering beautifully form the light above. He put them down, pushing them towards the middle of the table in order to allow everyone to take their own slip of the key they need to help them unlock their friend’s heart, “I… stole them from the counter, just in case you guys would ever come to...”

His face flinches for a moment, an expression of pain flashed before the rest of the group. He smiled at all of them, yet sadness was still reflected in his golden eyes.

“Never mind, all that matters is that you’re all here.” he smiles, “Oh, and I almost forgot-”

He took a booklet out of his coat.

“-A program that contains the map to the Palace.” he elaborates, “It should tell you everything about the building, and should give you a clue on how to navigate it.”

He placed the program alongside the tickets, Yusuke snatching it up before anyone who could look despite the protest of an annoyed Futaba who hissed him with insults as well as calling him ‘Inari’. Makoto shakes her head, yet the rest of the girls couldn’t help but giggle at Yusuke’s eagerness to examine the peculiar booklet, the boys of the group rolling their eyes at the artist’s eccentricity.

“Well, while Fox has the chance to thoroughly inspect the program you gave us,” Goro sighed as he turned his head to the shadow next to him, “Might as well explain as to why there’s no sign of a treasure.”

“Do you think I’m the reason why there’s no treasure?” Joker asks, and Goro pursed his lips in response.

“Well, it is weird that neither I nor Futaba could detect it.” Morgana piques up, jumping up from Ann's lap and onto the table, “Even when Futaba’s treasure turned out to be her, I could sniff it out easily...”

He trails off his gaze drifting onto the ground, before his head snapped up, his eyes filled with resolve.

“But that doesn’t matter right now!” Morgana said, “Our first goal here is to rescue Ren, treasure or no treasure!”

"Well, if our primary goal is to rescue Ren from the Fool's Theatre, we must do it by the 11th of April," Yusuke said suddenly, closing the program before gently returning it to the centre of the table and grabbed one of the golden tickets for himself.

"The 11th of April, where did you get that date from?" Sumire puzzled, Yusuke turned to look at her.

"It said so in the program." he replied as Futaba took the booklet for herself, "'Join us at the Fool's Theatre for the World Premiere of a performance of a lifetime' it said, and it referred to a special guest appearance; no doubt referring to-"

“Ren-senpai.” Sumire finished his train of thought.

“Well, judging from the map here, it’s gonna be pretty easy.” Futaba said as she flicked through the booklet herself, “There are only nine floors we need to go through, ten if we’re including the Fool’s Theatre.”

“And all we have to do is to just watch some plays, right?” Ryuji said, crossing his legs casually in his seat, “Man, this is gonna be a piece of cake for us. I mean, even if there are shadows who are gonna jump us like with those shadows earlier, taking them out would be easy.”

“Still, I think it would be best to exercise caution.” Haru said, “Speaking of which…”

She turned to Yusuke. He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Noir?”

“I think you need some healing. I can still see the impact of the previous fight on you.”

“I’m fine, Noir. Really, it is no trouble-”

“No, please, Fox. At least take some-”

“I would rather not-”

“Fox-!”

While the group was too occupied with the bickering members, Joker turned to look at Goro. His eyes gazed soft and longingly at the black figure who looked away from the commotion, instead more content in observing the wandering cognitions as they talked amongst each other.

“Akechi.” Joker said, his voice a whisper, “How did you-”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Goro grumbled back, his back still turned towards the shadow, “I don’t have to explain anything to you. Just know that I am alive.”

“Oh, okay,” Joker mumbled, taken aback by Goro’s dismissive tone, sinking back into silence.

“-There we go, Fox. Are you feeling any better?” Haru said, her words caught the attention of Joker as he turned to look to see a smiling Yusuke.

“Why yes, Noir.” Yusuke smiles, “I feel much better actually, thank you for healing me, although you did not have to.”

“Well, you were stubborn about it, but I’m just glad that your injuries are-”

“If you’re all done fooling around, then I suggest we get this infiltration started.” Goro snapped and interrupted Haru, everyone flinching at Goro’s outburst as he got up from the booth seat, “We haven’t got time to waste. We have a deadline to keep to, remember?”

“Dude we’ve got more than a month.” Ryuji said, “And besides, why are you so eager to get started?”

Goro’s only response was a cold look towards Joker, the shadow stone-faced as red gazed into gold. Without another word, Goro turned on his heel and walked away.

Joker slipped out of his seat to address his friends after Goro’s leaving.

“He’s right.” Joker admits, “You all need to get going. Every second you waste here is a second that Ren… my other… stays trapped in this place with the puppet master that’s holding him in there.”

“Does that mean you’re going to watch the performances as well?” Makoto asked the shadow; Joker shook his head in response.

“Forgot to grab a ticket for myself.” he said, “That, and I was thinking of making myself useful to the team. I can get into places that I doubt you guys even can, so while you see whatever’s going on in those halls, I’ll see whatever I can uncover regarding my other’s psyche.”

“But you’re already useful,” Sumire said.

“Yeah.” Ann agreed, “You already told us how to get into those auditoriums and got the ticket and the map to the Palace for us. You’ve done so much already for us, Joker. Don’t worry about it.”

“...Thanks.” Joker smiled as he watched his friends slowly exit from the booth, “It’s just. You’re doing so much for me already, it’s the least I can do to help you guys.”

“Nah man, you’ve already done so much for us before this.” Ryuji laughed, pulling the shadow into a quick hug, “If anything, this is us repaying you for all you’ve done.”

“I agree with Skull,” Morgana said as he hopped from the table, his own ticket glittering in his paws, “This is our way of returning the favour.”

The other thieves nodded in agreement to Ryuji and Morgana’s words, and Joker’s smile grew larger. He felt loved, their resolve glittered in their eyes.

“Thank you, everyone,” he said, before turning to Makoto.

“Well, I suggest you all go into the Devil Theatre first, the one numbered fifteen.” he informed the temporary leader, his gaze looking sternly at her as he nodded towards the general direction of their goal, “It’s the only one currently available for showing. I’m sure the other hall, numbered seventeen, will open once the performance is done.”

“Thank you, Joker,” Makoto said as she nodded at him.

“You’re welcome, my Queen.”

He watched the rest of the thieves wander towards the auditorium, sans Makoto, who briskly walked towards Goro. He watched as they spoke with each other, Goro standing from the wall he was leaning on, hush words exchanged between the two thieves. Their conversation stops, and both Makoto and Goro wandered towards the entrance where the others stood.

Joker waited, watching silently as his friends all went through the door, he watched as the door closed fully, watched he was alone with the cognitions of his palace. No sign of the door opening again, he waited for a bit, until he assumed, they'd taken their seats. Good.

He looked behind him. At a small black, glistening speck nestled within the dark where even the sharpest eyes could barely detect it. He looked directly at the hidden camera.

And smiled deviously.

  ---

  Makoto was the last one to seat herself within the last row of the small auditorium room, the thieves sitting in the row behind the rest of the cognitive audience, allowing themselves to be hidden among the shadows. The lights that illuminated the sides of the room dimmed into darkness, signalling the audience that the play before them was about to begin. A second passed. Then two, then three. Slight creaks echoed amongst the audience within the room as cognitions shifted impatiently in their seats, the Phantom Thieves on edge as they anxiously waited for the performance to start.

“Is something supposed to-”

A stark shutter interrupted Ryuji’s inquiry, the stage lit with a single spotlight, the cognitions muttering ceasing as their heads snapped to watch the stage.

Stillness sunk within the small space. Then the sounds of steps, before a figure emerged into the light. Black curls of hair characterised the actor before them, his face down, shrouded and obscured to the rest of the audience. Yet the Phantom Thieves knew who it was. It was…

“Ren?” Ann whispered as she turned to Futaba who was sitting next to her, “Is that him?”

“Hmm, doesn’t look to be him,” Futaba said, adjusting her goggles as she took a closer look at the actor on the stage, “Readings seem to be giving off that this Ren is merely a cognition of sorts. A fake.”

“Why would Ren have cognitions of himself?” Yusuke queried Morgana who was seated next to him.

“It may have to do with something related to the particular formation of his Palace,” Morgana explained as he observed the cognitive Ren closely.

The cognitive Ren looked at the audience, his eyes unfocused.

“February was where my end, began.” The cognition started; his tone flat as he began his monologue. He talked about saving a woman from a drunken man while he was walking home, how his parents found out he was sued, how he was shipped off into the city, and how he had to stay in an attic within a coffee shop. The thieves quickly understood that the cognitive version of their leader was recounting his time in Tokyo.

“April the 11th,” the cognitive Ren continued, “I met someone who would become my best friend, I discovered a World where the deepest, darkest desires of men manifest, and it was the day that I finally felt… free.”

“That’s when he awoke to Arsene, right?” Ann whispered to Ryuji, who gave a nod as the cognitive Ren continued his monologue.

“I mean, it makes sense.” Morgana said, “When you guys first tore off your masks you are tearing off the mask you wear around society and the outside world.”

“-And so, every time we summon our Persona’s, we are revealing our inner selves towards the rest of the world?” Haru said, clasping her hands, “That’s really poetic.”

“I suggest you all shut your mouths if you don’t want to get caught.” Goro snaps at them, his voice controlled yet a hint of annoyance towards the conversing thieves. Ryuji looked at him as he was about to snap back towards the traitor, but decided against it, while the other thieves shifted uncomfortably in their seats before turning back their attention to the play before then.

Madarame’s Museum, Makoto’s blackmail, Kaneshiro’s Bank. Futaba’s cry for help in exchange for helping take down Medjed. Meeting Haru. Taking down Okumura. Changing Sae’s heart. The interrogation and Goro’s betrayal. The cognition continued to recount the events of Ren’s year in Tokyo with a monotone voice to his crowd, yet the thieves noticed that memories he even considered ‘positive’ during his time there were few and far in between.

“If these were his memories, then why are there barely any happy ones?” Sumire puzzled out loud towards Makoto, who crossed her arms in thought.

“He might be minimising his happier memories and magnifying his traumatic memories,” she said, watching the cognitive Ren as he continued to monologue to his audience, his voice dull, his expression downcast with shadow.

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know Sumire,” Makoto admitted, turning to her with sorrowful eyes.

“Is it just me, or has the spotlight dimmed a bit?” Haru said, Yusuke giving her a nod of agreement.

“I’ve noticed it too,” he confirmed, his voice solemn, “Is it perhaps something to do with the play itself? The subject matter?”

“Yeah, it makes more sense if that were the case,” Morgana said, “After all, this reflects a part of Ren's psyche. If the stage is dimming, it will be related to whatever this play is about.”

“Another thing, Morgana. If we are required to watch these plays in order to access the main theatres to get the keys to unlock the Fool’s Theatre, is it Ren’s way of communicating his troubled mind to us?”

Before Morgana could answer Yusuke, stunned gasps erupted from the audience. The cat turned his attention towards the stage, only to find the cognitive Ren sinking into darkness, still monologuing, unaware of his current predicament.

Morgana caught the words that came out of the cognitive Ren’s mouth, and he felt unease slowly churn his stomach. The cognitive Ren was talking about his life back in Inaba: the shame his mother and father bore with his false arrest, the shunning and isolation he faced from his classmates, the rumours that seemed to follow him from Shujin. Though the cognition kept the same, blank expression towards the audience, each word he seemed to utter sank him deeper and deeper in his own shadow, swallowing him whole as the audience did nothing but watch the spectacle in bewildered silence.

“What the eff...” Ryuji said, trailing off in horror, turning to Ann with pleading eyes. Yet Ann shook her head in response, knowing that the impulsive member of the group wanted to save the sinking mockery of their friend - something she wanted as well.

“Ann...”

“Skull,” Ann said, careful to use his codename as she spoke, her voice soft and pleading as she gently pulled him down back onto his seat, him following almost instinctively as he sat back down. He too saw her desire to spring into action, to save the cognition as he drowned in his own shadow, dragged into sentient darkness while staring at them with blank eyes; but she knew she could do nothing, as so did the other thieves, and Ryuji tried to swallow the rage he felt as the audience clapped with disappointment at the cognition’s performance.

---

“Are you enjoying the performance so far, my guest?” Joker asked Ren, him smiling gleefully as Ren looked at him with hatred, bound hands curled into fists as his shadow, Joker’s eyes illuminating with pleasure.

“Performance? You call that a performance?” Ren spat, concealing his confusion of his shadow’s plans, and plotted to use Joker’s smugness in order to get even a sliver as to what his shadow had in store, “I’ve seen better performances at kindergarten productions. Even low budget soap operas have more effort than that story excuse for drama.”

“I know what you’re doing, Ren,” Joker said, his expression unchanging, amused to see Ren trying his best to outsmart his own shadow, “It’s cute but, don’t think for a second that it’ll work on me. I know you, and I know you’re trying to slyly trick me into giving away my plans.”

Joker chuckled as Ren’s expression, his other wearing one of annoyance, licking his lips before he continued to taunt him, “I can’t give you a hint. Not yet. It'll ruin the surprise.”

“Surprise?” Ren pondered, raising an eyebrow, and Joker mockingly covered his mouth and gasped.

“Oh, there I go again, running my mouth,” he gasped, before laughing hysterically, clearly amused with himself as he stepped forward towards his bound other, “I must really be careful with what I say. I really mustn't spoil the plot for our grand performance.”

“‘Grand performance’. you mean whatever’s going to happen on the 11th next month, right?”

“You’ve been paying attention.” Joker said, and Ren frowned in response, “But yes. I have a great production for you…for the whole world to witness. It will be the culmination of our desires and dreams, and-”

Joker stopped himself mid-sentence, realising he had gotten ahead of himself, almost making an amateur blunder, and withdrew his hands back into his pockets. Ren could only hiss in disappointment as he anticipated his shadow causing his mistake, playing on Joker’s smug demeanour and using it against him. Instead, the shadow continued to observe him, intense gold shining coldly behind his mask, leaning lazily on the doorframe where he stood.

Something on one of the monitor screens caught Joker’s attention, his eyes focused intensely behind him, as if hypnotised by whatever’s currently playing. Using his strength, Ren swivelled around in his chair to see what Joker was staring at, following his shadow’s gaze to see…

Himself. Crying. Cupping his hands, ash in them, kneeling on the hardwood stage as multiple shadows around him laughed mockingly at him. Two Kodama’s circled his crying copy, giggling as they floated, swirling freely in the air, drowning his sobs as they laughed over him. Ren could see two other shadows that stood behind the curtains, Sraosha looking quietly with its gigantic eye as a Fuu-Ki summoned a gale of wind, his clone trying to shield the ash from the gust, clutching the ash closely to him, yet Ren could see the spotlight illuminating clearly that his treasure was falling swiftly through his fingertips.

“Joker.” Ren said, his voice demanding, angry as he did not understand what the both were watching, “You mentioned scripts, right? What is this supposed to mean? Why are you making me watch… whatever this is!?”

Joker snapped from his trance, blinking his eyes slowly before looking at Ren in acknowledgement. He answered Ren’s question by giving him a grin that made Ren’s blood boil, his knuckles white, rage bubbling in his throat, and Joker couldn’t help but laugh at Ren with utter glee.

“Ren, don’t be upset,” Joker said, walking towards Ren until he loomed over him, the shadow’s shadow cast upon him. He craned down his neck, face inches from Ren’s, his smile full of teeth as his eyes gleamed with such intensity that Ren could not help but wince in intimidation, “After all, we haven’t reached the climax of today’s show, Don’t you want to know what happens? Don’t you?”

“I don’t think I have a choice in the matter.” Ren said, grimacing as Joker’s smile stretched even wider.

“That’s the spirit!” he exclaimed with joy, patting Ren on the head in a congratulatory gesture towards his guest, “After all, I did prepare all of this for you and your friends to enjoy. And enjoy you all shall, ‘ll make sure of that.”

“I still don’t underst-”

“Nononono.” Joker murmured, putting a finger onto Ren’s lips to silence him, shushing each time Ren dared parted his lips, “No more questions. I have to go see the others soon, I can’t miss my cue, you’ll sit tight and watch my performance, won’t you, Ren?”

Ren did not reply. He couldn’t, the steady, defiant look he gave to Joker was the only thing he could do in that situation, and Joker enjoyed how much power he exerted over him.

“Good, good, Ren. I appreciate it,” he said, taking his finger from Ren’s lips, his other keeping silent, maintaining his rebellious expression, up until Joker again closed the door to his prison did Ren allow himself to finally shed a tear.

  ---

  “Damn, that was another bummer, huh.” Ryuji sighed as they exited the other auditorium, his expression dejected as he watched the other thieves emerge from the room alongside him. Each thief wore a similar expression of sadness, coming to terms with what they have witnessed, and the only two who did not seem perturbed as they made their way towards their booth were Morgana and Goro.

“Yeah, both of them sucked,” Ann agreed as she hesitated in following Yusuke within the seat, instead content to just stand over the table as Futaba took her place within the booth, “The audience weren’t all that great either, ‘he’s just being a cry-baby’?! Why would they think that?”

“Same,” Haru sighed, rhythmically tapping her fingers on the polished table in front of her, “It didn’t help that the audience were so rude about it.”

“How can anyone even be ‘bored’ by someone’s misery like that,” Futaba seethed, ignoring her laptop in front of her, her voice cracking as she threatened to cry at any moment, “I know they’re just cognitions, but the idea of even them complaining about Ren’s suffering...”

“...It truly is sadistic, isn’t it?” Yusuke mumbled, hand resting on his chin.

“Remember, whatever is shown in the Palace is a reflection of their ruler’s heart,” Morgana stated, hopping on the table as he addressed the group, “There must be a reason, something in Ren’s psyche that states we have to bear witness to… whatever these plays represent. If we do, it may hold a clue for us to bypass the other plays within this Palace, making our infiltration faster.”

“Mona’s right,” Makoto said, nodding with agreement at the cat’s words, yet the others looked at the both of them with doubt, “Maybe if we ask Joker, he can give us a clue-”

“A clue about what?” a familiar voice purred, and she turned to see Joker standing in front of her, expression neutral, hands in his pockets as he tilted his head in curiosity, “Is it something you need my help with, my Queen?”

“Your entrance was certainly timely,” Goro said, narrowing his eyes as Joker removed his hands from his pockets, allowing them to hang beside him, “Where were you while we were watching those plays? We didn’t see you when the first once ended.”

“I was looking into some things,” Joker answered nonchalantly, absentmindedly waving his hand in the air as he spoke, “Mostly to do with the theatre at the top,”

“Did you find a way to get in?” Makoto asks, in which Joker responded with a frown and the shake of his head.

“No… I’m sorry, Queen,”

“That’s okay,” she reassured him, giving him a reassured smile, “You tried your best, it’s all we can ask for at the moment,”

“Still, how were the plays?” Joker asked, his gaze looking towards the rest of the thieves, “Judging by your expressions, I take it that they weren’t great?”

“No...” Sumire trailed off, expression sullen behind her mask, “They were really depressing, Senpai, it was really hard to watch at times,”

“Oh,” was all Joker had to say to her.

“Yeah,” Haru said, agreeing with Sumire as she adjusted a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face, “It was certainly hard to watch without feeling sad, certainly. Joker, do you know if all the plays are as depressing?”

“I don’t know, they might be, they might not,” Joker admits, “If the plays are too hard to bear, I suggest you come tomorrow and-”

“Nu uh, we’ve come this far already,” Ryuji huffs, uncrossing his legs, “And we aren’t bailing on you, Joker, not until we get… whatever is in there.” he said as he points towards the Empress Theatre.

“Ah, yes,” Joker said, “The Empress Theatre… to get the key right?”

“Speaking of the Empress Theatre,” Makoto remembered, “We still have no clue as to what the second condition is in order to enter it. Will you mind filling us in, Joker?”

“That I can do,” Joker said casually, “But be warned… I don’t exactly understand it myself.”

“Meaning?” Goro challenged, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Joker.

“Well,” Joker started, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to collect his words, “I’ve mentioned earlier that the person going in has to match the Lead Actor, correct?”

“Correct,” Makoto said as she nodded to Joker, “But, what does that actually mean?”

“Well, I suppose it has to do with it resonating within one of you,” he said, “Ren wears many masks, each one representing an aspect in his daily life, a person who he faces every day. If these auditoriums are so important that the Lead Actors reside in them, that much mean that each hall might represent-”

“One of us,” Morgana finishes, and Joker nods.

“He cares a lot about you all.”

“So, those messages we got, and the Metaverse app installing itself back on our phone… are you suggesting the reason why is because of these Lead Actors?” Goro theorized.

“It might be, Goro,” Joker shrugged, “However, when it comes to each of you belonging to which hall, I don’t really know. What I do know is that I can go into any of them besides the Fool’s Theatre; I suggest whoever goes first that I’ll accompany them as well. There’s no telling what can happen in there once the Lead Actor appears, if they’ll appear, of course.”

“If I may ask, Joker, how do we know if we're the appropriate thief to enter them in the first place?"

“That I… I don’t know.”

The thieves pondered for a moment, each of them looking around at themselves and back at the double doors that lead to the Empress Theatre. Silence fell upon them, the chatter of the cognitions echoing in the background.

Then Ryuji stood up from his seat.

“Well, if you guys are okay with it, I’m going first,” he stated, shocking everyone as they all looked at him with baffled expressions.

“Ryuji, how do you know it is you who fits the conditions of the Empress Theatre?” Yusuke queried his teammate and friend, looking at him with questioning eyes.

“Honestly, I don’t,” Ryuji confesses, “But like, I don’t like the idea of us just sittin’ around here while Ren is above our heads enduring god knows what-”

“But it says Empress, Ryuji,” Futaba interjects as she slumps in her seat, “Meaning it’s gotta be one us girls, not you, who goes in there,”

“Hey, Empress’ can be boys, too!” Ryuji exclaims.

“Nu uh,”

“Can too, probably,”

“I’m sure that’s not how it works,”

“Well, I’m sure if Naoto Shirogane is still called the Detective Prince despite being a woman, Ryuji could very well be an Empress of some kind,” Goro remarked, grinning mischievously, amused somewhat by his own joke.

“See, Futaba? Goro’s got a point!” Ryuji smiled, crossing his arms, and Goro dropped his jaw in astonishment.

“Ryuji, you are aware that I’m making fun of you, right?” Goro huffs, and Ryuji looks at him with an expression of shocked betrayal.

“Wait-what?! I thought you were helping me?!” he stammered as some of the thieves could not contain their giggles, and even Joker couldn’t help but smile at Ryuji’s reaction, “Well, I’m gonna take that as a compliment, anyway,” he said, crossing his arms, “At least I’m trying to think of something to help Ren, why you gotta be an ass about it?”

Goro responded by rolling his eyes before he returned to staring at the double doors.

“Um, I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I volunteer myself to enter it with Joker” Haru piped up, raising her hand quite timidly, trying to get the attention of the rest of the thieves.

