Team Dragonborn drawn! There's a lot of them!

Character L-R:

Alexi Woodrow, Auri, Lina Woodrow, Cicero, Kaidan, Lucien Flavius, Luna, Martin Septim, Inigo, Teldryn Sero, Armina Woodrow, and Lucien Lachance

There might be a lore dump later if/when I get the mental will to rewrite what I lost by accident.

I absolutely love the modded followers I use and also I forgot to add in Rumarin, but he just kind of hangs out in the gang sometimes.

ok as an artist i personally find traditional painting to be. really really annoying. like. i do not have the patience for it and i just find it to be really frustrating to set up and actually do and i end up not liking the results. i find that there's little room for mistakes and trying to fix them usually ends up with me making 50 other ones, paints can be so inconsistent and having to rely on availability and certain brands to continue making the paint is really inconvenient, not to mention expensive. spending a bunch of time trying to mix the right shade of paint, only for it to go down a completely different shade of colour and not being able to do anything about it is so frustrating as someone who likes consistency and having things just, y'know, not change colour as soon as it dries. plus, they all use different chemicals and can go off really easily or change textures and i am just not ok with having all my materials having an expiration date like food. lead and graphite pencils just don't do that and they can last for years, they're more reliable. every paint is drastically different and trying to find the right one is not only time consuming but, again, expensive, and i don't even see the point in experimenting when most of my materials end up not even getting used if i don't like using them. plus, i'm just.... really impatient. waiting for paint to dry sucks and is why i much prefer digital or just drawing something because i don't need to wait for anything, it just works. and then when i do want to take my time and work slowly for a better result, it dries too fast. it's kinda hellish trying to balance that time, especially considering how inconsistent paints are.

i like to use guidelines when doing art and i find painting straight onto a canvas to be really tricky because there's a lack of direction for me to actually paint. i'm at a complete loss at what to do when i pick up a brush because i can't map it out first without risking screwing up the paint. there's just so many things to keep track of and so much wet paint to avoid and i just do not have the mind for it. putting colours on a canvas and praying that it works just isn't it for me and requires a discipline that i just don't wanna involve myself with. painting is also just like... really exhausting and kinda painful. i got some pretty bad back issues and my arms tire and get sore easily and quickly when i'm standing in front of a canvas. it's a really physical activity for me and i just don't find something to be very fun to do at all when it's physically hurting me. i know drawing on a canvas has this issue too, which is why i prefer sketchbooks. sitting down and drawing something that doesn't break my entire spine every time i do it is much more preferrable than questioning if i should go to the doctor every time i make a brushstroke, lol

that's not to say that there's nothing i like about painting though! i can paint simple little things, and i like doing that. i like mixing colours with a palette knife and i find it fun and even a little relaxing. i painted some cute little chibi cardboard cutouts of the mario brothers one time and i found that to be really fun and i think i'd like to do that again! but apart from that, i just do not have the patience for it. i love the look of traditional paintings and i find many to be really beautiful, but i could never get into actually doing it myself because i hate the process. i'm content with just sketching and doing digital stuff because that's more fun to me and less stressful of a process to do. it's fun, it allows for more mistakes, it's easier to build up layers of shading and lines, not to mention using building up a figure with guidelines is super helpful with visualising what i want it to look like, and i can just erase something if i don't want it there or want to change something. it just makes sense to me.

tl;dr i dont like painting because it's inconsistent, expensive, time-consuming, directionless, frustrating and it makes my back hurt really bad. i'll just stick to drawing stuff :)

AITA for repeatedly losing my temper at my kinda-friend? I (17F) have anger issues and I'm working on mitigating it, however, losing my temper always involves yelling and insulting people. Usually I think this is bad and apologize profusely when I lose control.

However, this kinda-friend (16F) who I'll call E, has absolutely no respect for other people's personal belongings, space, or time. She always grabs and plays with my things during class, or our mutual friend's items (16F), and as all three of us are artists, we carry around pretty expensive equipment. (Think Micron ink pens, Winsor & Newton paint, Derwent pencils, etc., just as reference. Thankfully no Copics lmao.)

The mutual friend will be referred to as J.

So, E has been told by both of us to stop taking our art supplies and playing with it, to the point where I'll yell sometimes, and she absolutely refuses to listen to us. She'll claim that she's forgotten what we've told her and put down the item just for her to pick it up again five seconds later. The problem is that she sometimes breaks these items or injures us - she'll play with my x-acto blade and cut me, or break J's graphite pencils, or push my watercolor palette off the desk. I've really tried to be patient about it, but it's proving to be difficult.

J is quite soft spoken, so I end up doing most of the reprimanding. E also brings up inappropriate topics that make J and I uncomfortable, as well as disturbing us when we're busy and then sulking when she doesn't get our immediate attention - once I told her three times to let me do my classwork before snapping, and E cried. She never does anything in school and hates all of our teachers, so she's pretty rude to them. All my work gets copied by her. She really annoys me, but I do feel terrible that I seem to lose control so often around E, since no one deserves to be yelled at.