“Sure, Haru, but is there something wrong? I hope I’m not being too forward with this, but I didn’t expect you to volunteer so readily,” Makoto said.

“It’s okay, Makoto,” Haru smiled, “And as for me volunteering… I don’t really know how to explain it, but...”

She looks directly towards the Empress Theatre’s doors.

“I feel… strangely drawn to it,” Haru confesses, her eyes steadily fixated on the doors, “It’s like… It’s calling me, I think? I’m sorry if it sounds absurd, but-”

“You have nothing to apologise for, Noir”, Ann said, smiling at her friend as she puts a reassuring hand on Haru’s shoulder, “I mean, we’re in the Metaverse, and there’s bound to be some crazy things that occur here.”

“That said, Panther,” Morgana said as he approaches Haru, “It might be because Noir is the only one that’s able to go into the theatre,”

“How can you be so sure, Mona?” Yusuke inquired, resting his hand on his chin in thought.

“I mean, it is calling for her, right?” Morgana explains to Yusuke, “And given what we know of the Lead Actors, there must be a reason why the theatre itself is calling to Noir specifically. Plus, if we were wrong and Noir is not who the Lead Actor is calling to, Joker would be there to safely get her out, right Joker?”

“Yes,” Joker nods, “I’ll be sure to safely escort Noir out if anything happens. You have my word.”

“Oh okay then,” Haru said cheerfully as she got in her seat, the others doing their best to shift around their legs as she clambered out of the booth before giving Morgana a pat on head, “Thank you so much for the speech of confidence, Mona-chan, I appreciate it greatly!”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” Morgana purred as Haru’s hand left his head. He turned to Joker, “Just make sure that whatever happens, both of you get out safe, okay?”

“We will, Mona,” Joker said, nodding as Haru approached his side, “You can count on me, I’m Joker after all,”

The both said their goodbyes to the others, Haru barely eye Goro as she did so, before they both turned towards their destination, Joker jumping ahead to grab one of the doors for Haru, opening it for her.

“After you, Miss Noir,” Joker said, bowing gracefully at her, hand tucked politely in front of him, earning a giggle from his teammate, a sound he was happy to hear from her, grinning playfully himself.

“Thank you, Joker,” she bows back playfully before entering the room, Joker standing up from his bow and following Haru inside, allowing the door to gently close itself, gently thudding shut behind them.

---

The interior of the auditorium was unlike Haru had ever seen, lilac carpeting over white marble trailed on the floor that led to the polished stage before her. Beautiful plush seats, all adorned with small white pillows sat in rows facing forward, all the same matching lilac as the carpet, while flowers of various colours decorated the column that supported the balcony seats above, vines supporting vibrate green leaves snaking neatly around railings, the pleasant floral aroma wafting down alongside small petals that landed beside her feet. She looked up, slow, hazy movement having caught her eye, to see a giant, crystalline chandelier hanging below a moving landscape of soft, painted clouds floating by an idyllic sky.

“It’s… beautiful...” Haru marvelled, her eyes wide with complete awe, the hall completely resonating with her aesthetics as she slowly stumbled forward. Joker watched her take in the sight of the decorations that adorned the room, smiling at how happy she looked as he walked ahead, patiently waiting down in front of the steps that lead up to the stage as she slowly clambered down among the row of seats, “Joker, this place is… it’s amazing!” she gasped giggly, and Joker could not help but chuckle at her excitement.

“Is it?” he asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow in mock curiosity, yet Haru paid no mind to his playfully sarcastic response as she approached him, giddy with excitement.

“Yes...” she sighed as she looked at him, and Joker could see her flinch as soon as she remembered the task she was here for, “I mean… I…. I-” she stammered, a light shade of blush forming on her cheeks, “I’m sorry, I got carried away there, haha,”

“It’s okay, Noir,” he chuckled, before gesturing her to go up the stairs first, a curt bow as he raised his hand towards them, “After you,”

“Thank you, Joker,” she giggled, climbing up the stairs on the stage, her pumps clicking as she walked on the polished floor. She wandered on it, Joker following behind her with a casual stride, “I suppose we need to find the Lead Actor now, right?”

“I guess-”

The lights shuttered shut, both Haru and Joker jumped in place, both grabbing and readying their weapons as they stood side by side. Nothing happened. There was no movement, only the sound of silence echoed the walls, their own breathing almost deathly silent as the two of them prepared for an enemy to pounce.

Another shutter echoed the still theatre. A single spotlight shined suddenly in the dark. Haru narrowed her eyes in confusion and worry, her grip on her axe tightening, feeling Lucy stir under her mask as she took small, slow steps towards the solitary spotlight. Her ears strained in the silence as she slowly approached the outer rim, yet she saw no shadow slithering in sight.

“Joker?” Haru whispered, turning her head to find the shadow of her friend missing, sweat now gathering under her gloves, gaze flicking anxiously as he tried to spot him. Another sound. Haru turned to see nothing lurking in the audience area.

She felt rough hands grab her shoulders, and she was promptly shoved into the light. She tumbled into the spotlight, shrieking as light consumed her vision, before shifting to dark, and Haru could feel herself falling.

She fell, wind whipping her hair, weapon slipped from her grip as she flailed in nothing, she screamed, pleading for help, yet the shadows responded with nothing.

A sudden “oomph” fell between her lips as she sunk into the shrubbery, the plant miraculously cushioning her from what felt like to be a very steep fall. She groaned, the wind knocked out of her lungs as she impacted the bush, allowing her a moment to gather her strength before pushing herself up.

“W... where am I?” Haru thought out loud as her eyes scanned her surroundings. She found herself to be in some sort of garden, the plants looking sullen and sickly, wilting, starving for sunlight and warmth as they sunk into the stone that decorated the area, the sky black and empty, lacking any features. She got up to her feet, dusting her legs and trousers of dirt as best she could as she continued to look around, marvelling grimly at the state of the garden, yet found it odd that she could see without an obvious light source.

“Hello?” she shouted, her voice echoing, yet she heard no response. She quieted her breaths, listening intently for any sound in the stillness.

A sob. Haru rushed quietly towards it, softly stepping on the dead flowers and leaves as best she could, following a weathered stone path into an alcove next to a dried waterfall, only to see Ren sitting on a dead lotus, surrounded by a ring of anemone, naked and crying. Petals of marigold drifted gently down the golden shaft of light that illuminated him from above, some sticking on his skin, seemingly clinging it to him as the thorns of white roses dug into him, Ren covered in bruises and scabs as they seemed to suck sickly on his blood while narcissus flowers were stuck, rotten in his hair.

“Ren,” she said, reaching out to him in hopes of soothing her crying friend, only to be stung by the thorns that clung to him, and she could see them tightening around his body, pricking fresh new blood as he continued to wail. She panicked, his whines tugging at her heart, Haru desperately trying to reach out for him, calling his name over and over, yet for every word she uttered, his wail of pain and anguish drowned her out.

“Ren, please!” Haru begged, yet Ren barely acknowledged her, still sobbing as the vines strangled him more and more. She panicked, trying to desperately calm Ren while trying not to touch the vines, yet each patch of skin she reached for earned herself another lash from the roses as they rushed to cover Ren, causing him to howl and bleed.

“Ren, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what to do,” she apologised, watching solemnly as Ren continued to cry, barely acknowledging her presence, too absorbed within his despair as marigolds continue to flutter down towards him, earning another gasp as they landed snugly on his flesh. It seemed to her that the only thing that remotely stirred Ren were the flowers that surrounded him.

An idea sprung to mind. Hushing a goodbye, Haru retreated from the alcove back into the wider garden, a goal that kept her steadfast as she trudged among the floral graveyard. Her eyes swept across sickly green and brown until-

She spotted a single, small daffodil sprouting amongst dead branches, yellow barely shining amongst brown, its petals poking out just enough for Haru to see. She approached the flower, gently pushing the branches away before she carefully reached for the flower and plucked it from the ground.

“Hello, little friend,” she said as she gently held the daffodil in her hand, its petals shining in the omnipresent light. She stood up from her crouching position, the flower in her hand, and continued to patrol the garden, looking for any more flowers she could salvage from the decrepit garden.

In what seemed like hours (though she couldn’t tell, as time felt like it had no governance in that realm) she had collected four additional flowers for her small, makeshift bouquet: twin red Carnations sat next to the Daffodil in her hand, a purple Iris and a pink Hibiscus intertwined together wrapped up with the other flowers, and a Sunflower stood tall amongst them. By coincidence, she happened to find a pink ribbon amongst the mess of twig and stone that defined the garden, its origin unknown, but in which Haru used to tie the stems tightly together.

A last patrol around the garden and Haru made her way back to the alcove where Ren sat, the bouquet in her hands. She felt sickly as she saw the number of marigold petals that covered him, touching any inch of skin not already occupied by the snaking thorns around his hunched body. “Ren?” she whispered, in which he did not reply, but when she held up her gift did Ren stir from his position. He blinked; black, shimmering eyes stained with red looked at the flowers with curiosity. Haru choked back a fearful sob as Ren weakly reached for the flowers she held in her hands.

“Here, Ren. These are for you,” she said, yet she did not know if her words reached his ears, or whether he could even comprehend them while in his current state. He grabbed weakly at them, thin fingertips brushing against the petals of the flowers, grasping at them with great difficulty, and Haru helped him seize his gift by grabbing his hand before clasping his fingers for him.

“There you go, Ren. Just hold them tight,” she cooed, wrapping the flowers to his hand with the bouquet’s ribbon, making sure the knot she tied around them secure. She gave him a smile, and although Ren’s gaze was wholly fixated on the flowers he held, he smiled in return.

The white roses and their thorns rapidly snaked up his arms as Haru’s flowers erupted spontaneously into cyclamen and sweet pea, the anemone hissed at her feet as she stumbled back in fear. The petals of marigold once fluttered down sparsely from above now rained on Ren in a torrent as they drowned the boy, his hand holding what was once his gift still exposed, left untouched.

Haru tried to save him, she tried to approach her friend, yet something snaked between her ankles and held her in place, Haru looking down to see stalks of spider lilies squeezing her stationary, more and more joining as the stone path fell before her, Haru’s frame supported by the spider lilies that continued to assault her, Haru screaming as she desperately fought off the flora binding her in place. One latched onto her right wrist before pulling back, another one doing the same to her left, and Haru thrashed, squealing in utter fear as the flowers restrained her, and she looked to still see Ren’s exposed hand, still clutching onto the flowers, the ribbon gleaming vibrantly against pale skin.

“Get-” Haru tried to shriek, fighting instincts flaring in her muscles as terror pooled in her stomach. Yet she was silenced when the lilies snaked up her neck and around her mouth, and she muffled as they continued to climb up her body. She jerked wildly, her body flailing, her vision blackening, the last thing she saw being Ren’s still outstretched hand and the marigolds that continued to pour violently onto him before the lilies snaked around her eyes, and soon suffocated her other senses entirely.

  ---

There was nothing. Black.

Her head was full of fog.

Haru felt her mouth dry. She smacked her lips, the skin chapped, her throat hoarse. Dizzy. She felt dizzy.

The sound of chirped chatter, the patter of a carpeted floor and the clatter of cutlery. Bright light in her eyes mixed with darkness. She could smell something savoury.

Haru opened her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering against her face, the sound of the diners eating and chatting around her, the smell of the buffet reaching her nostrils caused her to salivate, the intensity of the yellow lighting above her made her wince as her eyes adjusted from the brightness from above. She raised her head from the cool dining table she was currently slumped over, waiting for her tired brain to register where she even was.

Blinking a few times, she finally knew where she was: at the famous Wilton hotel buffet in Tokyo. Memories of the spider lily assault sprung back to mind, and Haru panicked as she rushed as she felt her face and looked at her hands. Her mask was on, and she saw her purple gloves and her pink blouse. She was still in her Phantom Thief attire. She was still in the Palace; Ren’s Palace.

A pang of emptiness echoed in her heart as familiar giggles caught her attention, Haru turning her head left to see a copy of herself and a smiling, casually dressed Ren laughing over their cakes. She narrowed her eyes in confusion. She recognised this as one of the numerous meetings she had with him during Ren’s stay in Tokyo; a recent memory to be exact, celebrating her finishing her exams with some of the best confectionery and coffee the hotel could supply. She watched as they conversed, yet barely acknowledged the heavy feeling that weighted her breaths.

“This is good.” Ren complimented, gesturing to the piping, white mug he was holding, “Good coffee, certainly not close to Sojiro’s though,”

“I don’t think there’s coffee that comes close to how Sojiro makes it.” other Haru complimented, taking a sip from her own cup, a satisfied sigh passing through her lips.

“I mean, the guy had help from a certified genius in the form of Futaba’s mom, after all,” Ren pointed out as he gently put down the mug of coffee in front of him, “Wakaba helped a lot with perfecting the stuff Sojiro currently makes… although, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d discover some special coffee tricks himself.”

“Yes well, I’ve actually arranged with him some hours in Leblanc, where he’d promise to teach me some of his coffee making skills,” other Haru said, and Haru could have sworn the sinking feeling came back with more intensity.

“Oh, stealing my job now, aren’t we?” Ren jokes, and other Haru laughs, waving her hand sheepishly. Haru’s own breaths grew heavier.

“Of course not, Ren,” other Haru giggles, “But it’s certainly a good experience to gain for running my cafe. Sojiro-san is kind, patient, and has good experience with running Leblanc, so I personally think it’s appropriate to be guided by him.”

“Well, good luck.” Ren said, taking another sip from his coffee mug, “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“Thank you!” the other Haru smiled as she took another sip from her cup, “I know I’ll sound quite absurd, but I’m so thankful that you’re so supportive of me opening my cafe. It brings me with joy knowing that I have a friend like you.”

“It’s really no problem, Haru,” Ren said, yet Haru felt otherwise with another pang of dread and stress  echoed in her chest, “I want to see all my friends succeed, and last time I checked you’re one of my friends, unless of course there’s a fight or betrayal of trust I missed the memo of participating in,”

“Ren!” other Haru gasps and Ren casually laughs at her shocked reaction.

“I’m just kidding of course,” he winks, taking a sip of coffee, earning a giggle and a hushed, playful scold from the other Haru, yet Haru could feel inside her heart that it was anything but.

The two continued to talk amongst another, Haru quietly both Ren and her past self as they chatted about all sorts of things, absentmindedly consuming the various delectable treats as they did so. It was when the other Haru gasped did they both realise that they'd run out of sweets to eat. The other Haru stood up from her seat, Ren looking at her with a perplexed expression.

"I'm thinking of grabbing more treats for myself," she said, "The Wilton hotel does have the nicest desserts don't you think? I'm thinking of getting some more of their crumpets, they go well with the jam they provide. What about you, Ren? Would you like anything?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Ren said, smiling at the other Haru. With a nod of understanding and a hushed 'I'll be back' the other Haru quietly wandered away from the table, and it was the first time Haru herself could see Ren noticeably relax in his seat, the smile he wore flattening into a tired frown.

She grimaces, the suffocating feeling coming back now full force within Haru as Ren stared off into the distance, his fingers rhythmically tapping the gleaming surface of the dining table he was sat at. It was a feeling of aimless dread, the feeling that Haru was acquainted with, welling up inside of her from nights staring up at her ceiling, miserable as she had no tangible control of her life as she was used as a people by her father, then again as she was suddenly thrust upon with the responsibilities of managing an entire corporation without so much of an ounce of experience or help. She remembers the dizzying feeling of being so lost with what to do, aimless and stressed and drowning in her emotions, and she remembers Ren being the one who helped her overcome the thoughts of doubts and self-loathing that came with such a huge responsibility of planning her future.

So why was she feeling this all over again? Unless…

"I'm back, sorry I took so long." other Haru apologises as she puts down her plate of treats, Ren sitting back up in his seat and smiling at her, yet Haru could now see his expression was less vibrant than before, "Some vanilla sponge cake caught my eye while I was helping myself with the crumpets, and I was deciding whether to further indulge myself or to take what I wanted, which I ended up doing of course,"

"Shame to that sponge cake," Ren said jokingly, "Left alone in the cruel world, never to be eaten by someone as sweet as it, oh the tragedy!"

"Haha, I'm sure someone will save it from this cruel world," other Haru played along, gently cutting one of the crumpets on her plate into two, "Unrelated to our conversation on sweets, but how have you been doing recently?"

Haru felt herself choke at the question, yet Ren still wore his cheery expression.

"Other than applying for universities, nothing really major," Ren said casually, and Haru felt another well of stress rising from her chest, "I really want to go to a good culinary school, but I'm also looking at drama schools as well, not that they'd accept me, but I'm hoping at least,"

"Drama? I didn't know you were interested in drama. When did this happen, Ren?" other Haru said, and Ren smiled at her.

"When I was applying, I remembered my time as Joker," he explained, his voice now hushed, yet Haru could hear him just as clearly as if the surrounding noise quieted in volume around her, "I… I really enjoyed how free I felt, and though I love cooking more than anything, I… I really want to relive that feeling, I want to be Joker again, I guess is what I'm saying, even joined the drama club as soon as I got back to Yasogami High. A lot of my friends there were shocked by the sudden change of interests almost, but I guess I never knew I had that side within me until then, haha,"

"Well, I'm sure you'll do great," other Haru said reassuringly, and all of a sudden Haru felt… doubt creep out her throat, "You're a strong and determined person Ren, I'm sure whatever you put your mind to, you'll do great!"

Though Haru knew her words of encouragement to her friend were genuine, hearing them again while alien feelings churned around her heart felt disingenuous, fake, lacking any warmth as her past self took a bite out of the crumbling pastry, "And if you need any help, I'll be here for you okay?"

Ren could not help but force a smile, and Haru felt so alone as Ren replied a small, forceful, polite "okay" to the other Haru.

---

Light consumed her vision once more, and Haru found herself back in the Empress Theatre atop the polished, wooden stage, the bright spotlight shining down upon her as she rose from her knees. She looked around the stage, seeing only herself, not even Joker who had mysteriously disappeared, likely wandering within the depths of the backstage to investigate while she was trapped in her trial.

Grabbing her axe that lay beside her, Haru noticed a peculiar object that she had not seen before. It lay in front of her, edges gleaming beautifully in the light, and she recognised it as her mask.

“Is that…” she exclaimed in bewilderment, quickly touching her face to see that yes, she did still have her mask on. She pushed herself off the floor, picking up the handle of her axe before approaching the object, grabbing it off the floor.

It was a perfect replica of her mask, down to the soft bend where it settled on the ridge of her nose. It felt light, yet fragile, Haru marvelling at the craftsmanship down to the stitching on the edges, the material shone slickly as she tilted it around, taking a closer look.

She heard familiar heels clicking gently on the polished floor, turning around to see Joker, his golden eyes looking quizzically at hers as he walked towards the thief, hands in his pockets, his coat flapping lazily in time with the sway of his steps.

“So, you’ve gotten a key,” he informed her, looking at the black mask in her hands.

“To the Fool’s Theatre, right?” she asked him, and Joker nods, smiling proudly at her achievement.

“You did great, Noir!” he smiled at her, and Haru smiled in return. She pocketed the mask before she turned to leave the stage, yet when she made her way towards the stairs Joker gently grabbed her arm.

“Joker, what’s the matter?” she asked, slightly startled by his abrupt action. Joker pulled his hand away from her, a look of intensity in his eyes before they wandered from her own down towards her hand that clutched the mask.

“Why don’t you put it on?” he said, before meeting her gaze again, his tone assertive, not really asking her but rather demanding her to put on the strange object. Haru’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Why would I do that?” she asked, puzzled by Joker’s peculiar suggestion, tilting her head slightly, “Is it something I have to do in addition to-”

“No, that’s not it.” Joker admitted. He looked hesitant, constantly shifting from one leg to another, looking down at the floor as he tried to find the right words to convey his thoughts.

“It’s just...” he began, his voice trailed off along with his gaze. They both snapped suddenly back towards her, “Aren’t you tired of being Haru?”

“I… I don’t understand,” Haru replied, taken aback by his strange question, “What do you mean, tired of being me’? I don’t think I can ever be tired of being ‘me’ if I’m always ‘me’ so to say,”

“I meant, are you tired of being Haru?” he clarified, “tired of the responsibilities, tired of having to hide your true self, tired of having to suppress your feelings, tired of having to force yourself to smile, to pretend, to please everyone? Don’t you want to be free of it all?”

He pointed at the mask she held beside her, “All you have to do is wear that mask, Haru. If you do, you’ll be able to finally be free.”

Haru felt uncomfortable. She couldn’t fathom why Joker would suggest such a thing to her, stepping back in almost fear, his words settling a feeling of unease in her stomach.

“I’ll be free?” she asked, yet she feared she knew what he was suggesting. Joker stepped towards her, his eyes transfixed onto hers, his expression unreadable, and Haru could feel her heart thump loudly, ringing in her ears.

“Put on the mask, Haru,” Joker insisted, his tone demanding, expecting her to do what she was told to, “Put it on. Become Noir,” he said, “Leave Haru behind,”

“Joker, you’re scaring me,” Haru squeaked, again backing away from the shadow, her grip on her axe tightening, ready to defend herself if she absolutely had to. Yet Joker did not deter from his goal. He still pursued her, his pace quickened to match the fleeing girl, and Haru felt herself on the precipice of hysterics.

“Put. On. The. Mask. Haru.” Joker demanded, his calm, polite facade dissipated, the shadow from under his mask overcasting his eyes, taking one large stride across the gap between to loom over her, “Do it, Haru. Do it!”

“No,” she mumbled, and Joker looked at her, confused.

“What?”

“I said,” she began, her voice rising, her fear evaporating, the anger in which she wielded against shadows in the Metaverse coming to her aid once more. She eyed Joker, the same defiant look he had taught her to embrace when she rebelled against her father and her unwanted fiancé, the same call to action she had felt when she had first fully awoken to her Persona now buzzed within her fingertips, “I said, no! You might be Ren’s shadow, but you are not Ren! You’re an ugly part of him, one that could grow, and fester unchecked! I don’t care if you call yourself, Joker. You are not him! You will never be him! And I will never take orders from you!”

“But, Noir!” Joker pleaded, shifting once more into his polite facade, “I’m trying to free you! To give you a better existence! To exist unchained by society! Why are you throwing this opportunity to truly live as you are!? If you join me, you and I and the others would enjoy a perfect world where we rule it. Don't you want that?!”

" I don't want to, because,” she now shouted, politeness and kindness towards the shadow replaced with scorn and fury, regaining her footing against Joker as she stood up tall, axe now at the ready, feeling Lucy pulsating within her as her Persona itched for a fight, “I’m already living as my true self, as me! You should know, Joker. It was you - no - Ren, who showed me that, showed me that I can live and exist as myself, both around my friends and in society! I don’t need to exist as Noir, because Noir is me and I am her! And your "perfect world" idea? It goes against everything we, as Noir and Haru, and as the Phantom Thieves, stand for, and you know it yourself!”