However, this all came to a peak today when R (16M) and I won prizes for winning a mini-game and asking an interesting question during a seminar at school respectively; the gift was a black notebook that I didn't even like, which is an important tidbit to keep in mind. R left his gift still wrapped in his bag when he left the classroom for break time, so it was just J, E, and myself in there. Upon seeing what I had unwrapped, E went to R's bag and opened it - since all four of us are friends, we thought E was just being "jokingly" invasive as usual and were on alert, but didn't stop her.

J asked what she was doing and E said she was grabbing the gift out of R's bag. This caught my attention, so I asked why she was doing that. E told us that she wanted the book, and when J reminded her that the gift was, in fact, not hers, E said (and I wish I was kidding because this is replaying in my head in 4K HD right now like oh my god pls) "I know. It should be mine." Had she asked for my notebook, I would've given it up happily. I've got too many empty sketchbooks and notebooks at home.

I immediately stood up, but allowed J to handle the situation because I didn't trust myself not to react violently. J eventually lost her temper too and that's when I jumped in and started my yelling routine. I always feel bad whenever I do this, because it's not something I enjoy, but in this particular situation I just can't muster up the guilt? E is extremely irritating, but she tells us she has a horrible home life, so I try to be understanding. Except this was just completely intolerable. R even said that he'd predicted this would happen and to just give her the damn notebook - I vetoed that so we wouldn't enable E.

I really don't know if my reaction was overblown because I shouted a lot and said things like "you were given a brain - use it" and "you're a terrible person with no morals". It's ridiculous to say all that because it's (at the end of the day) high school drama, but I really can't understand why she acted that way. I don't know if I'm in the wrong in this situation. I wish she would listen when we tell her nicely not to do something, but even when I was blowing up at her, she was just smiling as if it was a joke. Should I apologize? I've apologized before when I lost my temper, but I have completely lost all will to be civil with her after this. The teachers are tired too - when she disappears from class or talks back, they just let her be. We can't really go to them because she'll feel betrayed and then get mad at us, which is a whole ordeal, because she's known to destroy and sabotage other people's items because of a grudge.

This is really lengthy. I apologize. I just feel terrible about the situation because I don't feel any guilt for my anger like I probably should. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

Math class. What a bore. Of course it isn’t too bad for him considering he should be about two levels up and never gets lost in class, but Anakin still finds it boring to sit while the Master explains problems to everyone else.  

And it’s not everyone else’s fault that they’re not as mathematically skilled as him. But still...

He sets up his ‘notebook’ and flips through the pages among pages of drawings of you, mixed in with little notes he wrote to you throughout each class, like ‘you just smiled in disbelief at the ridiculous answer to number twenty. I think your smile shines brighter than the Tatooine suns’. And next to it, a singular sketch of your lips curved upward in that smile he loved so much.

Your presence fills the space as you enter the classroom and he looks up from his desk, watching you walk to your own and greet a few friends in passing. Gods, he would murder everyone in this room just for a chance to sit next to you, if that’s what it took.

But instead, he’s blessed with a seat more towards the back, so his eyes can always be on you. You look so beautiful today, even in the robes that everyone typically wears. Even though your hair is in a braid like it most commonly is, it still strikes Anakin as something so beautiful and uniquely you.

Anakin grabs his pencil and immediately starts to draw you sitting in your desk, not missing a single detail- even the small scratch in the side of your own pencil is noted on his paper with a simple swipe of graphite.

In just ten minutes, he’s got almost everything sketched in, his muscle memory practically taking over at some point. How many times has he drawn you now? At least a thousand. And every time he gets better and better, perfecting you until he’s sure he can open a page and see you staring right back at him. Sometimes, he wishes it would be the real you. But how possible would that even be? You probably don’t even know his gods-damned name.

None of that matters. Not when he knows your name. Your birthday. Favorite color. Class schedule. He even knows how many sips of water you typically take throughout class- with math, it’s more, almost like it’s a nervous tick for whenever you get lost. Maybe the water helps you relax.

In possibly one of the lowest moments of this infatuation, Anakin finds himself jealous of the straw your lips wrap around with each sip of that water. Perhaps a Force trick can turn him into a straw. That’d be wholly ridiculous but it’d at least get him closer to you.

“And for that reason,” the Master’s voice cuts into his daze. What reason? What did he miss? “We will be partnering up for the worksheets. I encourage you to find someone who may be on the opposite end of the learning spectrum as you, so that you may learn something from each other, rather than just from me.”