The mask in her hand suddenly began to shake violently in her grip, Haru gasped as it fell out of her grasp and onto the floor, shattering into pieces.

“No!” both shrieked as the mask shattered, shards of black spilling across the stage. Before either of them could utter a word, the pieces began to vibrate erratically on their own before erupting into dark tendrils that rose into the air. They congregate together, swirling into a ball of black before morphing into a silhouette. Suddenly, as quick as it appeared the silhouette shed the shadow that formed it to reveal a Kali.

“Haru!” Joker gasped, yet Haru ignored him completely, running towards the shadow with a battle cry, both of her hands gripping tightly on her axe as she swung it with her entire strength. Kali blocked Haru’s attack with ease with the use of its swords, pushing Haru away, the girl stumbling back on the wooden floor, yet she managed to regain her footing, taking a fighting stance once more.

“Haru, stop!” Joker begged as Haru continued to fight the shadow, yet she did not heed his words, instead continuing her assault towards the shadow. Joker attempted to step between the shadow and the girl yet stopped when Haru reached for her mask.

“Lucy!” she shouted, ripping her mask off her face, summoning her Persona in an eruption of blue flame, casting Life Wall on herself as the Kali charged towards her, Joker desperately trying to find an opening to intervene, yet the gap between them closed too quickly. The Kali took a swing, the strength of its strike immediately bouncing off the magical wall that Haru put over herself and striking the shadow instead, and the girl used the opportunity provided to take out her grenade launcher before blasting the shadow back completely.

“Noir, what are you doing!?” Joker growled at her, yet Haru paid little attention as she raised her axe, and before the shadow could react, let alone flee, she brought her blade down upon it, killing it.

“No!” Joker shrieked as the Kali dissipated from the stage, leaving a crystalline version of the mask behind, clutching his hair as he stared at the object, eyes wide and panicked, “No no no no no!”

“W... what?” Haru mumbled, blinking rapidly as she calmed down, withdrawing her axe to her side as she saw the crystal mask on the wooden floor. It had the same shape, but it now appeared crystalline, its colour purple like the gloves she currently wore. She approached the masked and crouched down looking at it curiously, yet she dared not touch it.

“Joker, w-”

“You ruined everything!” Joker screamed as he stomped on the floor, tears forming around the corners of his eyes, enraged as he looked at Haru with hatred, “My prop… my precious prop… I spent so long preparing it, making sure it would do what I wanted; I even had to ruin my statue, only for you to destroy it!”

Haru flinched each time Joker raised his voice, her sudden burst of adrenaline from the Kali fight, the drain from her trial and the uncharacteristic tantrum Joker was throwing left her kneeling on the floor, too stunned and exhausted from her trial and fight to do anything but watch as he complained incessantly about his plans. He reached into his hair, intertwining his fingers around his curly locks, mumbling frantically, and Haru could just hear him talk to himself.

“Ruined… ruined… the key… the script… fuck...” he muttered, Haru straining to hear him through her frantic heartbeat. She reached slowly for the crystal mask that lay beside her, gently brushing the smooth surface with her fingertips before she grabbed it. As she did so, Joker snapped to attention and saw the mask in her hands.

“Haru,” Joker warned, hands dropping to his sides, staring at her with a blank expression, yet his eyes followed the mask obsessively, “What are you doing?”

“I’m… I’m taking the mask,” Haru said, her voice hesitant as she stood up from the floor, Joker’s gaze still following the object.

“Hah, you are, aren’t you?” he snarled, scowling with hatred as he looked at her, golden eyes radiating hatred towards Haru, “Ruining my plans, my production, just like that? Hah, I expected nothing less...”

“Joker, please stop this-”

“No!” he screamed, and Haru jumped, her breath lurching as he laughed maniacally in restrained gasps, holding his head in his hands as he closed his eyes, “Why, why would I stop? I want to achieve my goal, Haru, something you can relate to correct? After all, I was the one who helped you gather the courage to attend that stupid Okumura Foods meeting to launch your dream in opening your little cafe,”

He raised his head to look at her, “So why did you ruin mine?”

“Joker-”

“I know why,” he started, again walking towards her, his chin held high, his grin bearing teeth as he looked down at her, “It’s because you like to ruin things, don’t you, Haru?”

“I-”

“Taking Morgana away from us, always whining about the father who treated you to an end. By the way,” he pondered for a moment, tapping his chin with a finger in mock thought, “that guy you were supposed to get married with, Sugimura. Whatever happened to him?”

“I managed-”

“-to call off the marriage, I figured as much.” Joker smiled, causing Haru further unease, “To think you’d be able to do something on your own. Never thought you’d be even capable of something like that-”

“Joker,” Haru interrupted, and Joker stopped his rant as she slowly got up to her feet, “Ren… why are you saying all of this!? What are you talking about!? What’s gotten into you?”

Joker flinched visibly at her calling his real name, as if remembering that it was indeed his own name, and he wore a sour expression.

“Why do you want to know?” he spat at her, eyes narrowing in contempt as he addressed her.

“Because, this is unlike you,” Haru said, walking slowly towards him, expression sincere and kind as she spoke, “This is not the kind, understanding, supportive leader that I got to know. Ren...”

“Then you really don’t know me at all, do you?” he chuckled dryly, shaking his head in almost disbelief, “Haru; there’s so much you don’t know about me, yet you trust me? Why?”

“Well… why wouldn’t I?” Haru asked, genuinely confused as he continued to chuckle to himself.

“I know why,” he said, “Because you are an idiot. An airheaded, spoiled idiot that wormed her way into our friend group. If it weren’t for your father, we wouldn’t have to deal with Sae, I wouldn’t have to play bait just to get back at Akechi, and we wouldn’t have to deal with the scathing backlash, only to be forgotten like just some…. Some cultural FAD!”

Each word Joker said raised his voice until he was screaming at her, and each word caused Haru to become more and more upset as Joker assaulted her with his voice, echoing across the walls of the empty hall, until Joker was huffing, a hand over his forehead, almost heaving with exhaustion, and Haru attempted to reach out for him, only for Joker to swat her hand.

“Don’t” Joker managed to gasp as he suddenly felt dizzy, the same surge of power and energy he felt when first confronting his other that boggled his mind even further. ‘Why was this happening now?’ he asked himself as he eyed Haru with malice, while the curly-haired girl looked at him with horror; worry even.

“Just go,” he growled, his words only bringing more power to his veins, Joker trying to restrain the groans that bubbled up his throat, opting instead to huddle further towards the stage floor. Haru did not know what to do. She wanted to help, eyes widened with panic as to her, Joker’s condition continued to worsen, yet a small part of her feared retribution from the shadow if she tried to help him once again.

“Joker, are you-”

“LEAVE ME.” Joker screeched; his voice boomed in unnatural volume as the walls shook violently. Haru yelped as the power surges continued in Joker’s veins, him now unable to contain himself, uttering a groan of pleasure. He looked up from his curled position to still see Haru looking at him with worry, and with another boom, he shouted, “LEAVE”.

And Haru did. There was first hesitation in her steps, but she obeyed his request, turning and running from the stage and out of the auditorium as the petals from the flowers around her shed their petals at horrifyingly unnatural speeds, leaves shrivelling up and dying, falling towards the now running, scared girl as she swore her surroundings were collapsing around her, and Joker could not help but cackle behind her at the sight of her fleeing before he hastily retreated behind the back of the stage.

---

 “What do you think they’re doing in there anyway?” Ryuji sighed, leaning back at his seat as he bounced his leg impatiently.

The rest of the Phantom Thieves sat in the booth, waiting for Haru and Joker to emerge with the mask, eager to continue with their pursuit deeper into the Palace. Some occupied themselves, Futaba typing away on her laptop, trying to ignore the detective clad in black in front of her, while Yusuke lightly sketched the Palace interior in a little notebook. However, most of them did not have such objects to distract themselves as they waited, Ryuji finding it increasingly annoying that he couldn’t connect to the Internet while in the Metaverse, Ann absentmindedly flicked through the little program Joker provided them over and over again, while Makoto and Morgana discussed their next plan of action.

“I dunno, when they’re done, I guess,” Futaba answered “I’m trying to see if I can hack into anything that’ll give us a view as to what is happening inside. Hopefully, there are cameras and a network feed of some kind that I can easily hack into,”

“And what about Senpai?” Sumire asked Futaba, who looked up from her laptop to address her.

“He’s okay,” Futaba answered, “I’ve set up some signals to track his vitals and location. Though nothing’s major’s happening now, I’ve set up alerts if there is a change in either his location or condition,”

“I doubt that any real harm would come to him,” Goro informs, and Futaba scows.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, bird brain,” she seethed in a hushed tone, Goro acting like he hadn’t heard or cared for what she said as Goro continued, “Whoever or whatever has Ren needs him alive to continue to exist of course; their existence is too intertwined with his wellbeing, and any disruption to that can cause serious harm to either the Palace or it,”

“And what do you suppose this ‘thing’ that has Ren, is? A rogue cognition?” Yusuke said, entering the conversation as he put his small sketchbook down onto the table. Goro hesitates, his tongue pressing against the roof of his mouth.

“I-”

“It’s probably some rogue shadow or whatever, maybe a cog’ of his parents since they’re really strict towards Ren,” Ryuji interrupts Goro, “Nothing to worry about, we can probably take them on easy, especially with Joker on our side,”

“I wasn’t going to say-”

“Guys cut it out and stop bullying Crow,” Ann scolded both Futaba and Ryuji, “I know we have our differences and stuff, but we need all the help we can get if we’re gonna save Ren. That also means no interrupting and name-calling, okay?”

“I didn’t call him names,”

“And I didn’t interrupt him!” Both Ryuji and Futaba defended themselves, Goro sighing at the bickering thieves, barely expecting them to allow him to speak at all, retreating away from them to see Yusuke and Sumire still intently holding their attention towards him.

“So, what do you think it is, Crow?” Yusuke inquires politely, Sumire looking as though she has the same question in mind. Goro looks away from the both for a moment, trying to word his thoughts.

“Well, I don’t think you’ll like it either way,” he began, his gaze still distant and thoughtful, red eyes looking at the double doors as he allows himself to ponder for a moment, “I still don’t have any evidence myself, but. I distrust the shadow that roams here,”

“You mean Joker?” Sumire asked, and Goro nodded in response, “But why, Crow-senpai?”

“I’m not one to question gut feelings, but why do you suspect his shadow?” Yusuke queried Goro, “He’s been doing nothing but helping us so far. The shadow is the true self is it not? If Joker is acting kind, can’t we suspect that he is kind in turn?”

“I don’t want to appear as being crass but: I have a feeling that Joker’s hiding things from you all,”

Everyone within earshot stopped abruptly with their prior conversations, Makoto and Morgana pausing from their discussion, Ann interrupted from her scolding of Ryuji and Futaba, all of them turning to face Goro in stunned silence, some with their mouths agape.

“Joker’s… lying to us?” Ann questioned Goro carefully, eyes unnaturally wide under her mask, “A-are you sure!?”

“Are you sure about that?” Ryuji interrogated Goro, leaning forward, looking at him with suspicion, “I mean, we are his friends, and we’ve known him way longer than you,”

“Yes, I know,” Goro gasped quickly, “But I have an uneasy feeling that he’s lying to you a-”

“Joker would never lie to us,” Futaba snapped at him angrily, the thieves flinching as she hissed at Goro with such uncharacteristic anger and boldness, “He would never! You’re just, just trying to get us to not trust him, aren’t you?!”

“Oracle, I-”

“No, you shut up, this is Ren we’re talking about,” Futaba hissed, her hands curling into fists as she glared at Goro under her goggles, “He would never lie to us! He would never! You don’t know him! You tried to kill him!”

“Futaba-”

“Shu-”

The Palace abruptly trembled, the chandeliers above rattled violently, vases shattering, cognitive patrons screaming as the Phantom Thieves sprang from their seats, with a quick order from Makoto, they all dived under the small table as their surroundings shook.

“What’s going on?!” Ann cried out as she tried her best to retreat underneath the table, pulling Ryuji in as he clumsily fell forward, “Why is the Palace shaking?!”

“I don’t know, but I do know that something’s happening to Ren,” Futaba informs them, voice barely audible shaking from the tremors and her fear as her laptop beeps noisily in her lap.

“Oracle, what’s wrong!?” Sumire screamed as the tremors worsened, Futaba scrambling to look at her laptop, typing away at the keyboard as her eyes darted around the screen.

“It’s Ren!” she replied, “I don’t know what’s happening to him, but-”

Haru stumbles out from the double doors, her expression one of haste and panic, and fast as the tremors came the Palace suddenly stood still. The cowering Phantom Thieves paused as Haru fell onto the carpeted floor in a daze, lying on her side and breathing heavily, clutching her axe alongside an object in her hands. One they suspected that the reason why the quake that had hit the Palace had passed, they each emerged from under the table, excluding Futaba, who was still working away on her laptop.

“Noir! Haru, are you okay?!” Morgana exclaims as he rushes towards the fallen girl, paws glittering with green healing magic, ready to aid her, “What happened in there?! Where’s Joker?!”

“Joker...” Haru mumbles, her expression downcast at the mention of their missing friend, her eyes fixated on the carpet floor, her fingers curling with reflex. She closed her eyes temporarily, feeling suddenly, very, very tired, and she could physically feel bags forming under her eyes.

“Haru, what’s wrong?” Ann asked the girl, too occupied with worrying about her friend’s help to use their allocated codenames, swooping down to her level, kneeling alongside Morgana on the carpeted floor, “You look tired, take it easy okay?”

Haru slowly nods, as if the gesture was a Herculean task on its own, acknowledging Ann’s words as she allowed herself to be assisted by the red-wearing girl. Ann approached Haru, sliding an arm around her back, slinging Haru’s arm around her neck before lifting her up by the shoulders.

“Haru, I’m sorry if I agitate you further, but may I inquire about the glittering object you’re holding in your grasp?” Yusuke asked, pointing at the shiny purple object in the hand that slung around Ann’s shoulders.

“Just… take it,” Haru slurred, her eyes fluttering as she struggled to stay awake, her energy quickly draining as she stood there, “Please, I feel...”

Yusuke nodded, catching the crystalline object as Haru dropped it, Ryuji running by her side, helping Ann up as Haru looked as though she was about to lose consciousness, her skin flushing white.

“Is that?” Sumire gasps as Yusuke observes what he assumed to be a key Joker mentioned earlier, “Is that Noir’s mask?”

“Whatever it is, it’s definitely a key,” Futaba said, having already scanned the object in their hands with Al Azif, “It’s resonating with the door on the topmost floor, no doubt the same one that leads to the Fool’s Theatre,”

“While I do want to discuss additional things, I suggest we first get Noir out of here,” Makoto commands the others, “She is in no fighting condition, and if we were faced with another ambush like we did earlier, with Joker missing, we would be in an especially vulnerable position,”

“But, Ren-”

“We can’t go on, Skull,” Makoto shakes her head, “As much as I want to rush ahead in order to save Ren, we need to let Noir rest and regather her strength. We have plenty of time, Ren is a strong person, and we can strategize what to do next back in the real world, but for now, we need to retreat, okay?”

Ryuji opens his mouth to argue, a force look burned in his eyes, yet when he looked at Makoto’s stern, uncompromising expression he closed his mouth. He visibly winced, attempting to argue with their leader, but when he looked upon Haru’s pale, sickly face he realised that Makoto had a point.

“Okay, Queen,” he sighed defeatedly, before gesturing to Ann to follow him out of the Palace. She nodded, and while carefully supporting Haru they made their way down the stairs towards the grand foyer.

“As for the mask,” she turns to the rest of the thieves that remained in the Metaverse, “Oracle and Mona, you should hold onto the mask for the time being since you’re close to the meetup spot. I’m sure Skull and Panther would escort Noir back home just fine. As for the rest of you, we’ll discuss our next meeting session when Noir feels better and regains her strength, and Oracle and Crow; please stay behind for a bit, I need to discuss possible methods of communication between us all, if that’s okay,”

Futaba and Morgana nod in agreement, Yusuke handing the object to the girl as he leaves, Sumire giving the remaining thieves a tiny wave as they both exit the Palace.

“You aren’t leaving, Mona?” Futaba questions the cat, noticing him standing vigilantly between her and Goro.

He gives a nod and a smile. “I made a promise to Ren that if anything were to happen to him, I would be there to protect you,” he explained, Futaba giving him a puzzled look, “I mean, he didn’t, but he implied it, and that’s good enough for me,”

“Anyway,” Makoto coughed, grabbing the attention of all three of them, “Oracle, how easy is it for you to make sure our chats and calls are secure?”

  --

  The foyer of the top floor was empty compared to the rest of the building, no cognitions of people or ushers holding shadows alike wandered along the red-carpeted floor of the foyer in front of the most important auditorium in the Palace: the Fool’s Theatre.

Two red doors stood vigilant, surrounded by smooth black walls of marble, veins of gold running through the stone as red curtains hung along it, potted plants sprouting tall, green shrubs sparsely decorated the room, a golden chandelier hung in the middle, glittering beautifully in the surrounding light.

Joker emerged from the elevators that hugged the wall next to the stairs, hands casually in his pockets, having escaped the Empress Theatre he made his way back into his own. He strides across the room with long steps towards the doors, grabbing its golden handle, yet paused to inspect the velvet that decorated them. Cavities that held the keys to the theatre, won by the trials all the thieves had to face stayed empty, Joker brushing a gloved hand to where Haru’s mask would have been slotted in, before pulling the door open, it obeying its rightful master and allowed him entry, the lights of the auditorium shuttering dramatically to life.

Bathed in golden luminosity, the interior of his beloved hall glittered wonderfully in his eyes. Black, pristine leather seats lined each row along with red carpet decorated in a faint checkered pattern, golden walls and columns accenting the room and balconies, leading up to the beautiful mural that reminisced Yusuke's interpretation of Desire and Hope, brought to life as colours swirled and shifted and radiated above the grand, obsidian chandelier that dangled below it. He made his way down among the row of seats, his footsteps padded on the carpet, and with one quick motion he shot out his grappling hook, zipping across the air, before landing perfectly onto the wooden performance space.

Retracting the grappling hook and tucking his hands casually in his pockets, Joker retreated under the towering, black and gold curtains of the stage as he headed towards his dressing room.

The door to his sanctuary was located at the end of the otherwise bleak hallway, the red velvet shining against blank white doors, his name on a star-shaped door plate made of gold. He reached for the doorknob, twisting it, a soft ‘click’ echoing in the hallway as he pushed it open.

His dressing room was as luxurious as the theatre it was housed in, red and blacks decorated each crevice, white and gold accenting countertops and tables and door edges, expensive platters of food, bottles of drink, and electronics scattered across the room, all with a marble floor, gold veins accenting cracks between the rock. In the middle room, a black leather seat faced a large screen TV that was nestled comfortably within the wall, two beautifully velvet lined doors stood next to each other, leading to his bedroom and ‘office’ respectively. Closing the door behind him, Joker ignored all the temptations surrounding him completely, instead wandering towards the back of the room, where a single door lay forgotten, untouched by the same opulence which adorned its surroundings. A gloved hand on the doorknob, he twisted, flinging it open with gusto, flooding the dark monitor room with light.

“Bonjour mon invité, je suis de retour!” he called, laughing as he reached for Ren’s chair, grabbing it before he spun around to his other’s scow, Ren’s face illuminated by artificial, flickering lights. Ren did not reply, he did not want to give the satisfaction that he knew his shadow craved, yet Joker noticed his glistening wet cheeks, taking upon himself to inspect Ren’s face by suddenly grabbing his chin, his other’s eyes astonished as Joker inspected him.

“Ren, what happened to you?” Joker cooed, yet his tone lacked any real concern or warmth as he tilted Ren’s head, inspecting the glistening streaks of tears on his face, “Why did you cry? Do my plays not bring you joy?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ren hissed as he jerked his head away from Joker’s grasp, feeling more disgusted and sicker the closer his shadow got to him, “Don’t touch me, don’t you dare touch me,”

Joker withdrew his hand back at Ren’s sudden outburst, feigning surprise at Ren’s rebellious attitude towards him, “I’m safe to assume that your tears are the result of the performances I put on for you, or perhaps from me interacting with your friends?”

“Whatever your plan is, leave them out of it,” Ren fumed, pulling on the restraints that bounded his hands, “They’ve got nothing to do with this place. I’m clearly the one you want, and I suspect you’d want to keep it that way,”

“I do,” Joker muses, “But I also want them. You see, Ren, I’ve clearly invited them here, not to steal your heart, but to save them from themselves, from this Hellish society that we all live in-”

“And you’re doing that by insulting them and brainwashing them?”

“I… didn’t mean to say those things to Haru,” Joker confessed, “But she left me no choice. If she wasn’t going to join us, I had to drive her out, I had to push her away, so she wouldn’t interfere with us, you understand right? I know you do, because you’re me,”

“I’m not you,” Ren spat, though he knew deep down his shadow was right, the words he uttered to Haru were his, thoughts he kept deep within his heart, yet he tried anyway to deny the manifestation of his darkest thoughts and feelings around him, “I’m not you,” he cried, “I’m not you,”

“But I am you,” Joker said plainly, raising his neck above to look down on Ren, both to dominate and to allow him to accommodate the intoxicating surge of power that again surged his veins, “I am thou, and I will see my - our - plan to its conclusion. Because you know why,”

“Because-”

“Because I get things done.” Joker stated, interrupting Ren as he snarled with superiority, “I always get things done. You. You get nothing done. I always do, I will succeed in our plan, I will see my play come to its intended conclusion, and I WILL get our friends to our side, so we can finally get what we deserve,”

“You won’t, because the others will stop you,” Ren said, though he quickly knew he was losing his argument the further Joker’s amused grin twitched wider, “They’ll save me, they’ll change my heart, they’ll-”

Ren choked a sob, Joker’s eyes widened abruptly, and the shadow stumbled back, clutching the red fabric of his waistcoat tightly, crashing into the wall behind him as he gasped.

It was another surge, more powerful than before, Joker groaned as his head spun, dizzying sensations clutched his consciousness as his eyesight blurred, tears welling up the corners of his eyes, and he could feel his heart twist in his chest. It was the same feeling he’d experience with Haru, the same sensations he felt taunting his other, yet as he looked at the horrified expression Ren had on his face with forgotten tears freshly streaking his face did he finally realise where these sensations came from.

Joker laughed as the surge fizzled away as fast as it had arrived as he sat on the floor, lying against the wall as he looked at Ren who was dumbfounded by what he just had witnessed. Joker allowed himself to relax before he clambered back onto his feet, the surge leaving him a shaky mess as he supported himself with a hand on the wall. He took a minute for himself gathering his breaths as he slumped against the wall, all the while Ren observed him with perplexed, fearful eyes.