Fuck. Anakin holds in a sigh, shifting to the worksheet that landed on his desk at some point. When did the Master even walk by? Who cares. His biggest problem is that he hates partner work. Nobody ever really wants to work with him anyway other than to just get the answers from him. There’s no connection, no conversation, just them looking at his paper. Absolutely ridiculous.

He turns his focus back to you, watching you and your friends look around to decide who to partner with. Who will you choose? You seem like you’d be picky with your selection.

Any suggestions/inspiration for a STEM-focused, dark academia aesthetic? I'm something of a reformed humanities student finishing an engineering degree this time around.

I think STEM in Dark Academia is an underappreciated aesthetic. The humanities seek to understand what it is to be human, and this is a complex venture indeed. But studying STEM means you seek to understand the world around you. And my God, are there mysteries to be uncovered. Let’s go down the list together, shall we?

SCIENCE.

Latin words fall from your lips as easily as a prayer, and isn’t there piety in this? Devotion, worship? There must be, for you to be able to dig your hands into the breathing body of the world around you and have it speak back. Messily scrawled chemical equations are practically tattooed onto your arms and hands, and sometimes you wake with the molecular structure of a human red blood cell drawn carefully on your heart with no memory of putting it there, but it moves with the pulse of your heart. Bubbling beakers and plumes of emerald, cobalt, violet flame. Faded lab coats. Hair cut short or pulled back neatly, not a single tendril hanging down. Dirt under fingernails, sleeves rolled up and out of the way. You know poisons, toxins, you know the pump of blood through arteries, you know how close we are to death, and you know how it feels to hold the hand of human long dead, still cold from the cooler. Death hates you, because you are helping humanity evade it.

TECHNOLOGY.

Lines and lines of code stare back at you from the over-bright screen of your monitor. You know, you know that we could be more, that the future is a few keystrokes away if only you can organize your tumbling thoughts and the wall of symbols in front of you. You like the way robots move; tiny, carefully planned, yet oh so jerky motions that can’t help but remind you of when a baby deer takes its first quivering steps. You think humans were like this once, in the beginning. You think the movement in a motor resembles the inner workings of a human heart. You imagine the veins that pump blood through your body as wires on a circuit board delivering electricity from one place to another. Leather shoes laced as tightly as possible, tiny blueprints doodled on the soles. Bronze bells hanging from a bedroom window, a crumbled silk shirt. How far can you push at the boundaries of what is possible before something breaks? Will it be you or reality that gives first?

ENGINEERING.

What is it about the smoothing of clay into shapes that makes humanity stop and say, “This must be what it feels like to be God”? How much more can you feel it, with the power in your fingertips and in the corners of your mind to make things humans could never do? To push civilization past its breaking point and remake it anew, better, stronger, more than God ever did? What is the difference between man and machine, and should you even care in the first place? You are like God alright, you are participating in something divine, something holy. You double check every equation and think about what it means to be alive. You decide that, in the ever moving cogs of this great clock, you will be the first piece that moves, the one that pushes the others to succeed. Pencils stabbed into messy buns, lipstick stains on pale coffee cup rims. Your eyes are sharp and focused, but your thoughts are ever moving and desperate with desire to create, to bound forward into the future you are oh so carefully envisioning, every piece laid out and pinned down within an inch of its life. Children are starving, the world is burning, and you can do something, you can fix this, because if you don't, who else can? Who else will?

MATHEMATICS.

What is math? A meaningless formal game. Above the door at Plato’s Academy were inscribed the words, “Let no one enter here who is ignorant of geometry.” How can it be that both are true? A secret language exists that no one is born into, but is available to all willing to learn. Astronomy, the constant ever cycling of the universe around us, our own home a puzzle piece in a cosmic dance. Meandering lines of equations that are beautiful, beautiful, because you know what they mean and they speak to you, they sing. You write them with calligraphy pens and hang them above your desk, they are as much an expression of the human condition as a Picasso; show our creativity more than a Monet. Hands dirty from dragging them over cramped pages of numbers and graphite dust, equations traced into the foggy glass of your favorite coffee shop, messy hair and bitten down nails, math pun t-shirts under tweed blazers, the theory of relativity scrawled sloppily on your knee, the world around you the sum of shapes and numbers and you can see it, you can hear it.

STEM in Dark Academia is nonstop in its restlessness. There is always more to be discovered, further to push, limits that can and will be broken. There is a darkness to that beauty, a madness that permeates the cracks of every field. A historian could have told you not to make the atom bomb. A scientist can’t help themself from seeing how much destruction is possible.

I made a trope in a discord server and realized it could work for Ishimondo. Whether Taka is person A or B it could work perfectly

asjskngf angryboisaywhat--

Oh my gods yES! That is so perfect for them!

Hhh i can't resist--

Now I'm inspired... Ishimondo drabble below the cut :DD

EDIT AFTER WRITING: I mean't for this to be shorter but it ended up at 1098 words hehe... Oh well!