“Hah, what a revelation,” Joker exclaimed breathlessly, straightening his posture and turning to Ren, “To think we learned something about the Metaverse during our chats, and I thought Mona had told us everything,”

“You’re insane, you really are,”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t describe myself as such,” Joker shrugged, “Then again, I’m-”

“Don’t say it,”

“Then don’t make me,” Joker laughs before turning towards the exit, a hand resting on the doorknob, “Anyway, I’ll make sure to get you some water so you don’t dehydrate yourself, and in something that you can’t easily smash or use to spill onto the controls,” he added, “I’m not an idiot.”

With his last remark, Joker closed the door behind him, leaving Ren alone with the numerous screens, some of them empty, some of them with plays that played repeatedly, and some of them looping footage of Haru’s saddened expression, of his friends, fighting and bickering. He closed his eyes, trying to drown the incessant chatter that surrounded him.

But he had hope. Hope for his friends in reaching him, hope that he was able to hold his sanity together, hope that they’d change his heart, that they’ll persevere, that they’ll be able to fight through whatever his twisted Palace had in store for them, and whatever Joker had prepared for them.

Because, he knew he had to, or allow his twisted heart to consume him entirely.

FLOWER MEANINGS Sunflower - Respect, Passionate Love, Radiance. Iris - Good News,Glad Tidings, Loyalty Gentle - Gentle. Daffodil - Respect. Carnation - Fascination, Distinction, and Love Anemone - Protection from evil, Forsaken, Expectations. White Rose - Innocence, Silence, Devotion. Narcissus - Self-Esteem Cyclamen and Sweet Pea - Resignation, Good-bye. Lotus -  Purity, Chastity. Marigold - Grief, Despair, Jealousy / God’s Perfect Light. Red Spider Lily - Never to meet again, Lost memory, Abandonment TRANSLATE Bonjour mon invité, je suis de retour - Hello my guest, I have returned.

[440mxs-wife]

You Say It’s Your Birthday

March 13th, Your birthday. When you turned the page for the calendar, you noticed that your birthday was going to fall on a Friday. Oh, great, you thought. Friday the 13th. Let's hope that it's smooth sailing and that the day doesn't live up to its "bad luck" reputation.

The morning of your birthday, you noticed that the bunker was unusually quiet. You looked around for a note, or some sign as to where the guys went, but didn't find anything. Probably went out on a hunt, you thought. Hope everything's okay.

You stumbled into the kitchen for some coffee. You could tell some had been made, because the aroma was still in the air. You went over to the coffee maker to pour yourself a cup, but noticed that there was none left in the pot. You replaced the empty pot and put your mug back in the cupboard.

Oh well, I guess I can do without coffee for one morning, you thought. I'll have some cereal. You opened the fridge only to find that you were out of milk. You closed the fridge door and sat down at the breakfast table. Usually, there is a loaf of bread or a bagel, but not this morning.

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. No coffee, no milk for cereal, can't even make toast. This was shaping up to be one fine birthday morning, you thought sarcastically. With a deep sigh, you pulled out a notebook and started to make a list of the supplies everyone would need for the next week or so.

After taking a quick shower, you got dressed and looked for your wallet. It had to be a quick one because there wasn't enough hot water for any longer of a shower. You found your wallet on your nightstand along with your car keys. You picked up your notebook with the list and headed to the garage, making sure to lock the door behind you.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Just after you left, Sam, Dean, Castiel and Jack all came back from an easy case, a simple salt-and-burn. The boys were trying to take Jack on some easy cases, since he had lost his powers. Cas was backup in case something went wrong.

The guys called out for you, but there was no answer. "That's weird," Dean said. "Wonder where she could be? I'll try her cell," he suggested. When he heard it ringing from inside your bedroom, he went on high alert. "She's supposed to have that with her at all times, what the hell is going on?" he snapped.

"Dean, calm down, maybe she just forgot to put it in her pocket. The fact that it's here doesn't automatically mean that something went wrong," Sam remarked.

"Yeah? It could mean that Crowley somehow got in here and whisked her away, or she took off in her car and got into an accident. She could've gotten herself locked in one of these rooms, it could mean any number of things!" Dean shouted.

"Perhaps we should just calmly wait for her here. Sam's right, there could be a perfectly simple and non-life-threatening explanation. I do not detect her presence here in the bunker, so we'll have to wait until she returns home," Cas replied.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About an hour later, you pulled back into the garage. Baby was parked in her usual spot, so you knew the boys were home, hopefully safe and sound. You grabbed some of the grocery bags, figuring you or someone else could go back for the rest. You threw open the door and as you got to the bottom of the spiral staircase, you felt four pairs of eyes on you. "What?" you asked warily as you looked to each of the men.

Dean made a beeline for the stairs and yanked the grocery bags from your hands. "So this is where you've been? Couldn't bother to leave us a note? And I thought we agreed for you to have your damn cell phone on you at all times!! You had me-us worried sick that something had happened to you! I can't believe how irresponsible you are!" he ranted.

"I'm--" you started.

"Save it. For the time being, you're on house arrest. That way we know where you are. You can stay behind and do research because you're not coming along on hunts. Guys, go get the rest of the groceries, I'll take these to the kitchen to be put away," Dean finished.

Head down, you followed Dean to the kitchen to start putting away the groceries. You started taking items out of the bags, separating them between fridge, freezer and pantry items. Sam, Cas and Jack brought in the rest of the bags, and you did the same with the other items. Soon everything was put away where it belonged. Peanut butter in the pantry, fruit in the basket and beer in the fridge.

After putting away the groceries, you sat down at the breakfast table and put your head in your hands. You hadn't meant to worry anyone, in fact you figured you'd be home before they were anyway.  One more way that today is fulfilling the Friday the 13th prophecy, you thought. Dean was so angry, and it was the first time that the brunt of it had been directed at you. He was right though, you should've left a note, made sure you had your phone on you before you left. As a hunter, you always had to be on your guard.

You went to the library to do some reading, hoping it would take your mind off of what a rotten birthday it's been so far. You picked up your book from where you left it on the table and settled into a corner of the couch, because your favorite chair was taken. You opened the book but for some reason, you kept staring straight ahead, not reading a word.

"What's the matter with you?" Dean muttered.

You slammed your book closed and glared at Dean. "I don't really feel like telling you, Dean. So drop it," you retorted.

Dean looked up from his project, trying to read your facial expression. "Well, you're in a mood. What is it, that time of the month?" he asked. You heard audible gasps from Sam, Cas and Jack, who all knew Dean had crossed a line.

"Let's see. I woke up to an empty bunker, because you all had left. I didn't find any note either, come to think of it, but I figured you were on a hunt. I remember thinking that I hoped everything was okay," you answered. "There was no coffee left in the pot, no milk left in the fridge for me to have cereal, no bread or bagels for toast. Not enough hot water for a decent length shower. Then I do the unthinkable and go on a supply run," you continued.

"Now wait a minute--" he interrupted.

"I'm not finished. Only I forgot to leave a note or take my cell phone with me, which caused great unrest in the house of Winchester. As a result, I get put on 'lockdown' without an opportunity to defend myself, which is what I'm doing right now. Spare me the lecture, Dean. Friday the 13th is bad luck enough as it is. If you're going to yell at me, though, please wait until tomorrow when it's not my birthday anymore!" you concluded. You rose from your place on the couch and went to your room, tears threatening.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Wait, today's her birthday? Why didn't she say anything?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, but it's still her birthday, we should do something for her," Jack suggested. "She does so much for us every day, the least we could do is help her to celebrate her birthday."

"I agree with Jack," Cas replied. "What can we do, what are her favorite things?"

"We can run into town and get some Chinese food. That's usually her go-to when she's feeling upset," Sam offered.

"Her favorite rock group is Queen, and I know there were a couple of T-shirts she was looking at last week when we were out," Jack mentioned.

"She loves to read, so maybe she would like a gift card from the bookstore?" Cas suggested.

Sam, Jack and Cas all looked at Dean, because he had yet to chime in. "I suppose I owe her an apology, for starters. I'll run into town and pick up the stuff you guys mentioned, then add something from me," he remarked.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of hours later, you carefully opened your door to see if anyone was around. You didn't hear much noise, so you figured they'd all gone out again. You put on your robe, then gathered up your towel and clothes. You wandered down the halls to the room where you'd found the large and inviting bathtub while exploring one day.

As the water ran nice and warm, you added a peach blossom bath bomb to it and watched it fizz. Once the tub was filled at the proper level, you carefully lowered yourself into the water. You leaned back and closed your eyes in relaxation, letting the day's earlier memories drain away from you.

After no less than twenty minutes had gone by, you were sufficiently relaxed, so you got out of the tub. You dried off your body, then pulled on undergarments, your pajama pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. You went to your room to hang up your robe and towel, then put on your slippers.

You decided to try reading again, now that you were more relaxed, and you thought it may help you fall asleep. You became concerned when all the lights were off, so you called out to Sam, Dean, Cas and Jack.

All of a sudden, you hear, "SURPRISE!!" and all of the house lights came back up, with the boys standing around a table. Sitting on the table was a birthday cake with lit candles, and brightly colored gift bags. Tears sprang to your eyes when you realized the effort they had put into helping you celebrate your birthday. Especially given how it had gone up to that point.

"Guys, thank you. I'm sorry about earlier. I should've---" you started.

"Never mind that for now, time to celebrate your birthday!" Sam exclaimed. "You should probably blow out the candles, since they're dripping wax on the birthday cake," he grinned.

"Make a wish," Dean said softly. You closed your eyes, thought of a wish, then you blew out all the candles in one breath. Everyone cheered and suggested you open your gifts.

The first gift you opened was a big red bag from Sam, and inside was Chinese food from your favorite restaurant in town. "Aww, thank you, Sam! These guys make the best egg rolls, you have to try some!" you exclaimed as you passed around the container with the egg rolls in them.

The next gift bag was blue, and was from Jack. You reached in and pulled out the two Queen T-shirts you'd had your eye on since last week. "These are perfect, Jack! Just the ones I've been looking at," you remarked.

Cas leaned over and grabbed an envelope from the table and handed it to you. You looked at him in surprise and tore it open. Inside the birthday card was a gift card to the bookstore in town. "I know how much you like to read, but you won't find anything current on these shelves. I thought you could use it to find something new," Cas explained. "Thank you, Cas. I'm sure I can put this to good use," you replied.

Since you had opened all of your gifts, you suggested breaking into the Chinese food and then cutting the cake. As Sam started opening the trademark white cardboard boxes, Dean went to the kitchen and brought out some plates. He seemed to be taking extra effort not to make eye contact with you. He must still be upset with me, you thought, as you tried to concentrate on enjoying the celebration.

After dinner, you all decided to watch one of your favorite movies, The Princess Bride. During the movie, one by one everyone started to get sleepy. Sam, Jack and Cas each gave you a kiss on top of your head as they left or went to their rooms.

You tried to make it to the end of the movie, but after the fire swamp scene, you also gave in and decided to go to bed. Dean was relaxing in the library with his tumbler of whiskey when you softly wished him good night.

A little while later, you awoke from a horrible nightmare. A demon had captured you all, but it killed each of the boys one by one, while it forced you to watch. You sat straight up in bed, breathing heavily, trying to get your bearings. You reached for the glass of water you kept on your nightstand and drank its contents. You tried to get back to sleep, but each time you closed your eyes, you were taken back into the same scenario. After laying there for about fifteen minutes not sleeping, you got out of bed and wandered into the library.

To your surprise, Dean was still there, nursing his glass of whiskey. He glanced up to see who it was, and relaxed a bit when he saw it was you. "Can't sleep?" he asked.

You nodded. "Nightmare," was all you said.

"Want to talk about it?" he inquired.

"Not really, not now anyway," you replied, shaking your head.

Dean tilted his head back and drank the remainder of his whiskey in one gulp. You took a step closer to him and put your hand on his shoulder. He looked at your hand then at you, trying to tell what you were thinking.

"Listen, Dean, I'm sorry about before. You're right, I should've left a note, or at least made sure I had my phone with me. It was stupid and careless, and it won't happen again," you said, walking back towards your room.

Dean caught your hand and stopped you. "Nah, I'm the one who should be apologizing, I overreacted. When I called out for you and you weren't here, I....got worried that something terrible had happened to you. I panicked, and then when you showed up, all that just kind of exploded in me.

“I was so relieved to see you, but instead of seeing my relief, you saw my anger for making me worry. I am sorry for that, and for not realizing it was your birthday," he finished. "I didn't even get you anything."

"You didn't have to get me anything, Dean. I'm not into getting stuff. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the gifts, but all I really ever want is to not be forgotten. For someone to say, 'hey, you're somebody special, and I'm glad you were born today'," you explained.

Dean thought for a moment, then a grin spread slowly across his face. "I have an idea. Get your shoes on and grab your coat," he said.

"What? Why?" you asked.

"No questions, just go get your shoes and your coat on and meet me in the Impala," he grinned then winked at you.

A few minutes later, you slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean backed out of the bunker garage, then headed down the highway. You cast a sidelong glance at him, trying to figure out what he's up to, but he kept his eyes on the road, a mischievous grin on his face.

Seeing his destination, he pulled the Impala over onto a small side road with a clearing. Dean got out of the car and rushed over to the passenger side to open the door for you. He held out his hand to assist you. You placed your hand in his, feeling the strength and safety you knew it and the man himself offered. "Thank you, Dean," you blushed. "What are we doing here?" you asked.

"Look up," he replied softly. You leaned against the Impala, then did as he asked. You couldn't help but be awestruck by the seemingly limitless number of stars present in the moonlit sky. "It's breathtaking," you whispered. "I've never seen so many stars. I wish I knew what some of the constellations were, other than the Big Dipper," you remarked.

Dean came over to where you were standing. He placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you so he was behind you. "I happen to know a thing or two about astronomy, I'll show you. Pointing to his left, he said, "See that bright dot over there?" You nodded. "Well, that's not a star, that's the planet Venus. The clouds on Venus trap the sun's rays, making it glow."

"Tell me more," you prodded.

He rubbed your shoulders a bit before moving his hands a little lower to your sides. You started to feel slightly warm, like you may no longer need the jacket you brought with you. Dean pointed to his right and upward. "That's Cassiopeia, a very vain and naughty Greek queen. There's Orion, the Greek hunter, trying to hold up his pants with his belt," he grinned.

You giggled at his joke. "There's sure a lot of stars up there, how do you know so much about them?" you asked.

"Truth?" he responded, to which you nodded. "Well, if you're ever lost, you can navigate by the stars. And maybe....to impress women," he added sheepishly.

You turned to face Dean, his hands still on your sides. "I'd say it worked on this woman," you replied softly, reaching with your hand to cup his face.

Dean searched your face as if he were truly seeing it for the first time. "You sure look pretty, especially in the moonlight. I don't know how I didn't see it before," he marveled. He pulled you closer, then leaned in to capture your lips with his. You were amazed at how tender his kiss was, compared with his tough side that he shows the rest of the world.

Your mouths moved fluidly with each other, tasting and exploring with your tongues. Dean's hands left your sides to roam freely up and down your back. Your hands had gone from stroking his cheek to running through his hair. When you paid particular attention to the ones at the base of his neck, he groaned in appreciation. "Woman, you're going to be the death of me, you know that?" he growled.

"But what a glorious way to go, hmm?" you teased, causing him to grin against your mouth.

"By the way....Happy Birthday, sweetheart," Dean replied softly.

"Thank you, Dean. For the stars and for making my birthday wish come true," you said.

[riseandshinelittleblossom]

Hoping For Home Ch 9- “Drive”

Summary: Sixteen years ago Libby Scott was supposed to become Queen of Cordonia, but Fate had other plans. Catch up here.

Special Thanks to @emichelle​for pre-reading and @ao719 for constantly being my sounding board for this piece. ily both As always please let me know if you wish to be added or removed from the tags!

Disclaimer: I don’t own the TRR characters, they own me.

Song Rec  for this Chapter:  “Drive” By Incubus

Tags:  @ao719​@ritachacha​ @leelee10898​ @fullbeaumonty​ @emichelle​ @lodberg​ @pedudley​ @blackcoffee85​ @drakesensworld​ @thequeenofcronuts​ @kingliam2019​ @dcbbw​ @allaboutchoices​ @desireepow-1986​ @princessleac1​ @dianalend​ @valtorian-duchess​

      Tessa had a fire burning in the master suite by the time the court arrived at Valtoria, and just like a moth Libby found herself drawn to it. 

      The manila folders felt heavy in her hands, as if lead weights lie within and she ran her fingers the length of them before turning them over in her hands.

       Lady Emma Louise Scott  in teletype across the front of one, Lord William James Scott on the other. After so many years of wondering the answer was finally in front of her. Instead of relief however, Libby felt a tight ball of panic in her chest.

      She watched the flames dancing up the wall within the hearth as it crackled and popped. Her mind wandered to the dream she'd had of the burning house. The way Liam tried desperately to calm her and the voices of her twins begging him to save them.  She shuddered at the thought.

     Libby had always been fond of fire, she'd always appreciated it's cleansing capabilities. It was the reason she'd chosen the Phoenix as her house sigil so many years ago.

   Perhaps these weighted envelopes could somehow find their way into the blaze before her. It would make her clean again. She could take her children far away from this place, shield them from the finality of the knowing. 

       "Spare a moment for a ghost of friendships past?" 

        Without even realizing, a smile formed on her lips that reached from ear to ear.

      "Always." She replied, sweeping her arm with a flourish towards the elegant chaise behind her.

     Maxwell jammed one hand in his pocket, the other running through his tousled locks as he crossed the floor to meet her. He perched precariously on the edge of the cushion and feigned a smile.

     "Watcha got there?" 

      "Bills. From the states." Libby lied, taking a seat next to him and tucking the envelopes behind her.

     He nodded staring into the flames, their warmth licking up his legs.

      "How are you, Maxwell?"

      "I'm fine. I'm good. I'm...uh….how are you?"

      Libby shook her head with a small snort.

     "I'm still here," She chortled.

     "For now,"

     Her eyes flicked to the man beside her to find he still stared straight ahead, his flippant comment clearly being swept away in his mind.

     He cleared his throat before he faced her, elbows resting on his knees and they brushed hers as they fell apart.

    "S-sorry." 

     Libby waved her hand dismissively, peering directly into his baby blues.

    "So I suppose we'll have our answers soon then, right?"  Maxwell asked, his fingers twisting together.

    "Any day now."

     "Well don't sound so excited, little blossom."

     A nervous giggle escaped her. 

    "I'm sorry I just….I do want to know. I've always wanted to know. Now that I'm standing on that precipice…" her words trailed off and Maxwell impulsively reached out, his long fingers engulfing her hand.

     For a brief second she stared down at them, heart racing, before returning her eyes to meet his.

   "I'm scared, Max. Petrified."

    His grip tightened and he nodded.

    "Whatever the answer I want you to know I'm still here for you."

     Libby tucked her lip between her teeth. 

    "As-as a friend, ya know? I'm your friend. Frrrriiieeennndd." 

     The ginger woman laughed, a hearty sound from the pit of her stomach. Leave it to Maxwell to try and lighten the mood.

    "What's so funny? I don't want you getting the wrong idea here. This bod may have some miles on it but it's still hard to resist." 

     He licked the ends of his middle fingers before touching them to his clothed nipples.

     "Oh yes, you're so enchanting, Lord Beaumont. However could I tell you no?"

     Maxwell flicked his wrists, wiping his hands smugly over his hair.

    "Many have tried, Your Grace, and many have failed."

    As if on cue he shot Libby with double finger guns just as she shot him with hers and they both erupted in a fit of giggles.

    "Serious faces okay? I support you and your decisions, no matter what they mean for me, Blossom. I want you to know that. Maybe if I had made that clearer to you years ago, you'd have stayed. I was angry and bitter, Libby. For a long, loooong time. You really did a number on me,"  he grasped her hand once more, sliding his opposing forefinger under her chin to tilt her face to his. "I'm not bitter anymore. I just want you to be deliriously happy, and I want what's best for your kids.

    I can see it on your face, Lib, you're ready to run. You're itchin to fly as far away from this situation as you can get. But I hope you stay. I hope you do the right thing and face this like the beautiful, smart, strong woman I know you are. I just...I hope you stay. Forever this time. You belong here, Blossom, and so do Emma and Will." 

     Without further ceremony Maxwell all but hopped off of the chaise, bouncing towards the doorway.

     "M-Maxwell…" 

      He cast his gaze over his shoulder to look at her, eyebrow raised.

    "Thank you. Somehow you always have a way of knowing exactly what to say and more importantly, when to say it."

      "Not always, but I try. That's my whole point, Blossom. I show up and I try. Sometimes I fuck up spectacularly, but the other times?" He touched his forefinger to the tip of his nose with a wink, and headed out the door.

************************

                Emma skipped down the corridor, gripping the door jamb as she spun inside Will's bedroom.

         "They're here," she grinned. A squeal escaped her and she stomped her feet, whirling in a circle. 

         "What are?" 

         Will held a small tablet and pen, brow furrowed as he scrawled across it, never looking up at his sister.

      "The results." 

      Will could barely hear what she was saying next. It was if he were in a tunnel, everything was muffled and echoed except the beating of his heart in his ears.

      All of his life Will had waited to find out who his father was and finally the results had arrived.

     Emma took hold of his shoulders shaking him gently from his astonishment.

     "Did you hear me, ya big doofus? Mom wants us all to meet in the parlor right now so we can open them."

********************

              Maxwell was the last to take a seat in the grand parlor at Valtoria estate. He glanced around at everyone, his eyes finally resting on Libby as she rose from her seat armed with the envelopes that were about to change everyone's lives forever.

      On the surface she looked calm, but Maxwell could feel her unsettled nerves even across the room.

      He watched as she handed each of her  children an envelope, and they exchanged glances with one another before Olivia piped up,

     "All at once, then. That's my vote."

     Emma nodded resolutely, locking eyes with her brother as she slid one finger under the opening tearing the glue with ease.

    Each twin read their paperwork and a thick silence filled the room. Maxwell held his breath.

      "Liam. Liam is my father." Emma finally announced, mystified by the words as she read them over and over again.

        A stillness filled the room. Maxwell stood taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. With every ounce of decorum he could muster, he swept into a deep bow.

      "Your Royal Highnesses. It had been a pleasure. Now if I may be excused….Long live Princess Emma and Prince William of Cordonia."   

     He turned abruptly, making it to the doorway in just a few strides; but before he could make his exit Will's words rang out,

       "Are you sure you read that right, Em?"

     He plucked the paper from his sister's hand as she shrieked in opposition. Maxwell paused, eyes cast over his shoulder at the scene behind him.

     Will's eyes darted back and forth rapidly as he studied both sets of results before finally he looked at his mother in disbelief.