Taka wandered around the school looking for his boyfriend. eventually he strolled into the rec room and spotted him sitting In the corner of the room, pouting like a damn child.

He went to approach him but Makoto pulled him aside and warned him that he was really grumpy today, and that he had already tried to start a fight with each one of his friends in that room.

"Thank you for your concern, Makoto! But I know how to handle him!" Taka reassured with a bright smile, shrugging off his hand and approaching the sulking biker.

Mondo glanced up at his beaming boyfriend for a split second before going back to sketching something in his notepad... something Taka has encouraged him to do when he wasn't feeling very social. He found it calmed him down.

Typically he would sketch simple things like scenery, but sometimes he would sketch out projects he wanted to make when he got better at carpentry.

"Hello, Kyoudai!" Taka greeted cheerfully, sitting down on the floor next to him. "I heard you aren't In a great mood today, Do you want to talk about It?"

"No." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving the paper.

Taka glanced down at the paper just in time for Mondo to scribble out the drawing out of frustration and flip the sheet to a new one aggressively. (same Mondo same)

The hall monitor gently put his hand on Mondo's to stop him from drawing a new image. "Mondo, Why did you cross out that one? It looked good."

"No It didn't." He huffed, setting the pad and pen down. "It's fucking trash, just like all my other ones."

"Hey! don't say that!"

"It's fuckin' true. I just need to face the facts that I'll never be good enough to be a carpenter..."

Taka frowned, he hated seeing Mondo get in these moods. He might not show it all the time but he was actually really self conscious about carpentry and showing people his concepts and creations.

He racked his brain for the best response, and after a moment of silence, he knew just how to deal with his bad mood.

Taka snuck his arm around Mondo's waist, resting his hand on his side. "You know that's not true, Kyoudai. Whoever said those horrible things Is very wrong!"

Mondo didn't even sense the danger he was in. He just remained silent, brushing off Taka's attempts to make him feel better.

"Come on, Kyoudai... Where's that smile?" He cooed, squeezing his side.

The biker tensed, biting the inside of his cheek to fight the urge to smile and giggle like a dork. "You're not getting It." He pressed out from behind gritted teeth.

Taka took this as a challenge.

He also took note of the playful glimmer in Mondo's eyes when he said this, welcoming the challenge.

"Well," Taka stopped squeezing his side, smiling at the brief look of disappointment on Mondo's face. "Then I guess I might as well not ever try this,"

He poked at both of his bottom ribs at the same time, causing the bigger man to jerk in surprise.

"And I suppose this button would be useless too." He prodded at his stomach, drawing a sound similar to a whine in response.

"T-Taka! Knock It ohohohohoff! hehehehehe!" He broke out into a fit of giggles when the poking and prodding to his stomach increased rapidly.

"This Is probably useless too." Taka sighed dramatically as he slipped his fingers under the Bikers arms, wiggling them lightly.

Mondo squealed, falling over onto his side as his giggles picked up.

"Nahahaha! Tahahahahaka! Heheheheheheh!"

Taka smiled at the way Mondo practically laid still for him, silently welcoming the tickles. "Yes?" He hummed softly.

"Ihihihit tihihihickles!"

"Astute observation, My ticklish Kyoudai~" He cooed teasingly, continuing to lightly tickle his boyfriend.

This went on for a bit, until Mondo was gasping between giggles. Taka could tell he had enough so he ceased his teasing tickles.

Mondo laid there for a few minutes recovering, he was still giggling lightly as he caught his breath. He had a big grin plastered on his face still.

"Do you feel better now?" Taka asked gently, to which Mondo nodded.

"Yea... Thanks, babe." He said quietly, sitting up and wiping away the tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Now that you're calm, what got you so upset in the first place?" Hiro spoke up, reminding the two that they weren't actually alone in the room.

"Yeah, It's not like you to just pick fights randomly anymore." Chihiro agreed.

Mondo sighed as his friends came over to join the two in the floor. "Ah, I was sketching some possible shit to build and Byakuya and Hifumi were making fun of it." He explained. "Hifumi kept comparing my drawings to his fuckin' manga, and Byakuya was insulting it."

"Well first off, Byakuya's full of shit anyway." Leon scoffed. "Hiro and I will deal with him."

"Yeah!"

Chihiro picked up the abandoned art pad and lightly dragged a graphite pencil across the clean piece of paper, revealing most of the picture Mondo crossed out.

"Mondo, From what I can see of it... This drawing is really good." Chihiro complimented. Hiro, Makoto, and Leon all looked over the small programmer's shoulder to look at it too.

"Yeah! It's a dresser right?" Makoto asked, Mondo nodded silently in response. "It's nice!"

Leon grinned. "Ooh, that would look really good In like, maybe a mahogany wood??"

"What's Mahogany?" Hiro asked, receiving an eyeroll from Leon.

"Mondo... When you feel comfortable with It, I would love for you to make me a new desk or something!" Chihiro smiled cheerfully.

"Ooh! or a guitar case!"

As his friends threw out suggestions and praised him, he couldn't help but smile and look over at Taka. He felt a lot better, he even got inspired by his friends for a few new projects and began jotting them down.

While he did, Taka looked at the dresser concept fondly. Something caught his eye in the vague details that were saved by Chihiro's pencil trick.

'M + T'

Their initials were engraved in the side of it, in a tiny heart shape. Mondo planned to make this for their house one day whenever they decided to move in together.

Taka couldn't help but smile lovingly at his dork of a boyfriend, who was none the wiser that he'd caught that detail.

Chihiro put a hand on Taka's shoulder, silently letting him know they saw it too. "You're really lucky." they said quietly to Taka.

"Yeah, I really am."

Incorrect Sanders Sides

Virgil: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat? Roman: >:O language Patton: Yeah watch your fucking language Janus: OKAY WHO TAUGHT PATTON THE FUCK WORD? Roman: 'The fuck word'. Logan: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time Roman: Oh my god they censored it Remus: Say fuck, Logan. Virgil: Do it, Logan. Say fuck.

Virgil: Well, aren’t you all a rag-tag group of adventurers with unclear goals and good hearts! Oh, let me guess: you’re out to save the world! Roman: Well, actually, that sounds like a pretty fair assessment. Janus: More or less, I guess... Patton: That sounds awesome! Let’s do that! Remus: I’m new here, but I am open to the concept. Logan: I thought that’s what we were doing, guys, come on!

Roman: Hewwo. Patton: Hihiiiiii! Logan: Greetings, Humans. Janus: Three kinds of people. Virgil: I want pudding. Janus: Four kinds of people. Remus: WHAT’S UP FUCKERS? Janus: Five kinds of people.

Logan: Just be yourself. Virgil: 'Be myself'? Logan, I have one day to win Roman over. How long did it take before you guys started liking me? Patton: Couple weeks. Remus: Six months. Janus: Jury’s still out. Virgil: See, Logan? Virgil: 'Be myself'. What kind of garbage advice is that?

Virgil: Croissants; dropped Roman: Road; works ahead Remus: BBQ sauce; on my titties Patton: Shavacado; fre Janus: Miss Keisha; fuckin dead Logan: Logan, grumpy: I didn’t understand a single word of that and I hate every single one of you.

Patton: We need to distract these guys Remus: Leave it to me Remus: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss. Logan, Roman, and Janus: *Immediately begin arguing* Virgil, watching in horror: Oh this. I don’t like this. I don't like this at all.

Virgil: Rules are made to be broken. Logan: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Patton: Uh, piñatas. Remus: Glow sticks. Janus: Karate boards. Roman: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Virgil: Rules. Logan: …

Logan: Dumbest scar stories, go! Roman: I burned my tongue once drinking tea. Patton: I dropped a hair dryer on my leg once and burned it. Remus: I have a piece of graphite in my leg for accidentally stabbing myself with a pencil in the first grade. Janus: I was taking a cup of noodles out of the microwave and spilled it on my hand and I got a really bad burn. Virgil: … Virgil: I have emotional scars.

Logan: Anyone d- Virgil: Depressed? Roman: Drained? Patton: Dumb? Remus: Disliked? Janus: Distrusted? Logan: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people …

Patton: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life Virgil: Self-esteem, haven't seen you in years! Janus: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this! Roman: I knew I lost that potential somewhere! Remus: My moral code, is that you? Logan: ... Patton: I was just gonna show you this cool trunk my mother left me but do you guys need a hug?

Janus: Nothing in life is free. Patton: Love is free! Roman: Adventure is free. Logan: Knowledge is free. Virgil and Remus at the same time: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

Patton: What does 'take out' mean? Logan: Food. Roman: Dating Virgil: Murder Remus: IT CAN MEAN ALL THREE IF YOU'RE NOT A COWARD.

Remus: I’ve done a lot of dumb stuff. Janus: I witnessed the dumb stuff. Virgil: I recorded the dumb stuff. Patton: I joined in on the dumb stuff. Logan: I TRIED TO STOP YOU FROM DOING THE DUMB STUFF!!!

Janus: What did you guys get in your yearbook? Roman: 'Prettiest Smile' Patton: 'Nicest Personality' Remus: 'Most likely to start a bar fight' Virgil: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one'

Logan: There are seven chairs and ten kids. What do you do? Virgil: Have everyone stand. Patton: Bring three more chairs! Janus: The most important ones can sit down. Remus: Kill three.