     "Mom, how is this possible?"

      He handed the papers to his mother and she read them over carefully, one hand coming up to cover her mouth when she had processed them both.

      "What is it, Libby?" Liam questioned.

      "Emma is your daughter, sir," Will began, "I am Maxwell's son."

[lovemychoices]

The Lost Prince - TRR AU [Liam x MC] Mini Series Chapter 3

After being married for three years and unable to produce an heir, Liam and Riley are about to give up when Liam gets an unexpected news that changes his life forever.

Genre : Romance, Drama

*THIS SERIES PRACTICALLY THROWS CANON OUT THE WINDOW* YEET!YEET!

Characters except my OCs belong to Pixelberry, I am just borrowing them

Word count : 3038

Chapter Summary: Eventually the truth comes out one way or another.

A/N : Sorry I’m posting via mobile plus I don’t have a laptop with me at the moment so the read more options isn’t available. Grammatical errors everywhere, I’m one of those people who only checks their work once and post.

Warning : I’m rating this PG18 cause there will probably be PG18 stuff that’s going to happen in future chapters. So if you read this series you acknowledge that you are 18 and above.

Catch up with the series HERE

Liam called Leo up the day after arriving in LA, sparing him the details about Theon, he just gave Leo the address where they should meet.

Leo had moved to Malibu with his wife Amara, who he met shortly after he signed on for his motocross career. She was his manager and PR rep, after a year of working together they started dating, eventually got married and had twins not long after. The ride from his place to where Liam wanted to meet was merely an hour and a half away.

He stops his motorbike in front of the victorian style house and slowly removes his helmet raising an eyebrow. “Curiouser?” He murmurs to himself. As he hops off his bike, Liam opens the front door ready to meet him. “Leo!” Liam greets with a smile pulling his brother into a bear hug as he steps onto the front porch. “It’s good to see you too little brother.” A few seconds later they pull apart. “So Liam, what’s all this?” He gestures at the surrounding of the house giving a questioning look. “You and Riley aren’t thinking of leaving the courtly life and moving into this suburban home are you?”

Liam snorts and shakes his head. “No it’s nothing like that. I…There’s something you should know.” His face quickly turns serious. “Maybe we should go inside.” Leo nods wondering what is going on, why is Liam acting all ominous, he steps inside the house and follows him towards the living area. “Wait here.” Liam said returning a few minutes later holding Theon’s hand.

Leo's eyes go wide open when he sees the little boy, he steps closer towards him and crouched down so he can meet him eye to eye. One look at the boy and he knew what was going on. “Leo, I’d like to meet Theon. He is my son.”

“Hello Theon, I’m Leo. It’s very nice to meet you.” He puts on his best smiles offering an outstretched hand. Theon looks up at Liam as if waiting for his approval, when Liam nods he turns back to Leo and shakes his hand giving a soft smile. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

Liam clears his throat. “Theon maybe you’d like to show Leah the new castle we finished building yesterday.” Theon gives a nod and brings Leah to accompany him to his room, as soon as they are an earshot away Leo turns to Liam. “Care to explain what’s going on brother?” He gives a pointed look. “I'm assuming since Riley isn’t here she doesn’t know about Theon?”

Liam shakes his head regretfully. “Maybe I should offer you a drink first. “Scotch on the rocks?” After handing Leo his drink, he then explains the whole situation about what happened the night in LA and who Theon’s mother was, also why he didn’t tell Riley about it yet. “She’s been through so much lately, I just couldn’t. But I’ll come clean about everything once I have the DNA test done and get the results.”

“You mean you haven’t had the test done?”

“No… That is why I need your help brother. I don’t want to risk the paparazzi spotting me here in LA.”

“And you’re sure that he is your son?”

“Without a doubt, I can feel it Leo. You saw him with your own eyes, he looks exactly like me when I was younger. Will you help me brother?”

Leo gives a rueful nod. As much as he didn’t agree with Liam’s decision to keep the truth about Theon from Riley, he also knew it wasn’t his secret to tell. He just hoped this secret won’t come back and bite his brother in the ass.

************************************************

It has been more than a week since Liam left for the states, what was supposed to be a few days trip turned longer than expected.

Riley waited on the other line for Liam to answer her facetime call. The first time she called he didn’t answer, which was unlikely because he usually answer after a few rings and it was around 11pm where Liam was so he shouldn’t be in any meetings. After a few more tries he finally answers.

“Hey you.. you almost gave me a scare there. I’ve been calling for half an hour.”

“Sorry love, I was in the bath and left my phone in the bedroom.”

“A bath huh? But isn’t it almost midnight over there?”

“I’ve had a long day. Apologies love, I’ve been going on about my day I forgot to ask about yours. Is everything okay in Cordonia?”

“Well.. Maxwell hasn’t accidentally blown anything up yet so I guess everything is still fine.” She jokingly said but it was as if Liam was paying attention. “Liam? Are you okay?” He shakes his head giving Riley a weak smile. “Yes, everything is fine. I just had a lot to think about lately.”

“You know you can tell me anything right? We’re in this together.” Liam nodded without replying, there was this moment of awkward silence between them. Riley clears her throat. “So I can’t wait till you get back tomorrow, Madeleine already scheduled an appointment to interview the potential surrogates.”

“Oh I… I completely forgot about that. I’m sorry Riley but it seems I have to extend my stay in the states for a few more days.” He lied, the truth was that he had gotten the result for Theon’s DNA test and he was indeed his son. The news brought him such joy when he found out but was quickly overcome by the guilt of lying to his wife.

“Liam it’s been more than a week what possible reason could there be? You know how important this interview was to us..”

“I know.. I know.. And I promise to make it up to you. Have Madeleine reschedule the interview for next week I promise I’ll be back by then. I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to cut our conversation short, I have an early morning tomorrow. Goodnight Riley, I love you.” He said and hang up before she got a chance to respond.

After Liam hangs up, Riley had a gut feeling like something was wrong. Ever since Liam got to the states he has been acting differently, they usually talk for hours when he is finished with his day but for the past week he would sometimes find an excuse to leave or just text her and say he can’t talk.

************************************************

Drake and Maxwell were at the parlor having some drinks after a day attending meetings with the rest of the council when Riley suddenly barges in.

“I think Liam is cheating on me!” She belts in an exaggerated manner as she enters the room then plops down on one of the couches.

Both Drake and Maxwell gives each other a questionable look before turning back to her with their eyebrows raised.

“Good afternoon to you too.”

“Riley the last thing Liam would do is cheat on you. Now what’s this all about?”

Riley explains everything that has happened over the past week about Liam’s behavior after he left for the states and that she told him she wanted them to have a child via surrogacy.

“What if that’s the reason he is cheating on me? I’m already failing him as a wife and queen by not being able to get pregnant?”

Drake and Maxwell takes a seat next to her, Drake placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “He is not cheating on you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him. I’m sure he’s just had a lot to deal with those diplomats don’t make it easy for him.”

“Drake’s right, don’t you worry little blossom.” Maxwell reassures her then wipes a tear from her cheeks. “Hey I know why don’t you go to New York and surprise him instead? I’m sure he’ll be thrilled!”

Riley stifles a cry. “I wish I could but I have tons of upcoming meetings that require my attention.”

“Then give us your schedule and well take it from here. No but’s…” Drake said firmly.

Riley hesitates at first but she knew there was no going against the two when they joined forces. She smiles and gives both Drake and Maxwell a grateful hug. “Thank you.”

After that the three headed to Liam’s office where his assistant Nicholas was sitting in the front desk just outside. When Riley ask about Liam schedule for the rest of the week he gives her a puzzled look. He explained that there was a meeting in New York but it ended a few days ago and Liam didn’t attend but Hakim did instead.

“HE WHAT?!” She snaps, now she definitely thinks he is cheating on her. How could he do this?

“Mam, I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Oh there’s gonna be an explanation alright!” She turns on her heels and stomps out, Drake and Maxwell follows after her all the way to her office where she paces back and forth, frustration written all over her face.

“Riley wait!” She shushes them with her finger while she dials a number on her phone. “Hey, I need your help.”

************************************************

After finding out that Liam had lied about what he was doing in the states Riley had Olivia help track his cell for his whereabouts, she knew that Bastien wouldn’t help her because he was obviously helping Liam. It took a few hours but they finally managed to track his cell all the way to LA.

“Isn’t Leo living in LA? Maybe he is there visiting Leo?” Drake said trying to convince Riley not to jump to any conclusion until there is proof.

“Then why would he feel the need to hide it from me?” No!” She waves her hand dismissively. “Something is not right.” Riley knew what she had to do she would have to go to LA, find her husband and get the truth once and for all.

*************************************************

Riley asked another favor from Olivia to borrow her private jet instead of using the Royal jet, thinking if she did Bastien would find out and tell Liam and she didn’t want him to know what she had coming for him.

She made Drake and Maxwell to swear and keep their mouth shut.

“I’m going to LA to find Liam and I’ll be flying with The Nevrakis jet to avoid suspicion from Bastien. No one must know of this and if they ask you will tell the staff and the royal guard that the queen is away with duchess Olivia on a short spa trip and does not wish to be disturbed. I’m leaving the two of you to keep things in check while I’m away and I need the two of you to swear not to breathe a word of this to Liam are we clear?” She said in a stern voice pointing at both the men who gave each other a look then nods. “Say you swear it on your balls so much as if you break your promise you’ll lose them.”

“What? Riley I’m not gonna swear on my…”

“Swear it Drake!”

“Geez! ok fine! I swear to lose my balls if I so much so say even one word about this to Liam and anybody” Riley smiled trying to hide a giggle then turns to Maxwell pointedly with her hands on her hips. “You too agent breakdance.”

Maxwell chuckles “Hey, you don’t have to tell me twice. I like my balls where they currently are, attached to me and fully functional.”

“Good then I’ll see the two of you in a day or two.” She closes her suitcase and turns on her heels towards the door, looking over her shoulder before she leaves. “Try not to burn anything while I’m away.”

“Heard that Drake, she was talking about you.”

Drake gives Maxwell a sarcastic eye roll. “Sure she was.”

*************************************************

Riley stepped on to the front porch of the Victorian home where one of Olivia’s spies managed to track Liam down, she could feel her hands tremble feeling a bit hesitant to give the doorbell ring. What if she didn’t like what was behind those doors? Why was her husband her in a house she didn’t know existed until now? Better yet why did he feel the need to lie about where he really was? She sucks in a deep breath and exhaling calmly before finally having the courage to press that golden plated button.

She felt like she was holding her breath forever when the door opens up and a petite young woman with dark hair and tanned skin stood in front of her. “I’m sorry miss are you looking for someone?” The woman asked with a confused look on her face.

“I uh…” I must have the wrong address? She thought but just then a familiar face steps behind the woman. “Leah, is something wrong?” Liam asked when he sees Riley standing at the threshold,his eyes go wide open. Her nostrils flare and her eyes narrowing at him while her fist curl into a ball of fury. “Riley love, I can explain it’s not what it seems.” He sputters and takes a step back holding his hands up defensively.

“After everything we’ve been through, how could you?!” She barges in with her voice raised, she pushes Liam so hard he almost stumbles back. “I gave you everything and you go behind my back and cheat on me with some other woman!”

“Cheat? Riley no I would never! Leah is just a friend there’s more to this I swear if you just listen…” SMACK! Riley’s hands immediately connects to Liam’s cheeks before he could finish his sentence.

“Daddy what’s going on?” Theon walks into the foyer after hearing the commotion, he looks frightened and confused. “Daddy who is this?”

Daddy? Riley glances at the boy, who looks exactly like a younger version of her husband. Suddenly she could feel her heart beating rapidly and her head spinning. It was like she way losing the oxygen in her lungs and couldn’t breathe soon after she falls to the floor and everything turns pitch black.

*************************************************

Riley’s eyes slowly fluttered open with a ringing pain in her head. Was it all a dream? A terrible nightmare that she just woke up from? She presses her hand on her forehead and let out a soft groan, she turns to her right a sees a blurry shape of her husbands figure in front of her. “Liam?”

“Riley, love. How had a slight fall and hit your head on the floor.”

“Liam, I had this bad dream. I caught you cheating then we fought and there was this little boy who looked just like you.” She stops when she notices the expression on her husbands face, then it made her realize. “It wasn’t a dream was it?” Her voice starts cracking. “My love, please let me explain.” He pleads reaching for her hand but she swipes it away looking the other way. She couldn’t stand to see him, not if he cheated not if he was going to lie to her again.

“Riley, I didn’t cheat on you. But I have been keeping a secret from you and I’ll explain everything if you’d just look at me and listen.” He said in a tired voice. Riley finally meets his eye looking at him pointedly with her arms crossed. “Then explain and tell me the truth, is that boy your son?”

“Yes he is. Leo had the DNA test done and we had the result yesterday.”

“Leo knew? Who else? Bastien?”

“No. Just Leo.” Liam finally tell Riley the truth about everything that’s been going on, about how he met Theon’s mother a few years before he met her. How she kept Theon a secret from him all those years and that he only found out about him when she passed. He told her why he had to keep the secret from her until he was truly sure what to do with the situation. Riley quietly listen not saying anything after, her expression unreadable. “Love, please say something. I understand if your mad and I don’t expect you to forgive me but I had no choice.”

Riley closes her eyes trying to gather her thoughts before she finally opens them and speaks. “I’m not mad that you had a one night stand all those years ago before we met or that you have a son because of that night. I’m just disappointed and hurt that you couldn’t trust me enough to tell me all of this from the beginning. Did you really think that if I knew about your son that I would ask you to abandon him? Do you really think that low me?”

“Off course not, I think is would never think that of you.” He answers taking her hand in his. “I was just worried about how you would feel, you’ve already been through enough with the press and the whole thing about being unable to produce an heir. I just didn’t want to add to the stress.”

“I’m a grown woman Liam, I can take care of myself and I certainly can handle any truth you throw at me. Yes this information is a lot to process considering how I found out about it.” Never in a million years did she ever think the two of them would be in this position. “But no matter what we’ll get through this together like we always do. Just promise next time no more secrets.”

Liam leans in and kisses Riley on the forehead a slight feeling of relief. “I promise, so where do we go from here?”

“We go back to Cordonia and bring Theon with us.” She answers with a soft smile and Liam’s expression is somewhere between surprised and relieved at the same time. “Are you sure?”

Rileys gives him an assuring nod taking his hand in hers. “Theon deserves to be with his father, he deserves to be with family. With us.”

“Have I ever told you that you are the best wife ever?” He smiles.

Rileys chuckles. “You have but it never gets old. Now, I believe it’s time you introduce me to someone?

*************************************************

Incase anyone wants to be added or removed let me know.

@charliejane-blog @dcbbw @hopefulmoonobject @cmestrella @pixieferry @lodberg @traeumerinwitzhelden @romanticatheart-posts @gnatbrain @the-soot-sprite @texaskitten30 @ao719 @emceesynonymroll @jessiembruno @desiree---1986 @zaffrenotes @kinkykingliam @jlpplays1 @indiacater @fluffy-marshmallow-heart @queenjilian @annekebbphotography @thecordoniandiaries @rainbowsinthestorm @cordonianroyalty @lauradowning29 @msjr0119 @janezillow @heauxplesslydevoted @innerpostmentality @kingliam2019

[lady-divine-writes]

Husband, Guardian, Muse - Chapter 3/3 (Rated NC17)

Summary: After the untimely death of his husband and muse, Crowley tries to find the simplest, most foolproof way to join him. But in the days that follow, he discovers that sometimes what looks like an ending can turn out to be a beginning, and that no one is ever really gone if we find a way to remember them.

Notes: Human au. Warning for character death, thoughts of suicide, alcohol abuse, and sexual content.

Read on AO3.

The voice told him to paint what he wanted. Now, Crowley had to decide what that was.

The answer was simple.

Crowley wanted an ending.

That’s what he had thought right before he heard that silent command.

He wanted it all to end – the pain, the sadness, the hallucinations. But mostly, his life without Aziraphale.

So that was the secret then. He would paint an ending to it all – his ending. How this all plays out starting with Aziraphale dying, these days of torture, and then … well, however Crowley thought to do himself in. He hadn’t given it any thought. It was a simple thing to say that he wanted to end his own life, but the logistics of it were another monster entirely. He’d spent the past few days feeling like his days were numbered, that his body would tear itself to pieces, but he was slowly getting better.

So the task fell on him.

Crowley returned to his easel. He tossed the ruined canvas aside and replaced it with a longer one, one with enough room to paint a multi-paneled work. He collected up his pallet, satisfied with the acrylics that were left and not giving a second thought to the puddle of paint he was standing in. He picked up a brush, not particularly concerned with whether it was camel hair or synthetic, medium tip or broad, and held it over the churning sea of tacky paint. He needed to choose his first color, one that would tie together the overall theme.

That should be relatively simple. He was painting a triptych of his own death. He would start with black or red.

But when he tried to dip the bristles into one of those two colors, he found the brush called somewhere else. He clenched his teeth and tried again with the same frustrating result – he’d reach for the red, but the brush was pulled to the blue.

“Fine,” he growled. “Fine, fine, fine, fucking fine!” He pulled up a huge dollop of blue and hurled it at the canvas, letting the paint land carelessly with an obscene sploitch, the hulking mass grotesquely crawling south.

“Well that’s mature . ” Aziraphale watched  as Crowley put the finishing touches on his latest painting. “I don’t think the gallery is going to want that one.”

“I don’t care,” Crowley returned, not bothering to look at his husband standing by his side. “Paintings are about emotion, how they make you feel, and this one’s making me feel better.”

“A painting of us barbecuing the neighbor’s dog?” Aziraphale tilted his head to the side to take in the vivid imagery of a smug Crowley, dressed in a toque and a gingham apron that read ‘Kiss the Cook’ across the front, tongs raised triumphantly, and in their metal grip, the charred leg of Roy and Sylvia Harding’s Airedale Terrier, Mitzy.

“You know, I ’ d think you would have more sympathy. The little jerk bit me ! ” Crowley griped, indicating his bandaged hand.

“You bit him back!” Aziraphale chuckled. “I think that makes you even.”

“I don’t,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale inched closer to the painting, quietly appreciating the detail Crowley had put in – the grain in the wood of the red - washed picnic table; the springy hair on the carcass of the dead dog; even Aziraphale’s own ensemble – his favorite khaki pants and blue button down, his soft velvet vest , his light grey coat. Crowley watched his husband’s eyes as they traveled over his work, lip pinched between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration. Aziraphale turned his head suddenly, blushing at getting caught admiring his husband’s handiwork on such a gruesome subject.

Owing to love, knowledge, and familiarity, added with a dash of the fact that, after so many years of sharing the same heart and the same mind, they often thought alike, both men moved in at the exact same time for the kiss that seemed to linger in the air, waiting for them to experience it.

Aziraphale gave a sidelong look at the painting and chuckled when he noticed how close his face was to a screaming and horrified Sylvia Harding, rending her clothes in an expression of her grief.

“Okay, I’ve got to get away from this thing.” Aziraphale ducked his head and caught a glimpse of Crowley’s bandaged hand, a spot of red blossoming on the wrapping. “Oh, my dear boy !” He took Crowley’s hand in his and started to undo the gauze. “We have to re - wrap this so it doesn’t get infected.” Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly. “I wish you would let me take you to the hospital.”

“Why? When I’ve got you here to play my nurse?” Crowley put his pallet down and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s waist, dragging him close.   Crowley wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Aziraphale pulled a face of mock horror.

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. “I think I need to undress so you can take my temperature.”

Aziraphale threw his head back and laughed. Then he kissed Crowley on the mouth, chuckling when his husband released him to undo the buttons of his shirt one-handed.

“You know,” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s lips, grimacing at the confession he was about to make, “charred dog notwithstanding, it really is an excellent painting.”

Crowley stepped back to view his work, but once again, what had started out as one thing had developed into another. He had painted several paintings within a painting – an image of himself standing and staring at a painting with Aziraphale by his side, staring at a painting of Crowley staring at the same painting with Aziraphale by his side, standing and staring at the same painting on and on for infinity. In the painting, Crowley wore the same clothes he did now, his untidy hair plastered flat on one side of his head, his pallet dangling from his hand with the paint swirled together in a blotchy mess. Crowley regarded the painting closely, his heart racing. If Aziraphale was standing a bit behind him and to the right in all these paintings, could that possibly mean …

Crowley jumped when a hand touched his shoulder.

He turned, and a face closed in on his - cool lips pressing gently against his mouth. Crowley’s heart stopped when the face pulled away and he saw those blue eyes that he missed more with every passing day.

Aziraphale looked perfect, his ethereal beauty completely intact, the way Crowley remembered him. Aziraphale smiled at his husband, sorrow shifting his features.

“It really is an excellent painting,” he said, motioning to Crowley’s artwork with a nod of his chin.

Crowley didn’t want to look away, but he felt compelled to look back at the painting when Aziraphale mentioned it. Crowley had painted forever - the two of them together, stretching on into the future for an eternity. If he had to be honest with himself, that’s what he wanted.

He didn’t want to die.

He wanted his husband.

He turned back to Aziraphale, to ask him how he could make that happen, but Aziraphale was gone.

***

Crowley spent the following three days straight at his easel, the words paint what you want repeating in his ears. He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep. All he did was paint. He wanted his life with his husband back, so he started from the beginning, when he and Aziraphale first met. Crowley painted Aziraphale standing by the pond in St. James Park, watching the ducks swim by, the sun shining behind him creating a halo effect around his soft, blonde hair. He’d looked like an angel in his long white coat, so much so Crowley had been afraid to talk to him. Crowley painted the way Aziraphale’s eyes held his the first time they spoke to one another, when Crowley remarked about the current state of affairs and it took Aziraphale a whole half-minute to realize someone had addressed him. He painted the blush that had risen to Aziraphale’s cheeks when Crowley made a particularly randy joke (in a failed attempt at flirting), and his admiration when he told Aziraphale what he did for a living.

He painted Aziraphale opening his bookshop, Crowley rushing through the door in the background with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates to celebrate. He painted Aziraphale walking the rows and stacks for hours, reading each novel as if they were a part of his own private library, which they might well have been since he consistently avoided selling anything.

He painted every lunch they shared at The Ritz on a wall-size canvas in multiple panels, changing their features as they aged, and on their respective ring fingers - faint at first, but becoming darker as time passed and they fell deeper in love - a single red thread that connected them.

During the course of those days, Crowley burned through his acrylics and had to call in a favor to another local artist to get more. While he waited for his shipment to arrive, he sketched. He went through sketch pad after sketch pad, finally resorting to paper from his printer, and after that, the newspapers stacked by the front door, never read but waiting to be recycled. He painted and sketched his and Aziraphale’s entire life together, and when he was done, when the final painting was set aside to dry, he waited for something to happen. A voice. A giggle. Another kiss.