Logan: Good morning. Patton: Good morning. Roman: Good morning. Thomas: You all sound like robots, try spicing it up a bit. Virgil: MORNING MOTHERFUCKERS

Patton: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything? Remus: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies Janus: Socks are Feetie Heaties Virgil: Forks are Stabby Grabbies Remus: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties Virgil: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies Janus: Stamps are Lickie Stickies Logan, annoyed: You are disappointments Roman: Why isn’t the statue smirking at me? Logan: It isn’t smirking at anyone, they’re all just imagining it. Patton: Three of us saw it, Logan. How do you explain that? Logan: *points at Janus* Sleep deprivation. *points at Virgil* Paranoia. *points at Remus* Delusional personality disorder. And you just believe everything, Patton.

Janus: Favorite horror movie? Remus: It Logan: Saw Roman: Annabelle Virgil: High School Musical. After watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics

Virgil: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends. Remus: ... Your what? Virgil: My friends. Janus: Are they saying “friends”? Remus: I think they're being sarcastic. Janus: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Virgil! All of your friends are in this room. Virgil: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.

Patton, trying to convince Virgil to join the group: You know... I thought it'd be good to have someone come along who's really... strong! Roman: And grumpy! Logan: And oblivious to reality! Virgil: …

Roman: You lying, cheating, piece of shit! Virgil: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD Roman: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING PATTON WITH ME Logan, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

*Patton is cooking* Roman: Any chance that’s for me? Patton: It’s for Logan. I’m planning on making some bad choices tonight, and I need them on my side. Virgil: I never realized the forethought that went into being a disappointment.

Patton: Hey, is Roman sleeping or dead? Virgil: Hopefully dead, I hated their guts. Logan: Yeah, so did I. Roman: Okay first of all, fuck you-

Virgil: Is stabbing someone immoral? Janus: Not if they consent to it. Remus: Depends who you’re stabbing. Logan, who was dragged into the dark sides meeting: YES?!?

Janus: Self care is actually getting into fights with randoms in dark alleys. Patton: No, self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath, or putting on a lot of makeup if you like it, or taking a nice warm nap! Logan: Self-care is any necessary human regulatory function which is under individual control, deliberate and self-initiated. Janus: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you!! Virgil: Self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists!! Roman: Self care is the fear in your enemies’ eyes!!! Remus: Lmao self care is taking your birthday cake just so I can eat the frosting. Patton: If you touch my birthday cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

Roman: You are now one day closer to eating your next plate of Nachos. Logan: That's the most hopeful thing I've ever heard. Virgil: But what if I die tomorrow and never eat any Nachos? Patton: Then tomorrow is nacho lucky day.

Roman, banging on the door: Virgil! Open up! Virgil: Well, it all started when I was a kid... Logan: No, they meant- Patton: Let them finish.

Janus: Come on, I wasn’t that drunk last night. Virgil: You were flirting with Remus. Janus: So what? They're my partner. Remus: You asked me if I was single. Virgil: And then you cried when they said they weren't.

Store Worker: Would a ‘Janus’ please come to the front desk? Janus, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem? Store Worker: points to Remus and Virgil Store Worker: I believe they belong to you? Remus and Virgil, simultaneously: We got lost :( Janus: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

Janus, driving Remus and Virgil: So how was your day? Remus: We almost got surprise adopted! Janus: What? Virgil: We almost got kidnapped. Janus: Oh, okay. Janus: *slams on the breaks* WAIT WHAT?!

Janus: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container. Remus: The cow??? Janus: What? Virgil: Remus, W H Y?

Roman: Virgil, my old arch enemy. Remus: ... I thought I was your arch enemy? Roman: I have a life outside of you, Remus.

Remus: How's the sexiest person here~? Janus: I don't know, how are they~? Remus, flustered: I- Virgil, from across the room: I'm doing great, thanks!

Patton: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon? Virgil: I'm a knife. Roman, from across the room: They're the little spoon.

Roman: So, what, now I’m just supposed to do anything that Logan does? I mean, what if they jumped off a cliff? Patton: If Logan were to jump off a cliff, they would’ve done their due diligence regarding the height of the cliff, the depth of the water, and the angle of entry, so yes. If you see Logan jump off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff. Roman: You jump off a cliff! Patton: Gladly. Provided Logan did first.

Janus: I know you snuck out last night, Remus. Virgil: Play dumb! Remus: Who's Remus? Virgil: NOT THAT DUMB!!!

Roman: Fitness tip, never stop pushing yourself. Logan: Some say 8 hours of sleep is enough. Why not keep going? Virgil: Why not 9? Why not 10? ]Janus: Strive for greatness. Roman: Next time you’re working out do 15 push ups instead of 10. Run 3 miles instead of 2. Patton, from the background: Eat a whole cake instead of just a slice. Remus from the background: Burn your ex’s house down. Roman: You can do it. I believe in you. Thomas: There were so many mixed messages in that I can’t-

Remus: I can’t believe you live nearby, and you won’t let anyone crash at your place. Virgil: You people already know too much about me. Janus: I know exactly three facts about you, and one of them is that you won’t let any of us crash at your place.

Virgil: Janus, can I talk to you for a second? Janus: Yeah, what’s up? Remus: Lemme guess. You and Roman are having problems and you want me to teach you how to kiss? Virgil: What? No, stop that. I know how to kiss. I’ve read books.

Remus: In my defense, I was left unsupervised. Janus: Wasn't Virgil with you? Virgil: In my defense, I was also left unsupervised.

Remus: Okay, help me please! Virgil: Got two words for you. Janus: I bet they won't be helpful. Virgil: Your problem. Janus: I was right

Virgil: So are we flirting right now? Roman: I AM LITERALLY STABBING YOU Virgil: That doesn’t answer my question

Patton: Where are you going? Remus: To get ice cream or commit a felony, I’ll decide on the way there Patton: Can you get me a strawberry cone? Janus: Can you kill Virgil? Virgil: Can you kill Roman? Roman: Can you kill Janus? Logan: Can you not commit a felony?

Logan: It’s dark in here Patton: Don’t worry fam, I got this Patton: *Stomps their feet* Patton: *Sketchers light up*

Logan: So what do you do? Janus: I work in genetic research, and I'm currently trying to eliminate all Cancers. Logan: Wow, impressive. Janus: Then I'll move on to Leos.

Remus: Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve. Roman: I think you mean cards. Remus, pulling knives out of their sleeves: No, I do not.

Virgil: We went through an entire character arc during quarantine Janus: We all became more evil if you’re curious Patton: We're still in quarantine, don't worry, there's time for a redemption arc still! Remus: I’m going to get worse on purpose

Patton: Am I in trouble? Logan: Take a guess. Patton: No? Logan: Take another guess.

Patton: Oh just so you know, it's very muggy outside Roman: *holding in a laugh* Logan: Patton, I swear, if I step outside and all of our mugs are on the front lawn... Virgil: *Sips coffee from bowl*

Virgil: You kill people for money?! Virgil: Can I pay you? Janus: Virgil no- Remus: And all this time I’ve been doing it for free like a chump!

Roman: What are your goals? Thomas as Patton: To pet all the dogs. Logan: No, fitness goals. Thomas as Patton: To be able to run fast enough to pet all the dogs.

Patton: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them. Virgil: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

Virgil: Name a more iconic duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my paranoia. I'll wait. Patton’s Card: FAM - ILY Virgil, tearing up: Okay.

Logan: I actually have a black belt. Roman: In what, karate? Logan: No, from Gucci.

Remus: Am I going too far? Janus: No, no, no. You went too far about seven hours ago. Now you're going to prison.

Patton, motioning to a Halloween display: All these ghosts! All these ghosts! I still can’t find a boo. Logan: Babe, I’m right here.

Remus: You think I really give a fuck? I can’t even read.

Virgil: Okay okay stop asking me if I'm straight, gay, bi, whatever. I identify as a FUCKING THREAT. Roman, from across the room: You tell ‘em, babe!

Roman: You can de-escalate any situation by simply saying, 'Are we about to kiss?' Remus: Doesn't work for getting out of speeding tickets, by the way.

A Little Less Alone || Nadia & Luce

Timing: June 22nd, 2021

Tagging: @humanmoodring​ & @divineluce​

Location: Luce’s Cabin

Description: Luce succumbs to grief; Nadia’s there to catch her.

TW: Grief, sibling death

Luce stared down at the large piece of paper that sat before her, the side of her hand smeared with graphite. There were just rough outlines, the barest of shapes, but even those… Closing her eyes for a moment, Luce sucked in a deep breath to steady herself. She could feel the candles around her flicker, felt the way their orange flames turned a pale blue for a moment. She had her magic back, just as strong as it had once been. But it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been enough to save him. 

Pushing away from her desk, Luce waved her hand over the blue flamed candles before walking down the stairs from the loft of her cabin. She could work on that later. She’d get it done, though, she had to. It was the least she could do. But for now… Luce checked her phone and re-read the latest message from Nadia. She didn’t-- she’d asked for the other woman to come here. She had. But even now, she wondered if she’d crossed a line. She knew that they weren’t casual, they weren’t just seeing each other on the side. But, Nadia was an empath and Luce knew that her emotions were so, so far from stable right now. She shouldn’t have done this. Maybe she could just tell Nadia to forget it, to--

A knock came from the cabin door and Luce blinked. Fuck. 