Anything.

Crowley climbed into bed, his muscles sore, eyes crossed from exhaustion. He fell asleep waiting and awoke the next morning to the sun warm on his face, his skin and clothes thoroughly stained, and his husband nowhere to be seen.

He felt like a fool. A grief stricken fool which made his actions understandable, but still a fool. He had made it all up in his mind, indulged in this fantasy for far too long, missed his deadlines and pushed aside his plans.

Well, not any more.

Crowley knew what he needed to do, and he had the adrenaline coursing through his body to do it. In his stash, he had a bottle of Xanax, a bottle of Halcion, and two bottles of vodka.

If he took them together, with any luck, it would be quick and painless.

He hurried into a living room littered floor to ceiling with pictures of Aziraphale, paintings of Aziraphale, charcoal sketches on every possible surface of Aziraphale, moving to the walls when he ran out of paper and his replacement paints and canvases had not yet arrived. There were so many images of Aziraphale throughout the room that Crowley almost missed him, wandering through the paintings, fingers hovering over, tracing outlines of his own face. Crowley came within inches of him on his way to the kitchen, stopping short at the intense look in his eyes.

Aziraphale still looked ethereal, but he also looked real.

“They’re beautiful!” he gasped. “Every single one is just … beautiful! They may be your finest work!”

Crowley choked. This had to be a dream because the reality was too fantastic to believe. But Aziraphale’s eyes looked sad, and Crowley didn’t understand why.

“Are you really here?” Crowley asked. “Or are you going to haunt me forever?”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

“I want you here! I need you, Aziraphale! I need you to come back to me!”

Aziraphale looked at the paintings, the drawings. “You painted my past, Crowley.” He reached out to caress an image of the two of them locked in an embrace, eyes closed as they kissed, caught up in their own little world as parents with children and park vendors raced by, eager to get out of the sudden downpour. Even Crowley had to admit it looked so real, he could almost see the people move, the children struggle to break free and splash in the puddles, Aziraphale’s lips against his.

It was their first kiss.

An epic kiss.

“I need you to paint my future,” Aziraphale explained, beginning to fade. “Then, you can have me.”

Crowley shook his head, exhaustion turning desperation to anger. He had painted for three days straight to have Aziraphale. Now he was disappearing again because Crowley hadn’t done enough!?

“What future, Aziraphale!? You didn’t get a future! You didn’t get a future because of me! Because I fucked up!” Crowley was screaming even though he didn’t mean to. He was lost, lonely, felt like he was going bonkers. He was standing in the center of what could easily be labeled the creepiest memorial to his dead husband ever, arguing with a ghost. But none of that mattered because Crowley was tired of waiting, tired of being tested. He had a future planned for him and Aziraphale, and he was ready to get back to it.

“You’re here now! I don’t care if I never paint again! I don’t want to paint! All I want is you!”

Aziraphale shook his head, backing away, his body becoming more and more faint with every step. Crowley panicked. He rushed at Aziraphale, determination in his blood-shot eyes, ready to re-claim his life and his husband. But as Crowley reached Aziraphale, he dissolved into thin air. Crowley stood alone in the mid-morning light, listening as the rest of the world sprang to life outside – birds singing, insects chirping. Crowley hadn’t realized that while Aziraphale was there everything had gone quiet, like time had stopped. But now it marched on with absolutely no respect at all for Crowley’s frustration and pain.

“Fine,” Crowley scowled. “If that’s the way you’re going to be about it, we’ll play this game your way!”

Crowley put a blank canvas on his easel and grabbed a pallet containing oils – a medium he wasn’t fond of, but he didn’t want to waste time rummaging through his acrylics for the colors he needed when this one was available.

Besides, Crowley considered oils a bitch to work with.

Seemed fitting.

Crowley didn’t take a moment to regard the canvas, search out the painting within. He knew what he wanted. He wanted Aziraphale, naked in bed, panting with want, skin flushed, writhing against the sheets as he dreamed of Crowley joining him and relieving him of his agony.

Crowley attacked the canvas, and not just with his brush. He moved through the paint with his fingers as he defined the lines of Aziraphale’s arms. He cut through the oil with his pallet knife, giving depth and dimension to the comforter on the bed. He sliced and manipulated, the colors blending till what he had intended to be a simple portrait of his husband lying in bed became the culmination of all his passion, bleeding through his pores and coursing from his fingertips. Unlike his other paintings, which only took a matter of hours, this one he worked on all day. He didn’t notice when the sun began to sink into the horizon and the room went black.

He knew Aziraphale’s body so well he could paint it with his eyes closed.

And the image was perfect – Aziraphale’s skin glowing against a frame of red satin sheets, plump lips parted, eyes searching, arm outstretched, pointing to where Crowley stood beside his masterpiece.

Crowley stared at the painting. And the more he stared, the more he could swear he saw Aziraphale breathing.

Crowley set his pallet down and ran a grungy hand through his hair, spreading paint along the strands. He was worn out, breathless, almost completely spent, but one word from Aziraphale would have sent him running to their bed.

If Aziraphale were there.

If Aziraphale was still alive.

He touched the frame of the canvas as a breeze spiraled through the room, carrying with it the most incredible sound.

“Crow-ley! When are you coming to bed?”

Crowley sucked in a breath and held it. He couldn’t let it go. A single noise, a single movement, and the voice might go away.

But he needed to know.

“A-Aziraphale?” Crowley stammered, sure that only the silence of the cottage would answer him.

“Crowley …” The voice - so light, so fair, so enticing and heartbreaking and miraculous - answered instead. “Please, stop painting and come to bed. You have all day to paint. We only have the night to spend together.”

Crowley backed away from the painting, gazing in reverence, expecting it to do something other-worldly … or maybe disappear. But it didn’t. The painting remained, and so did Aziraphale.

“Crowley! I am going to count to five and if you don’t …”

Crowley made it to him in three seconds flat.

That night, while making love to the man he thought he’d never see again, Crowley realized something so incredible, so indefinable, he felt no reason to try and explain it.

What good would it do?

He could spend the rest of his life with his husband, as long as he painted it that way.

***

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale whispered, clutching his husband’s arm. “They’re gorgeous! Every single one of them your best work, hands down!”

“Is that because you’re in every single one?” Crowley walked Aziraphale from painting to painting, stopping long enough in between so that his husband could examine the details at his leisure.

“I do lend a certain, how do you say, sophistication to your art. I won’t lie.”

“Of course not.”

Aziraphale didn’t go out in public often – at least, not where anyone knew them. But being photographed by the paparazzi couldn’t be avoided. Crowley had shot from semi-famous to super stardom in a few short months, all thanks to his muse.

Crowley tried his hardest to make Aziraphale as inconspicuous as possible so he could accompany him to the gallery and see his artwork hung and lit properly. That was a magical moment, Aziraphale said - wandering through the paintings the night before the public got the chance to see them, knowing that he was one of the first people to lay eyes on them.

Crowley had dressed Aziraphale to go out in head to toe black by way of a simple suit, with leather gloves, top hat, and glasses to match. Aziraphale had never been a big fan of black, but it was a necessary evil.

Whoever he was to prying eyes, he had to appear in mourning.

Speculation spread like wildfire when Crowley emerged from his cottage after months of isolation with a stack of new paintings in the back seat of his Bentley that he had found himself a new muse.

That he was no longer the grieving widower.

At first, the art community criticized him harshly, but they quickly forgave him, falling completely in love with his latest work – an homage to the brief but brilliant life of his husband, bookshop owner Aziraphale Fell.

Only their closest friends knew the truth.

And they didn’t care, as long as they got Aziraphale back.

Tracy said she wouldn’t care if Aziraphale were the devil himself. She was ecstatic to have her best friend, in whatever form, back on earth.

“How many are there?” Aziraphale gazed down the line of paintings, trying to take them all in at once, including the one that made this trip possible – a painting of him and Crowley strolling through the gallery, dressed the way they were now, admiring Crowley’s art. It was the painting that greeted visitors on their way in, and was titled (appropriately) “An Afternoon at the Gallery with Aziraphale”.

“Right now … about one-hundred and fifty.”

Aziraphale snapped his head left to look into his husband’s proud face, jaw dropped in disbelief.

“One-hundred and fifty? That’s almost …” He did some calculations in his head, coming up with an answer that boggled his mind “… five months we get to spend together!”

“Try two-and-a-half years,” Crowley corrected, preening with delight at the wide-eyed stare his revelation earned him.

“Two and a half …?” Aziraphale gasped. “But … but how?”

“This is how.” Crowley escorted Aziraphale through a set of double doors to a larger room, the walls re-painted white to better display the art. The room held easily eighteen wall-sized murals, each with a multitude of different panels depicting Crowley and Aziraphale vacationing in Paris, sitting in a gondola in Venice, exploring the Grand Canyon, or just ‘living’ – washing dishes, walking a dog, shopping at the supermarket … and quite a few of them making love.

Aziraphale stayed quiet for a long time, staring at the next few years of his life as Crowley had planned them.

Crowley felt an unnerving weight settle in his chest. For a moment, he feared this wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted. He didn’t want to lose Aziraphale. Not again. But what had he forgotten? What was missing?

“Aziraphale? For the love of God, Aziraphale! Tell me …”

“I love them!” Aziraphale threw himself into Crowley’s arms. “I love it! All of it! Our life together! It’s wonderful!”

“You really like it?” Crowley asked, overwhelmed by Aziraphale in his arms.

“I do!”

Crowley wasn’t done holding him, but Aziraphale pulled away, eagerly leading his husband farther in the room to examine those paintings as well. “But now we have to start planning ahead. I expect you to make me age gracefully - no premature balding or pot belly. I mean, my normal belly is fine. Just nothing too extreme. Father Christmas belly. That’s fine.”

“Good to know.”

“And my bookshop. I have every intention of going back.”

Crowley’s eyes grew wide. “But … but how?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Aziraphale said, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m sure Tracy can help me figure something out.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but listened carefully, setting Aziraphale’s notes to memory. “I’m sure she can.” He placed a kiss to the top of Aziraphale’s head. “What would you like to do now? The show doesn’t open till tomorrow. We have the whole day to ourselves.”

“The whole day, hmm?” Aziraphale’s lips curled. He walked straight to a painting done in muted, neutral shades of the two of them in bed, Crowley hovering over Aziraphale’s body, looking down at his husband with lust blown eyes, occasional highlights of black and red suggesting exactly what moment of desire it portrayed. “This one.” Aziraphale’s voice turned silky, a wash of seduction that made Crowley burn to take him right there. “I want this one.”

“You just want to snog,” Crowley teased, offering Aziraphale an arm.

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled as he pulled Crowley towards the door. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said, biting his lower lip and giving Crowley inspiration for his next painting.

[thecousinsdangereux]

fic preview: over the wide skies up above (and the earth below)

Pairing: Blake/Yang (RWBY)

Playlist: On Spotify

Notes: This is a preview of a thing that I may or may not be something I actually finish post ski!au. Basically, it’s all for @twelveclara who wanted a Greek Gods AU. You’re lucky I adore you, you dumb bitch. I’ll fix this up and write more for you some day. Happy birthday. <3

                                                           — 

She was picking flowers: roses, crocus, and beautiful violets. Up and down the soft meadow. Iris blossoms too she picked, and hyacinth. And the narcissus, which was grown as a lure for the flower-faced girl by Gaia. All according to the plans of Zeus. She was doing a favor for the one who receives many guests. It was a wondrous thing in its splendor. To look at it gives a sense of holy awe to the immortal gods as well as mortal humans. It has a hundred heads growing from the root up. Its sweet fragrance spread over the wide skies up above. And the earth below smiled back in all its radiance. So too the churning mass of the salty sea

[From the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, translated by Gregory Nagy]

                                                            —

They meet on a Sunday morning, on the first day of Winter, under a cloudy and snow-filled sky.

It’s a collision only barely avoided; she swerves, but the white petals still brush against her cheek, sticking out every which way and thus not as easily dodged as the form carrying them (barreling around the corner without any particular concern or hesitation). The juxtaposition hardly stops there, because the resulting stream of expletives feels in direct opposition to what follows it: an apology that —  when directed at her — sounds soft and familiar, despite the lingering profanities.  

The thought doesn’t make any sense, but she hardly has time to consider its meaning when it first hits her; it’s quickly followed by a scent — floral and strong and overwhelming — that hits just as hard, turns the world over on itself, shifts the seasons, melts the ice around them. 

“Shit, sorry! I’ve got so many of these fucking things that I can barely see and I’ve got to get them to the greenhouse in like five minutes and I’m really running late and are you okay?” 

The flowers — she can see them more clearly now: long-stemmed and white with a brilliant yellow center ringed in red — obscure most of the woman’s face. But her long blonde hair spills outside of the boundaries of the dozens of stems barely contained to the two large buckets she holds in front of her chest. Blake finds herself briefly distracted again (distracted from a distraction), this time by the looping curls, the different colors of gold that glint among the strands despite the overcast skies. But then the woman shifts, trying to see around the stems, and with the movement, a new wave of the scent hits her and it’s all she can think about again. 

“What is that?” 

“What’s what?” The woman laughs and finally pokes her head through the flowers. The bright smile that appears is one that Blake cannot differentiate from the first bloom of Spring. “You mean like, the daffodils or — whoa.” 

She can’t pinpoint the reason for the change, but something makes the woman’s eyes (the color of the sky at 5:30 am in the middle of June) widen when they first meet Blake’s. The surprise steals her smile, but it returns almost immediately, stronger than before. 

“Whoa,” she says again. “Where have you been?” 

Blake’s a college freshman — one who got a fake ID at 16 and has been to frat parties and bars and clubs — and so she’s heard the line before (or something like it, ‘all my life’ tacked on at the end), but she’s never heard anyone say it like this woman does. The emphasis is in the wrong spot, the tone out of place, the emotion behind it incomprehensible. 

(Stranger than all that, her instantaneous thought — one she only just keeps from escaping her own lips — is waiting for you.) 

“I — what?” she says instead. 

“It’s the day before Christmas break! I’ve been here all semester and I’ve never seen you before. It’s not that big of a school. So, like, where have you been?” 

The girl shifts her cargo to the side — as though to give herself a better view — and the warm leather of her coat, the soft wool around the collar, belong on her frame as much as the dark gold belongs around her neck (a woven scarf, color deeper than her hair). 

“Not in the greenhouse,” Blake settles on. “I didn’t know we had one.” 

“Yeah, I could have guessed that.” 

It comes with a laugh and Blake’s not sure whether to be offended or not, but the woman quickly continues, before Blake can settle on any one expression.

“The Botany program is pretty small. Not too many people other than us visit the far field, let alone the Greenhouse.”

“Botany?” It’s not what she expects, but it feels right. 

(Blake’s not sure how she knows what feels right. But she doesn’t question it either.)

“Yeah. Plants are sort of my thing.” The girl lifts one of the buckets as though to prove her point, and Blake is once again reminded. 

“Yeah. What are those? They smell — ”

(Perfect. Like something she’s been searching for.) 

“Really good right?” She laughs again; a breeze, but one strong enough to bend the trunks of trees. “Yeah, people use it in perfumes all the fucking time. But I think I like the pure version of it best.” Leaning forward, the woman tips the bucket in Blake’s direction, allowing her to get another whiff. “Poet’s Daffodil. Narcissus poeticus, if you’d be into me showing off.” 

She’s leaning in, breathing in deep, but her surprise at the name is such that it nearly sends her rocking off balance and crashing face-first into the delicate stems.

“Oh, you are into me showing off.” The woman shifts again, but the flowers can’t obscure the brightness of her grin. “Hold on, let me take some notes for future reference. Is it the Latin, foreign languages in general, or the vast depth of knowledge that does it for you?” 

“No, I — ” Blake barely recognizes the laugh that escapes from her own lips. “No, it’s just. I’ve never seen it before. The flower version of Narcissus, I mean. But I’ve read about it a hundred times. The man, at least.” 

The woman’s head tilts in thought, but her expression clears quickly.

“Mythology nerd, huh?”

“Classics major.” 

“Oh, super mythology nerd.” She tips the bucket forward again. One of the flowers slides against Blake’s cheek. “You better take one then. You can show it off to all your friends. Spin it however you like. Something like, you got a mythological flower from a mythological girl.” She pauses. “Okay that didn’t actually make sense, I don’t think. I meant like, you got a flower from a goddess. Because I’m like -- uh, I dunno -- what’s the hottest goddess?” 

“The last person who answered that question got into an awful lot of trouble, in the end,” Blake quips, but finds her smile aches. (She also finds she has an immediate answer, though it’s not one of the three that Paris had to consider in the contest that lead to such trouble for the Greeks and Trojans both.)

“I think I remember the basics of that one. How about you take the flower and my number instead of a golden apple and we’ll skip the bad ending.” 

It’s sudden, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like Blake’s been waiting for a while. 

“Forward,” she says despite all that, because it’s almost as though she has to. As though there are steps to take that she’s not allowed to skip, lest she upset a balance she wasn’t aware existed before now. 

It’s a dramatic thought; she’d laugh at herself if — when she reaches into the bucket to grasp one of the stems — she didn’t feel the world sigh in relief.  

“I’ve never really seen the point of wasting time.” The woman shrugs, tone and words light, but only in the same sort of way (required, practiced lines). “There’s just not enough of it.” 

“You sound like you’re a hundred years old and on your deathbed,” Blake laughs, but oh, her heart is clenching. And she’s taking out her phone. She’s making a new contact. She’s already thinking about the first time she’ll text this woman and she doesn’t even know her name. 

(There isn’t enough time. Somehow, she agrees, and that makes her want to get all of it in now, while she has a chance.)

“Or I’m someone who is very late in dropping off some daffodils that don’t really like the cold much. Even if I have a very valid excuse in wanting to stick around.” She pulls away with several long strides backwards; it seems genuinely regretful, but she brightens a little, seeing the flower clutched in one of Blake’s hands (and her phone in the other). “818-815-6247. Let me know if you want to see the greenhouse. Or tell me about the prettiest goddess. Or do anything at all.” 

She takes another step back and Blake nods twice, before realizing she’s missing something. 

“Wait! I’m — ” It comes out sounding a little more desperate than she would have liked, but then, the woman turns back towards her quickly enough for a single petal to fall off of one of of the flowers, so maybe pretenses aren’t really something either of them are concerning themselves with. “I don’t know your name.” 

“Yang.” It’s not the name she expects, but it slides into place easily enough. 

“Blake.” (Somehow, that’s not the name she expects either, even though it’s her own.) “I’ll text you. Call you. Soon.” 

“Good.” She catches another flash of that smile before Yang turns away. “And I’ll be waiting. Or —  trying to. I’ve never been very patient, though you’d think I would have learned by now.” 

“A lot of practice?” Blake calls after her, takes a step towards her (doesn’t notice). 

“Too much, I think.” Her laugh carries, blonde curls whip in the wind as she walks off. “So try to have mercy on me this time.”

Afterwards, she smells of daffodils (of dark green leaves, of a meadow that stretches on and on and on, of mint and hay and dirt and weeds and the whole of spring), as though it’s coming from her pores rather than the flower she places in a small glass on her nightstand. The scent persists through showers and nights out and all the smells that come with living in a coed freshman dorm. It lasts for days (or eons) and stretches back in time, too; she finds it tucked away in memories where it has no place, couldn’t possibly exist. 

(She’s five and her mom takes her to pick blueberries, she’s fourteen on a field trip to the botanical gardens, she’s seventeen and trying to find a perfume that suits her, she’s nineteen and stepping out of her late night Byzantine history seminar. And it’s there — it’s always there — just out of reach: the field over, the next flower, a slightly different perfume, a whiff on the wind that she chases across campus for ten minutes before giving up.)  

(She’s older — ageless — and she doesn’t recognize herself, but it’s there too.) 

The scent of flowers lingers and Blake doesn’t mind. 

She also texts Yang before it can begin to fade.

—

They first meet on Helios’s Day, on the morning of the vernal equinox, under a bright and clear sky.

She watches from behind the treeline, but even from a distance, it’s obvious, the way the ground rises to greet her when the woman walks past: stalks lengthening, flowers unfolding, grass brightening into a more vibrant shade of green with each step she takes. The world is in bloom and it follows the unspoken instructions of only one creature that roams its face. 

Hesitation is not a trait often associated with the gods, but the god of the underworld feels it now, unwilling to interrupt the celebration that the very Earth seemingly wishes to partake in, but desiring it all the same. She is used to the damp, dark coolness of the world below, and the sun always seems beats down with an unfamiliar and uncomfortable heat, but today it feels indomitable and irresistible. 

Today, she wants to step out into the light. 

Vines wrap around her as soon as she does — nothing binding or restrictive, but welcoming — a soft touch that greets her in time with the smile of the one who controls them. She does not appear surprised at the intrusion, nor displeased, but when she walks closer and white flowers — fragrant and familiar — spring up all around them, certainty sprouts as well. 

“The receiver of many guests. Giver of good counsel. It’s not often we see you up here.” The tone is teasing, different from what she typically hears, and it warms her cheeks, places a shade of color there that others would not recognize. (She barely recognizes it in herself.) “What have you come to the surface for?” 

She has an answer to the question, but it’s an honest one, not one she typically gives freely. 

She gives it freely now.  

“Sometimes, I miss being around things that are alive.” 

The goddess doesn’t belittle when she responds — though her smile stays playful — like so many others would. 

“I may be able to help you with that.” 

The ground shifts again and one of the flowers at her feet lifts, stem lengthening to four times what would be natural, until it’s sliding between her fingers, depositing itself in her palm, releasing itself from the Earth when she lifts it to her nose and breathes deep. 

“Everything dies when I go below,” she says softly, and with regret. 

“Not this.” 

She stares into the goddess’s eyes (crocus, monkshood, bellflower, wisteria, lilac) and believes her words, impossible though they are. 

“I’m Kore.” The name doesn’t quite suit her, though the king of the underworld had known it before now. “You should call on me whenever you want to feel something that is alive.” 

“And what if I feel that always?” 

Kore laughs. The whole of the clearing blooms. 

“Then you should call on me always, Hades. Whenever you please.”

—

There’s no need for any pretense. No desire for it, besides.

They graduate from text to voice quickly — within the span of a week —  and when Blake calls, Yang answers on the first ring. When Blake asks if she wants to hang out, Yang rattles off seven different options without pause. 

(“I’ve been thinking about what we should do together since we first met,” Yang says, not really an admission, not when the truth is so easily accessible.

“That was four days ago,” Blake feels she has to add, but Yang just laughs.)

Yang — without flowers blocking her face — is more beautiful than anything Blake’s ever seen. It’s more than the sharp cut of her jaw or the muscles of her forearm or the way her eyes crinkle when she smiles; Yang is attractive and anyone would agree, but it’s more than that. (Something curls in Blake’s stomach and settles in place at the sight, roots growing quick and deep.) And maybe it’s more for Yang too, because her expression — when Blake steps into view, climbing up over the crest of the hill that marks the start of the far field  — holds more than Blake can measure. 

College is strange, and the relationships formed within it, stranger still. She’d met Sun at a freshmen karaoke mixer that she’d been dragged to by her roommate, and in the span of a few hours, they’d gone through every stage of a relationship imaginable: strangers (the awkward first meet), rivals (when he and Ilia had picked the same song and Blake had been dragged along in solidarity), possible partners (when mixer had become unofficial and the alcohol had come out), and (finally) best friends (when the awkward flirtation and intoxication was behind them).   

But this — Yang taking her hand and leading her towards the greenhouse — is different, and that must be apparent to both of them, because Yang hardly looks surprised when Blake doesn’t step away, even once they’re inside. 

“Why botany?” Blake asks, tone softer than the question merits.

Yang’s lips curl and Blake gets caught on the corner like it’s a hook; she wants to press her fingers against the indent, and then do the same with her mouth.   

“I like making things grow. Wherever I go.” Her smile is unabashed, even when she continues. “Cheesy, I know. But I like making things come alive.”

(Blake thinks of vines growing in places they shouldn’t be able to, thinks of flowers sprouting from the cracks in pavement, thinks of the roots of trees spilling out over and digging into rock. She thinks — most of all — of Yang’s hands on all of them and on her as well, a different sort of challenge that Yang never took as such.) 

“It’s not cheesy it’s — “ As she searches for the word, Yang’s gaze does something similar with the planes of her face (searching, though Blake doesn’t think she finds what she’s looking for, and finds herself coming up similarly short). “ —  sincere? Earnest?” She shakes her head; neither are quite right. “Whatever it is, the world needs more of it.” 

The honesty doesn’t sound as sweet coming from her lips, but Yang doesn’t appear to mind. She smiles again, wider this time, and the plants around them pulse with a soft sigh, a tangible exhale of oxygen. And when Yang walks along the rows -- running her fingers gently along the leaves and petals and stalks -- when she speaks each of their names, Blake could swear the vegetation leans into her touch. 

The thought is less strange when coupled with her own: that she wants to do much of the same. 

She searches for patience, then. 

She’s had practice with it too. 

(She used to have more of it.) 

—

She doesn’t last long. 

But then, how could she? 

Only a week later, one of Yang’s friends throws a back-to-school party and Blake gets pulled along, as seems to be the new trend. 

(“It’s weird,” Yang says, much in the same way she always does, with a grin lighting her face. “She’s normally a lot more particular about her guest list.”) 

There’s alcohol waiting for them as soon as they walk in, and they each throw back a shot before moving any further, though the (surprisingly) fancy cocktail Blake picks up shortly after is one that she nurses for the rest of the night, at least until her hands find better uses. 

Yang’s hands find them more quickly than Blake’s; she’s tactile and gregarious and fun and she touches people as she greets them, throughout conversations, when she says goodbye. But she touches Blake most of all: her hand on the small of her back, her fingers threading through the hair that rests at the nape of her neck, her chin resting on Blake’s shoulder. 

It builds and builds and there’s not enough time and so Blake reaches down, tugs on Yang’s hand and pulls her outside. It feels like the only place they can be — tucked into the corner of the balcony of Yang’s friend’s lavish apartment with the night sky overhead — when she kisses her. 

There’s no surprise in the action, but there’s plenty of everything else. 

(Blake considers all the Greek words for affection, for feeling, for lust, for every form of love known to the poets, and disregards them all.) 

Her lipstick is dark, and it’s smeared over Yang’s mouth when she pulls back (later — that night and in the upcoming weeks and months and years — she’ll find it in other places: Yang’s neck, her thighs, her sheets). The stains Yang leaves is of a different sort, but Blake first notices it in the taste left on her lips. She runs her tongue along it, brow pinching in thought, and Yang laughs as she watches her try to figure it out. 

“Pomegranate,” she explains. “It’s the lip balm.” 

Blake can’t see how that accounts for all of it and kisses her again, just to be sure.

—

The first time they kiss, the world springs into revelry.

The humans flourish under the bountiful harvest; their yields triple, they write songs about the season, they throw feasts without excuse, and each of the gods benefit from an upsurge of tributes, from the smallest villages to the largest city-states. 

She hardly notices. 

Instead, she focuses on memorizing the way Kore tastes. 

 —

She meets a boy in her Ancient Greek Lit class, finds his translation of the first line of the Odyssey to be interesting. The word polytropos, he argues, should be taken as an active description; Odysseus is not controlled but in control of his fate. ‘Sing to me, Muse, of a compelling man; sing through me the story of a man who could shape the world around him’, the boy writes, and Blake gets caught on the intensity in his expression as he reads it, is taken by his confidence and passion (forgets to argue against the lengthiness and the clear liberties he takes). 

He greets her after class, suggests they study together sometime, and that’s what Yang finds them doing a couple days later, tucked away in a corner of the library, pouring over words translated a thousand times, Adam finding a way to disagree with every previous version of them. Yang slides into the conversation and the seat next to Blake without needing to be invited, her warm smile at ease even when Adam switches to Greek, speaks fast and condescending. 

“Well I don’t know anything about any of that,” Yang says easily. “But Blake told me that myths were supposed to be enjoyed by everyone, right? That they were passed on from generation to generation, like bedtime songs or campfire stories. Seems like getting all wordy and pretentious doesn’t really fit that idea, right?” She smiles, and Blake’s gaze shifts towards it, away from the clear ire in Adam’s eyes. “I’d go with Blake’s version.”

In the hour they’d been at the table, Blake hadn’t offered her own translation (hadn’t been asked), but it’s scribbled there, within the margins of the pages of printed out Greek, and Yang’s fingers brush against the pen strokes as she leans in, their shoulders brushing against each other. 

“Tell me about a complicated man,” Blake reads, voice soft. 

“Yeah.” Yang nods and completely ignores Adam’s glare. Blake finds doing the same to be easy, his magnetism fading away, swept aside by stronger forces. “Sometimes you’ve got to admit that something like that can’t be totally summed up in a word or even in a sentence. There’s something kind of beautiful about that too — I think — admitting the complexity in such a simple way.”

“I… think so too.”  

Adam doesn’t last for much longer, quickly tiring of not being the center of attention. He slams his books shut and shoves his chair out with force when he stands and Blake can’t remember what it was about him that appealed to her in the first place.

“I don’t like him,” Yang says after he leaves, a simple declaration as she steals a sip from Blake’s water bottle.

Blake blinks. Considers. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be studying with him again.” 

And she doesn’t. 

(It’s not normally that easy, she thinks, later on, and isn’t sure what she means by that at all.)

—

The humans tell tales about them, before their story is finished. 

Time is odd like that when you are immortal and infinite. Beginnings and ends and middles get jumbled in a way that they never do for those who have a life to live in a linear manner.  

It starts small: maidens whispering to each other, children making up rhymes, mothers telling stories to put their daughters to sleep. There’s a soft reverence in these traditions, and though she does not catalog the words they use, she picks up on the meaning. It settles in her chest — the warmth of it — different from the sort that presses at her heart when Kore is near, but significant in a distinct way. 

The tales change over time, warped by the teller and the listener alike, move further from the truth. But the humans could hardly know of the color of Kore’s hair, the tone of her skin, the color of her eyes, and what did it matter when the genders were confused or the courtship was pressed into a single day? The meaning persisted, the good intentions enough to sate the both of them. 

The stories lengthen, turn into poems, turn into songs, turn into performances, turn into epics. And one day Hermes tells them — amusement in his voice — that they have started to record them, to actually write them down.

But they carry on, much in the same way. 

What harm could human words -- written or no -- have on the lives of the gods?

[klaus-is-the-real-number-1]

This Is How It Feels (number five x reader)

A/N: i made it into a fic,, like a highschool au,, hope you enjoy like,, idk, u know them typical fics where its like ‘i dare you to graft them’ or ‘pretend to date’ and then then end up liking each other or,, i dunno. I got pure carried away sorry.(ok so i made some names up for people so, your best friend is: Beth and Beths older brother is: Dante) i havent proof read sorry :(

spazclaiire said: hii could i request headcanons or a fix of excuses five has used to hold your hand or ‘four times five had an excuse to hold your hand and the one time he went for it’ please? thank youu

words:3350

Books weighed down your arms as they spilled over the threshold of your carrying limits, they were heavy, a mix of ring binders and oversized textbooks were making you sway like a drunk man. People barging past in steady streams didn’t help your balancing act either, stumbling every few seconds hoping that the library got closer quicker. 

Swinging open the door to the library your eyes scan the room for the table you and your friends usually sit at and by ‘usually’ you actually mean every single break you get, whether its just for 5 minuets or the full hour you get for lunch or free periods. The table in question even had all your names written on the underside along with other random scribblings and doodles. You make eye contact with a few people on your table as you get closer.

“Y/n, I’ve got some tea to spill, and it involves you!” Beth excitably suggests. Beth always had some new tea to spill, she was a see all hear all person, it also helped that her older brother was in the year above and in the group of the schools self proclaimed ‘bad boys’. She always knows what they’re planning, the who, what, why and where, she had it down to a T.

Speaking of ‘T’, any tea involving you wasn’t good, there had been drama circulating about you before and it took long enough for that to die down. You sigh, hoping it’s got nothing to do with the group of ‘bad boys’. “Go on then, spill.”

“Five Hargreeves has his eyes on you.” Of course, Five was the year above and one of the smartest students in the entire school. The only reason he even knew who you were is because his best friend is Beth’s brother and you were in his AP physics. He was also classed as the fittest boy in school with the worst reputation yet the cleanest slate. 

“For god’s sake, why?” The last thing you wanted was for Five to actually care about who you were, he was a heart breaker, something that you just didn’t need.

“I’m not too sure, I haven’t heard much about the plan, but there is a plan so just be cautious. He’s probably after you because you’re fit.” You smile at her words. “Are you in the art building for lunch again?” You just nod in response.

You had been spending an increasing amount of time in the art buildings, it was just a soft and aesthetically pleasing environment to be in and it meant you’d actually get your work done. You could sit and draw for hours but with how hectic life was the art buildings was a safe getaway. So at lunchtime that’s where you found yourself, aimlessly painting the view out of the window, fields and trees and streams filled the canvas. You were in your own world, minding your own business. 

“Your painting is really pretty, but not as pretty as you.” There it was, not only half a day after being warned about Five Hargreeves he was already trying to chat you up. He was leant against a wall behind you, scanning your figure and the painting. “And I was here thinking you were just a brain and a pretty face.” It was a pitiful, low effort attempt and a half-arsed compliment.

“What do you want, Hargreeves?” It may of sounded harsh but you didn’t want to deal with his bad attempts at flirting.

“Harsh much,” He jokingly placed a hand over his heart. “Listen I need a favour, all you have to do is walk out of this building holding my hand and pretend to date me for about 2 days maybe.” A shockingly fake smile spread across his face as he held his hand out.

“So let me guess,” You tapped your finger on your chin, mockingly thinking. “I’ll pretend to date you, you’ll win some sort of bet and then the best part is when you tell everyone we shagged then you dumped me right after!” You returned his bittersweet fake smile. “I’m going to have to pass Hargreeves, I’d rather not be apart of one of your silly little games.” 

With a tut, he turned around to leave the block not before having the last word. “You’ll fall in love with me eventually y/n, they always do.” You could help but to scoff as he walked out of the room, he was too cocky, all the years he always had any girl he ever wanted to drop at his feet but not you.

Time ticked away slowly until it came to AP Physics, it was a brutal way to end the day often ending with being completely worn out. You were concentrating on rearranging the equations that needed to be used, it was going well until a piece of scrunched paper landed where you were writing. You simply brush it to the side and continue with your work, you had a faint idea who it was from seen as Five sat on the opposite side of your table of 4, ideal, you know.

“y/n.”  His foot playfully tapped yours, causing you to roll your eyes. “Open it.” 

So you did, only to be met with the more than classy words ‘my offer still stands ;)’ You couldn’t believe it, looking him in the eyes you pretended to ponder his decision, swiftly followed by tearing the note up and sliding it back over to him. Fives mouth hung open, you smugly go back to what you were working on. 

Five was relatively quite for the rest of the class, resulting in it going much quicker than it normally would. He would sometimes answer questions but other than that there was no more chew from Five. In a blink of an eye it was time to go home to rest and recuperate from a long day of lessons, to prepare for the exact same the next day, the same as you do every day.

Five paced around his room, he hadn’t lost a bet yet and he wasn’t going to start losing them now. It was a simple bet, make y/n fall for him. Five didn’t particularly want to follow through with this bet, it wasn’t fair on y/n seen as she hadn’t done anything wrong to Five. Dante had only made Five do the bet as he knew Five used to have a slight thing for y/n, it was almost comedically convenient that Dante’s younger sister was best friends with y/n, Dante couldn’t help himself whenever y/n was around his house with Beth to make a comment about it. But despite all this, he couldn’t lose the bet.

The next day, Five had a plan, he knew that in AP Physics the teacher was about to set a new project to be completed in pairs, so naturally he went straight to the teacher. “Sir, for that paired project I really think I should work with y/n, we’d work so well together.” He practically begged his teacher.

“I’ll think about it Five, but if I do place you together, please make an effort to improve your behaviour. It’s your last year and you have such great potential, don’t waste it.” The spiel was met by a roll of Fives eyes followed by a muttered ‘sure’. Five regularly got this talk all the time, everyone says that he needs to focus his academic knowledge into something, anything, but he’s just not motivated by anything. Everything had either been invented or is being invented so there was just no point in trying.

The weekend drew closer with every ticking minuet, teasing you with every small movement of the hands, counting down like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. You were sat in your last lesson, AP Physics, took your seat and took out your supplies. You lazily observed as the rest of your class walked in, you gave and received a few smiles to and from various classmates until last person the last person in, Five Hargreeves, he waltzed into the room with confidence oozing from him. 

Before Five had a chance to speak the teacher was already up and writing the title on the board ‘electromagnetism’. As soon as the words appeared on the board a collective groan of despair was heard throughout the room. 

“So,” The teacher started, clearly enjoying the sudden drop in mood. “I know how much you all love electromagnetism, so what were going to do is work in pairs to create a powerpoint and a poster covering all the aspects of electromagnetism!” The room livened up a bit at the prospect of working with a friend, that was until the teacher continued. “I have put you in pairs, so listen in as I call the pairs out and then move next to your new physics partner.”

People moved about the room to sit next to their project partner, you listened closely to hear who you’d be partnered with this time. “Y/n?” “Sir.” “You’re with Five Hargreeves.” You see Fives face light up as he slides his books across the desk the the seat next to yours, the smug grin never leaving his face once. 

You begin to write down what you had to do for the presentation, feeling Fives eyes stare into the side of your head. “So over the weekend can you do as much research on magnetic flux, flux density and field strength and I’ll cover BH curves and permeability, does that sound good?”  

“Why don’t we just meet up over the weekend and make a start together?” He nudged your elbow, your pen run up your page, ruining the word you were writing.

“Can’t. I’m working all weekend.” Which was met with a small ‘o’ from Five, he turns way and messily scribbles on a sheet of paper and then slides it back over to you. 

“Well if you can’t meet up this weekend then at least have my number.” You slightly smile and fold the piece of paper up and slip it into your notebook. Before Five could slip in another word the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. You say your goodbyes and begin the walk home, it was a fairly long walk home maybe reaching around 30 minuets but it was always a pretty sight to walk through the woods during the spring, pink petals from the cherry blossoms littered the ground, colouring the dull world waking up from winter.

Once home you stared at the crumpled paper with Fives number on it, also noticing the smaller scribbled snapchat username. It felt like a smarter decision just to add him on snap for now but save his number in your contacts, just in case. As soon as you added him he accepted within a matter of seconds, followed by a picture message ‘hey x’ it read. You simply send a picture back of your blank wall and place your phone down, you let a small laugh as your phone buzzes again. 

Sitting at your desk, you pulled out your books and your laptop to make a start on the physics work. You just couldn’t help but check what Five had responded, clicking his name you were met with his face in a pout. You respond with a picture of you sticking your tongue out, which got a response quickly. This stream of photos carried on until the early hours of the morning not even realising the time and that in a mere 6 hours you had to go to work, you send ‘night’ to Five and place your phone on the side, a small smile on your face as you drifted to sleep.

Five laid awake, considering calling the bet off all together. Hours of talking to y/n only felt like minuets, Five wanted to get to know y/n on his own terms not on the terms of a bet. He shouldn’t of accepted the bet to begin with, his competitiveness got the best of him. 

The weekend went far to quickly for your liking, mixed with work and school work. Five was also non-stop messaging you throughout the weekend, he found a way to talk to you about everything and anything, often sending long video messages of him walking round his giant house, you could always hear the shouts of his siblings in the background.

Monday nights were the one night of the week that you enjoyed, Monday was movie night at Beth’s house. The night usually went that straight after school you’d take over the living room, bringing out the blankets and extra pillows, you would both then decide what films to watch and what food to get. Once that was all done you’d both bunker down and start the movies, getting ready for a long night.

About halfway through the first movie Five and Dante slowly made their way into the main room, stealing some of your pizza before sitting down on the sofa to join you. Five took a seat next to you while Dante sat on an armchair, Five pulled your blanket so it was covering both of you, leaning back into the sofa you could feel physically how close he was to you and it was driving you mad.

Beth caught your eyes and wiggled her eyebrows, you responded by sending a cheeky wink with a joking smile. As the night moved on and the movies continued, you and Five slowly moved closer throughout the movie marathon, it couldn’t of been helped, you were both like two magnets. 

The final scene in The Breakfast Club was playing, both Beth and Dante had already fallen asleep, you felt Fives hand touch the side of yours. You slightly push your hand back against his, welcoming the warmth as his touch, your reaction invited him to link his fingers with yours. Light from the TV bounced off the features of his face, defining his angled lines of his face, you couldn’t deny that he was handsome, very handsome. 

The screen of the TV turned dark as you used the remote to switch it off, a dim glow of the moon shone through the open windows, the moment was romantic, overly romantic but it was the sleepiness making you ignore the voice that was screaming that he didn’t mean it, he had an end game and you couldn’t forget that. 

You pulled your hand from Five and lean over to Beth and lightly shake her shoulders. “Beth, its 20 past 1, I think it’s time to go to bed.” She responds by making some unclear noises and began to sit up, you smile and stand up pulling her with you. You spare a glance back at Five before continuing upstairs, unable to stop the tingling feeling in your hand.

Eventually, you had to meet up with Five to work on the physics project, you both hadn’t spoken since Monday night. Well not exactly, Five had been messaging you a lot but you just hadn’t been responding because all you could think about was if he had a possible end game. You didn’t want to get played by Five.

You heard soft steps getting closer, you look up to meet Fives eyes. “Hey.” He spoke in a soft voice in the quiet library. He pulled a chair out from besides you and sat down, pulling his textbooks out of his bag. You both made small talk during your work, it was a nice atmosphere in the library, a nice atmosphere between you and Five with no looming pressure after what happened Monday night.

A breeze drifted through the large room, causing you to break out in goosebumps and shiver. You decided that morning that you could just wear a T-shirt with no jacket as the sun was out, how wrong you were when dark clouds swarmed over. 

“Do you want to borrow my hoodie?” Five asked, but he was already taking it off to give to you.

“Oh no Five it’s okay, it’s my own fault I forgot my jacket. Anyways what would you wear?” Despite how cold you were you really didn’t want to borrow Fives hoodie, he would be just as cold as you were.

“No please y/n, take it. I’ve got an extra jacket in my locker anyways.” He pushed his hoodie into your hands. You could tell he was probably lying about it but you sheepishly took his hoodie and put it on, it was warm and you couldn’t help but smile a little bit. 

You mutter your thanks, a warm flush coming over your face as you continue to work on your project until your next lesson. Once the bell rang, you both left to opposite directions, you completely forgot that you had Fives hoodie on until you sat next to Beth in english to be passed a scrap piece of paper with scribbled writing ‘That’s not your hoodie???’ you smile at the sheet and just write back ‘Five’s’ 

You didn’t see Five for the rest of the day until you got a message during the last lesson. ‘meet me near math class at the end of the day x’ It wasn’t a question, he was telling you. You send an ‘ok’ and continue with your lesson, constantly distracted by the ticking arms of the clock, counting down it’s last minuets.

As the clock strikes 3 you make your way to the math department, you were fighting against the tide as everyone rushed to get out of school. As the crowed begun to thin you saw Five standing outside the maths classroom, standing hoodie-less. He made his way towards you, smile present on his face.

“Where’s this jacket that was meant to be in your locker?” He just laughs and shrugs his shoulders.

“I mean my hoodie looks better on you than it did on me so I don’t mind.” You smile at him and begin your decent through the school. “So I was thinking we could just like, go for a walk? It’s just nice spending time with you.”

You both aimlessly wandered around town until finding a small cafe to reside in when the weather started to turn, Five had a black coffee and you had a hot chocolate. The room was filled with noise from others in the cafe and also from the outside world that couldn’t reach you in your own little world.

“Five, not to sound daft or anything but are you still trying to do this for the bet or are you being genuine?” You didn’t want to sound harsh but you were still unsure if this was genuine or just an oscar winning act.

“y/n,” He reached over and took your hand. “I called the bet off just before Monday night, as soon as I came to the school and saw you I knew straight away I wanted to be with you.” He ran his thumb gently over your knuckles. “I know you wont trust me right away but I want to make you trust me, I want you to feel the same way about me as I do for you.”

“Okay.”

All it took was that one word to kickstart your time with Five. It started small, handholding any chance he got, he seemed to always need to be close, holding and hugging you. He was so affectionate and almost touched starved, begging like a stray puppy. Five slowly gained your trust and love for him, he had an infinite amount of hoodies and oversized T-shirts, truth be told you were pretty sure Five just loved to see you in his clothes.

You and Five were cuddled up on your bed, he was running his fingers through your hair as light cut through the curtains, lighting the room in a heavenly glow. Five placed a kiss on the side on your head, pulling you closer as he did. 

“Y/n, I think I’m in love with you.” You smile and lean into his embrace.

“I think I’m in love with you too, Five.”

[pffbts]

Hey loveee, can I request for an imagine where yoongi tells me what this year could just be another year of suffering,but only good things will come out of it? I hope this doesn't sound to werid or bad or anything, it's mainly for comfort if I were to be honest with u. Love u!!

―genre: fluff; angst; crack.

―characters: yoongi x female reader | no supporting character.

―w.c: 2.6 K

―author`s note: on the eve of the day before turning 19, i somehow felt connected to this request – somehow it felt close to heart. thank you to the beautiful anon who requested this. i hope i can touch you through my words. consider this as my birthday treat for you! much love

[11:53 PM] [the sakuras scattered under the wholesome night sky filled with stars for a new season, someone under the warm fuzzy blanket squeezes another`s]

― as usual, the warm baby blue coloured blanket smelled of you. yoongi`s face contorted to a smile getting born under the board daylight through the windows of his room. he called each night with you an unfinished business due at some corner of his existence. this was difficult. time has always been difficult with min yoongi. taking a toll on his words and thoughts, he flourishes in the thoughts that he might try again, just for the sake of you. getting up and on reflex feeling the strain of his neck, yoongi groaned at the warm sunlight which suddenly felt like balls of fire against his pale skin.

he couldn`t be too forward with you but he wanted to try again – try telling you that this new year that awaits for you will come in terms of normality. he wanted to wish that this year of 19 would turn somehow better than ever. this is the year both of you are graduating from school and as the seasons greets, soon you`ll be in some university probably away from each other.

he searched for his phone to catch the time. it read 08:45 AM. shoot, yoongi hissed, he has already wasted a number of precious hours lying on his futon thinking about skin damage and anxiety of being around you.

while taking a warm shower, yoongi started washing the skin of his hands, his chest – half of his face got clouded when he heard an imaginary you clutching onto your stomach and laughing at his skin treatment. ugh, what do you understand about skin treatment and keeping things clean? mindlessly, he showered successfully.

walking out of his house, he was greeted by a cloudy sky and the floating of the cherry blossoms in the air.

“so tomorrow`s spring, huh?”

yoongi looked to his left to find you in your long tracks, blue t-shirt and a cap, kicking the closest cherry blossom tree at its base. sighing internally, yoongi wondered, how can someone like you be born on the starting of people`s favourite season – spring?

“yes! aren`t you relieved?” yoongi started, walking towards you.

“not exactly. it`s just another season.”

of course, you wouldn`t be excited. yoongi knew it all along. it was just for a second he thought you might answer something different this time. after all, it`s your 19th birthday the next day which also according to this year`s calendar schedule is the starting of spring.

“we don`t have to suffer the extreme cold. that`s a relieve factor.” then, sizing up his thoughts, yoongi proceeded with the next words, “but someone here likes the cold too much, i guess.”

“yoongi.”

“yes, yes. i know. don`t get so worked up.”

typically as long as yoongi`s vivid memory goes, you were not completely this cold all the time. not until the death of your parents in a plane crash came down on you. it`s been exactly ten years since your 9th birthday that you`ve heard the heart-wrenching news of their death. before that very day, you were just like any other girl of the neighbourhood who liked flowers, who liked tying her hair in pretty braids. yoongi recalled how you loved the french braids the most. you were just like any other person who liked wearing the traditional outfits for any special occasion. you were like any other person who waited for spring to come because then you also get to celebrate it along with your birthday.

but the 9th year of your life made your world upside down and you ran back to your room waiting for a storm to come and blow you away. you walked away from yourself, from being any other normal human being. you started cutting your hair off, wearing boyish clothes, threw away your pretty sandals and opted for sneakers and vans. slowly, you erased everyone`s memory of the you which they saw growing up since the baby days.

10 years later, you`re still the same and the only one who accepted you for what you were and for what you became was yoongi – the next door boy who grew up along with you, going to the same class in the same school.

yoongi tried saying it every year during this time that the next year will bring something different. but every time he did he would get the cold shoulder from you in return resulting in his successful failure. the spirits of spring sigh every year at his efforts and showers his front yard with cherry blossoms just to console his aching heart.

“yoongi?” a hand which previously looked like fog started becoming clearer in front of his vision. jumping on his feet, yoongi shot a stunt look at you. “where are you, yoon?”

“earth.”

“better. i thought you teleported yourself to Neptune.”

suddenly yoongi realized, the still presently aged 18 years old you have started walking with your back facing him at a distance.

“wait! where are you going? wait for me!”

yoongi ran. as fast as he could to catch up with the same story he writes each year. this year he wanted you to remember that things do change and when they do, the sun won`t suddenly feel like the sun, instead, it would feel like the planets have gathered up for a casual visit with you. when it happens, he`ll always go back to you even if it breaks his heart.

*

“next spot – karaoke!” a red-faced, half-drunk in soju yoongi announced. sipping the regular coke from the straw, you shook your head disapproving of his plan in silence.

even though his face dropped, he demanded an explanation. then he told you to forget about giving an explanation instead he started lecturing you about how you`re just wasting the youthful days of your life and that you`re already someone in their 60s. then he proceeded to tease you about how your grandparents with whom you live at present are much more joyful than you.

slamming the cup of coke with a force on the spot of the table in front of you, you got up from your seat and pointed a strict finger at the middle of your friend`s brows.

“because unlike you, min yoongi, you`re still living the life.” pulling the finger away, you stared into his wide feline-like eyes, “consider me dead at this point, hun. i`ve been dead for the last ten years, okay? don`t try to do something that`s universally impossible to gain.”

stories. min yoongi has been writing stories for a long time. each year he tries to erase half of their sentences and joins new words to make up for all the things he missed out the previous years. every year he collects sakuras and tried to make it into something of some shape. but then your words strike his motive and he realizes, sakuras are not clay and even clay can`t form any shape if we don`t have waters.

somehow he wants to talk it out with you. but every word that gets thrown to the air in-between both of you, they build up to that moment of rebel where they break apart from your force.

the view in front of him turned into a fog but his ears were still untempted and so he heard the loud, frantic footsteps of your boots on the wooden floor retreating back to the exit and slowly as the sound fades in the air, his vision clears and he finds himself with his forehead resting against the table, his shoulders shaking.

“boys don`t cry, yoon!” a seven-year-old you once said that to him when yoongi fell on the gravel path while coming home from school and got a scratch on his knee. the blood which was seeping out looked too bright on his pale skin.

yoongi`s fist slammed the table beside his head and he felt the warm tears overflowing from his eyes. you always had it wrong. min yoongi always cried because somehow he still couldn`t find how to save you. he has been a useless human being in your life. maybe, maybe it wouldn`t even matter. even if he leaves the town, maybe you`ll not even miss him.

so he cried. if he`s the one who should be crying in that case then he will.

*

yoongi ran back to you – his eyes red, his emotions out of line and the stories flying here and there. tonight as the town closes in for the preparation of the new season tomorrow, he wants to let you know everything. everything that he has to build up till to this day. he is going to throw all his intuitions and his old, crappy stories. he`s going to write to a new verse, new poems celebrating them with you, even if that mean it would receive silence and empty gaps of air from you.

pulling out his phone from his pant`s pocket and almost stumbling into his room, he texted you to come over. this could go anywhere, yoongi knew this very well. but he still went for it.

after the longest ten minutes in the world, you came into his room and sat Indian style in front of his bed, your shoulder blades pressed against the mattress and wood. a half-asleep yoongi got up from his place in bed and sat there facing the same wall, almost mimicking your posture.

“if you called me to confess about your deep-shit feelings for me, then let me inform you, i`m not into dicks.”

yoongi squeaked at this new out of no-where information from you.

“you`re gay?” lunging forward yoongi tried reading your expression which was really difficult as it was only moonlight in his room. “when did this happen?”

“i`m kidding, idiot.” you replied, your voice sounds like it`s already bored telling the same thing repeatedly.

“thanks jesus. you almost gave me a stroke.”

yoongi, suddenly remembering what was his initial plan, he jolted up, sitting back straight and cleared his throat, “anyway, you can somehow call this a confession too but it`s not anything romantic just so you know.”

“yes, i remembered saying that i would cut your dick off if you ever leak your romantic juice on me, so i guess i can trust you on that.”

jeez,  yoongi squeezed his eyes shut for a second, this conversation has already turned into a dark fiction. he just wanted to stay true to his feelings and not get threatened of getting his dick cut off. this girl, he sighed.

“i just…just listen to me out, okay?” he started still questioning. why was he still questioning himself? he didn`t know obviously because he has always been the bad one in accepting the reality, i guess. “i`m not saying this because you`re turning 19 in one hour.”he knew, he just knew that you had glanced at the digital clock sitting on his cupboard pushed against the same wall both of you were facing. not even giving himself a chance to smile, he continued, “i`m just telling you that, you`ll probably suffer a lot this year. maybe this year pain will come in many different ways – much different than the way it had always come at you, at us. but you must know that there will always be a sunray trying to battle its way through the dark clouds. there`ll always be a flower which will bloom in the sidewalks just to let the passerby know that they exist too.”

“let`s just say that we will definitely suffer a lot and that we will cry a lot. maybe not you. maybe it will mostly be me, but i`ll cry a lot. i promise even if it`s for both of us. i hope you know that there are some people in your life who still wants you to live and exist like any other person in the world. i want to tell you that you`re not dead to me, instead, you`ve always been more than alive to me than anyone in my world. of course i love you. i love you a lot to not let you suffer alone because just know that anywhere you go, i`ll go with you. if you find solace in your washroom, crying silently then i`ll be there on the other side of the door, crying with you. if you ever want to laugh even if it is all silly and not needed, i`ll laugh with you.”

yoongi`s voice rose with each passing second, his voice almost grew numb at the choice of words and the emotions that they carried but then he felt light in his chest. for the first time this year, on this last hour of pre-spring, last hour of his friend`s 18th year, he wasn`t making up white lies instead he was overflowing with emotions. he could almost feel himself floating in them.

you, on the other hand, were scared. you were scared for yoongi`s next words and mostly scared to look at his face. because you believed that if you stare at him now, you will lose your sight. he must be glowing right now. he must have become the brightest thing in this room right now and you were scared for the first time to meet his eyes.

“so, yes. i love you, a lot. maybe you`ll get a boyfriend after you leave for college and then a husband after that but this fool right here will always love you and it`s not romantic, okay? you understand? this is not romantic.”

yoongi didn`t even put you in the seat of mercy. he just let you be what you wanted under his gaze and when you got up from your place, screaming, your face tainted with overflowing warm tears, you hit him hard everywhere you could. falling against his bed, both of you cried like there was no tomorrow. you cried with everything that you got. it was like giving birth to a new life, it was like chicks hatching out of their shell – you felt the pain seeping out of you and another set of lungs being replaced in place of the old ones cause they couldn`t function. they weren`t capable of the pain that shot through you.

*

the clock on his cupboard read 11:53 PM. seven minutes and it will be a new spring. a new day, a new year for the person soundly sleeping beside him, your head resting on the expanse of his chest, your hand resting on the side of his right cheek and another entangled with yoongi`s. the blankets lost the battle to you and to min yoongi, the new cherry blossoms that fell in his front yard looked like heaven`s call for a year that would bring the best spring of your life.

at the end of the day, you are the only spring that matters to him.

[cherylblsom]

The Definition of Perfect - Ch.1

(A/N): I got a couple different requests for a pregnancy fic so here you go, it’s split into chapters bc I got a bit carried away oops

Pairing: Cheryl Blossom x Toni Topaz 

Word Count: 2,423

Warnings: honestly nothing?? a couple swears here & there

Summary: (request for pregnancy/parenting fic), Cheryl & Toni’s journey in creating a family for themselves 

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Cheryl shifts in her sleep and lets out a soft groan as she attempts to get comfortable, her eyes flicker open in the dark and over to the alarm clock, the bright green numbers which read 3:48 A.M cast an eerie glow throughout the room. She looks over to Toni who’s sleeping beside her tangled in the blankets with her face pressed against Cheryl’s arm. A strand of her pink hair is laying across her face and moving ever so slightly with every soft breath that blows out of Toni’s nose. Cheryl reaches out carefully and tucks the strand behind her ear, Toni mumbles something before shifting and reaching her arm over Cheryl’s body to run it over her rounded stomach. 

“Babe?” Toni groans, she blinks her eyes open to look up at Cheryl in the darkness. “You okay?”

“Mhmm” Cheryl mumbles “just can’t get comfortable”. She places her hands on either side of her body and shifts over to close the space between them, Toni reaches out in attempt to wrap her arms tightly around Cheryl’s body despite her protruding stomach. Cheryl’s head comes to rest on Toni’s shoulder and she turns her head to nuzzle into the curve of her neck. 

“How’re my babies?” Toni hums happily while she begins to run her hand over Cheryl’s stomach in gentle strokes. One of the babies kicks at Cheryl’s stomach as if responding to Toni’s questions all on their own, this earns a soft laugh from Toni and grumble from Cheryl. 

“Not allowing me to sleep, that’s how they are. When are these babies gonna come out?” Cheryl groans before trying to nuzzle deeper against Toni. A light laughter falls from Toni’s mouth again and she props herself up on on elbow to look down at Cheryl. 

“You look gorgeous” she says. Her eyes travel up and down Cheryl’s body taking in every curve and beautiful inch of her. 

“No I don’t.” She huffs in response. “I’m fat. I feel huge.”

“Cher baby, you’re pregnant with twins not fat.” 

“Fat” she repeats.

“Beautiful” Toni says, her eyes rolling in response to her wife. She presses a soft kiss to Cheryl’s forehead and settles back down against the pillows. Toni slides her hand under Cheryl’s faded pink shirt and rubs her stomach in gentle circles so she can soothe her and the babies into slumber.

-

**flashback**

Toni moans loudly as Cheryl’s lips connect to her’s in a heated kiss. The pair are laying on their bed, Toni straddling the taller girl with one hand curled into her red locks. She pulls away reluctancy and looks down at Cheryl. Her lips are swollen and her pale cheeks have a light blush to them, her fiery hair is splayed across the pillows with a couple strands framing her face. Toni feels her heart swell as she takes in the girl below her, she looks gorgeous. 

“Let’s make a baby” Toni says softly.

Cheryl laughs lightly in response. “Babe, I don’t think our uh - anatomy allows that.” She looks up at Toni and realizes her face is set in a sort of frown. “Oh you’re… serious?”

“I mean, yeah?” Toni says, she moves from her position on top of Cheryl to sit against the headboard, Cheryl moves to rest her head in Toni’s lap. “Obviously it’s not simple but there are options, I just want to start a family with you, of course if you-“

“I do.” Cheryl interrupts, she shifts her position to look up into Toni’s deep brown eyes. “Want a family, with you. What were you thinking? We could adopt.”

“Actually I was uhh, wondering about maybe IVF? That way the baby can have some of your genes.”

“Oh, I guess that didn’t come to mind right away.” Cheryl pauses for a moment before her face scrunches in confusion. “Wait, why my genes?”. Cheryl hears Toni sigh then she breaks eyes contact and leans back against the headboard. “Babe?” She prompts before sitting up and curling in beside her girlfriend. 

“I can’t… get pregnant.” Toni says quietly. “Well I mean, I can. But there’s always been a lot of complications in my family with pregnancy. My mom had a lot of trouble with me, she was really ill. So maybe it would just be better if you were the one to get pregnant.”

Cheryl nods in response, her eyes are full of concern and she rubs Toni’s arm gently. “If I’m being honest, I’ve always thought about being pregnant one day. So I would absolutely love to have our child. But we could still use your eggs.”

“Mmmm, but I want to use yours.” 

“T-T, what if we used both? Just see which one gets fertilized, leave it up to fate.” Cheryl looks up and catches Toni’s eyes light up in response and she nods while a smile crosses her face.

“You and your idea of fate” Toni laughs, her eyes rolling in response. “But yes, let’s do it.” 

“Let’s make a baby” Cheryl says faintly before leaning up to press a kiss to Toni’s lips.

-

Cheryl jolts awake suddenly, it seems like she’s only been asleep for moments but when she steals a look at the clock it indicates an hour or so has passed since the babies last woke her up.

“Cheryl? What’s wrong?’ Toni voice says from beside her. 

“I- I don’t know I just feel different”

“Different how? Does something hurt? Are you okay?” Toni’s voice comes our frantically as she scrambles into a sitting position, Cheryl’s eyes are focused on the celling and she takes a deep breath before reaching out for Toni to help her into a sitting position. The second she moves a rush of fluid is flowing down her legs and soaking into the bed sheets. Cheryl’s panicked eyes make contact with Toni’s and she can feel her heart hammering in her chest. 

“Babe.. the due date isn’t for a few more weeks” Cheryl says, she lays her hand on her stomach feeling a small wave of pain wash over her. Toni’s fingers wrap around Cheryl’s and she gives them a reassuring squeeze to calm her.

“Its okay, breathe baby, we just need to get to the hospital it’s all okay.” Toni moves from the bed and reaches for her phone, she dials in the number quickly and hopes to god the other girl has her phone sound turned on.

“H-hello?” Veronica’s sleepy voice comes from the other end. “Toni? What’s up?” 

“We need a ride to the hospital” she responds, she’s digging in the closest now searching for the bag the couple had packed for the hospital. 

“Bottom right” Cheryl’s voice calls from the bed, she grunts softly as she moves herself off the bed slowly and waddles over to the bathroom in search of a glass of water. 

“Is everything- OH! Oh god okay it’s happening, I’m coming right now” Veronica puts the pieces together in her mind without even having to be prompted and Toni rolls her eyes in response, she barley has time to thank her before the line clicks off. Toni locates the bag and throws it onto the foot of the bed before making her way to the bathroom. Cheryl is leaning heavily on the counter, her head bowed and her breathing coming out in short gasps. Toni can see her arms shaking the tiniest bit and she approaches her slowly before resting her hand on her lower back.

“Cher? Talk to me baby” 

Cheryl lifts her head to make eye contact with her wife, Toni notices the tears building up in the corners of her eyes and the fact that her bottom lip is trembling. “Toni… I’m scared”

“Come here” Toni says gently, she helps Cheryl shift so her head is resting against Toni. One of Toni’s hands slides under Cheryl’s shirt to rub soothing circles into her back and she uses to other one to tangle it in her deep red locks and stroke her temple with the edge of her thumb. 

“What if something goes wrong or - “

“Shhh, baby breathe. Take a deep breath with me” she guides Cheryl in a couple deep breaths until she’s not trembling quite so harshly.

“I just don’t know what to expect” Cheryl says in a small voice. 

“I know princess. But you got me and Ronnie and the doctors who will all keep you and the babies safe okay? And so many other people who will be cheering you on.” She soothes gently and the other girl nods in response. A gentle kiss is pressed to Cheryl’s head and then another one to her lips. “You’re the strongest person I know Cheryl Blossom.”

-

**flashback**

“The doctor will call Cher, come here” Toni says, she reaches out to Cheryl from her spot on the couch but the other girl continues her pacing across the living room, her eyes flicking between the clock and her cell phone.

“She said at 2”

“Its 2:01 babe, breathe for me okay?”

“I am I just-“ Cheryl is interrupted by the sound of her cellphone casting it’s ring throughout the room and echoing off the walls. Toni clicks the answer call button and puts it on speaker, she motions for Cheryl to come sit beside her but the redhead turns away and continues stalking around the room.

“Hello!” The doctor says on the other end, her voice sounds a little too cheery if you ask Cheryl but maybe that’s just her overthinking. “I have news, really good news”

“Do continue” Cheryl says, she’s stopped in the middle of the room now frozen to her spot as she awaits the results.

“You guys are pregnant, times two” the doctor’s voice comes out slow and deliberate.

“Times two?” Toni questions.

“Two of your eggs got fertilized, you’re having twins. Congratulations!!”

Cheryl makes a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a squeal of excitement and Toni catches her eyes light up at the information, her heart feels as full as it ever has in this moment. The call ends hastily with the doctor confirming an appointment and next steps but right now it goes over Toni’s head. Because all that matters in this moment is that Cheryl, the love of her life, is pregnant with her children. She’s finally going to have a family again, a real family.

“TONIIIIIII” Cheryl squeals, she runs towards the other girl with such force that her feet echo even on the carpet and Toni barley has time to react as Cheryl comes barreling towards her and jumps up into her arms. Her legs and arms wrap around Toni’s body as she’s spun through the air. “Baby we did it” 

Toni leans in to kiss Cheryl hard, there’s so much force behind the kiss that Cheryl feels lightheaded for a moment. Toni pulls back with a huge smile on her face and rests her head against her wife’s. “Holy shit” she whispers. 

“We’re pregnant” Cheryl says softly, smiling back just as hard. 

“We’re pregnant” Toni repeats in an almost whisper. She connects their lips again, softer this time and she can taste salt between their lips as tears fall down Cheryl’s face. Toni lowers Cheryl to the ground and moves her hand slowly to her stomach to stroke it gently, causing Cheryl’s eyes to flutter shut. 

“It was worth it. The egg retrieval, finding a donor, the hormone injections… it all lead to this” Cheryl says, she feels like her smile is forever pasted onto her face and she can never wipe it away, she opens her eyes and pulls Toni back in for another kiss.

“I’m going to give you guys the world” Toni says softly before pulling Cheryl into a tight embrace. 

“You already have” she whispers softly in her ear. 

-

“Did I mention I hate these stairs?” Cheryl grunts as she leans heavily against the banister and clings to Toni’s shirt causing it to wrinkle in the back. Her palms are sweating heavily which isn’t helpful to the situation even in the slightest. 

“I’ve got you babe, we’re almost there I promise.” Toni arm is tightly wrapped around Cheryl’s waist and the other is gripping her free hand tightly. The pair move down the stairs slowly, with Toni walking down them backwards, her feet rubbing against the rough carpet. She’s holding on to Cheryl as tightly as possible despite the fact that the fabric of her shirt is slippery and not ideal for a good grip. The door swings open just as they reach the bottom and Veronica is quick to rush over to Cheryl’s side and help her move outside to the car. The sun is just starting to rise causing the sky to radiate a deep orange and yellow colour with hints of blue among it and Cheryl pauses for half a second to take in the view. Cheryl slides into the backseat of Veronica’s s.u.v. with caution, one hand balanced on her stomach. Toni had ran back inside to grab their bag and ensure the cat had food and water so it was just Veronica and her right now, suddenly a wave of pain washes over her and she whimpers softly without meaning to.

“Deep breaths Cher” Veronica soothes, having a child of her own already she understands exactly the pain Cheryl is experiencing right now. Another whimper falls from the redhead’s lips and Veronica reaches for her hand to give it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Ronnie what if - fuck, what if I cant do this?” Cheryl says, she takes a deep breath trying to push the pain away but its insistent right now. 

“Cheryl I’ve seen you go through hell and back, trust me you can deliver your children” she reassures, she runs her thumb over Cheryls hand trying to comfort her more. The door on the other side of the vehicle opens and Toni slides in with a bag and fuzzy blue blanket in her arms. 

“Ready for this babygirl?” She asks while shifting to the seat beside Cheryl and clicking her seatbelt in place. Cheryl nods in response before resting her head on Toni’s shoulder and letting her eyes flutter closed. 

“I’m ready to meet our babies” she mumbles, the pain has faded for now but she knows its only a matter of time before it hits her again, she feels Toni’s lips press lightly to hers and is reminded why this is all worth it. A family. Finally a family she can be proud to call her own.

(next)