It wasn’t a question of if Nadia was going to see Luce. It was a question of when. Whenever Luce decided she was ready, and whenever Luce decided she wanted Nadia around. Grief worked differently for everyone. Some people wanted to be alone for a while. Some people didn’t want to be alone. Some people shoved it down, down as far as it could go, and they saved processing it for a later date. Nadia, admittedly, fell in the latter of those categories, but she was aware of that. This wasn’t about her, anyway, and she had nothing to grieve. This was about Luce, and being there for Luce, and making sure that Luce knew that she was going to be there. That was what was important, and that was something that she could do.

Nadia didn’t really expect Luce to say that she didn’t want to be alone so soon, though. It made something in her chest tighten. There was something in the knowledge that what was happening between them was changing, and it was becoming something to where they were both opening up. Or trying to open up. Nadia needed to be better about opening up. But this wasn’t about her. It wasn’t. She drove to Luce’s cabin as quickly as she could and only hesitated for a moment before she got out and started walking to the door. This was important. Nadia knocked.

Running a hand through the tangles of her hair in an attempt to collect herself, Luce stared at the door. Fuck. Nadia was here. There was no getting out of this, she’d asked her to come here and it was too late to tell her to go. That would only make her worry more. She’d asked Nadia to be here. Nodding to herself in an attempt to steel her nerves, Luce opened the door.

“Hey, Nadia. Thanks for coming.” Luce said, with a vague attempt at a smile. But, it was hard to even do that-- she knew just how much despair and anguish was coming off her. She didn’t want Nadia to feel all of that, but there just wasn’t any way she could hide it. “I’m sorry for asking you to come. I just…” I’ve only ever run from things and I’m trying not to run from you. “Nell’s at our mom’s and I wanted to give her space. And Bea, she and I-- we deal with things differently.” Bea still hadn’t said that Adam was dead. Luce knew why she couldn’t say those words, but it still-- blinking back the tears that were already coming to her eyes, she let out a watery chuckle. “Sorry.” She said, apologizing for the tears and for the emotions that Nadia was no doubt feeling.

Nadia had already steeled herself for the grief that she knew she was going to feel when Luce opened the door. There’s really no preparing for it, though. There’s no preparing for despair, or anguish, or the fact that Luce looked just as shitty as she felt. There was no preparing for the tears in Luce’s eyes, and Nadia’d never really seen that, had she? She’d never seen Luce look so raw. She’d never felt Luce so raw. “Hey,” she murmured. “You don’t have to thank me. You don’t have to be sorry.” There was nothing to apologize for. Absolutely nothing. Nadia was glad that Luce had asked her to come. She shouldn’t be dealing with this alone. No one should be dealing with this alone. 

Grief is almost insurmountable, sometimes. But it was better when it was shouldered by more than just one person. If being an empath allowed her to do one thing, then Nadia could at least do that. She couldn’t tell Luce that it was okay because it wasn’t. She could feel how not okay it was. She could see the tears in Luce’s eyes, and she could feel them building up behind her own. But she could say, “You don’t have to be sorry. You don’t. You really don’t. I wanted to come. I want to be here for you.” I knew what I was getting myself into by coming, and I’m not going away. I promise.

Letting Nadia inside, Luce waved her hand at the candles that lined the cabin. Their flames flickered blue for a moment before rising higher, illuminating the space in light. “I’m,” She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts as she sat down on the armrest of the couch. She was too restless to sink into the cushions, but too tired to stand either. Limbo, she’d been stuck in a state of anxious exhaustion for days. “It’s been a long couple weeks. Months. Fuck. What even is time?” Luce said with a sigh as she fidgeted with the frayed edge of her shirt.

“Thanks. I just-- I couldn’t be back at Bea’s place right now. It,” Luce swallowed past the lump that had formed in the back of her throat, “reminds me too much of last time, when Bea was… gone.” She said, unable to say the word aloud. It was easier to write it, to hide behind her phone or the screen of her laptop as she typed those three letters. Saying out loud, it felt harsher, more real. Which was stupid. Dead was dead. And Adam was dead. And he was never coming back. 

Eyes glancing at the flames, Nadia couldn’t remember a time that she’d actually seen Luce’s magic in action. It was incredible to know that the fire responded to the woman in front of her, that the flashes of blue that faded into warm, bright orange were caused by a human being with the power of the universe at her fingertips. And that’s what magic was, right? It was amazing. It would have been more so if Luce’s grief wasn’t almost crushing. “Time’s a fictional construct, I’ve heard,” she said, her voice soft. She moved to sit, facing Luce, her eyes on the other woman even if Luce’s eyes were gazing off, seeing things that weren’t there. “Then you don’t have to be there right now,” Nadia added, and it could be that simple. Even amongst all of this pain, things could still be simple. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry. You don’t have to be alone, though.” If she could, Nadia would take all of Luce’s grief and shoulder it as her own. She’d like to say that she’d do it for anyone, but especially for Luce. Of course for Luce.

It wasn’t until Nadia sat in front of her did Luce realize she’d been staring out into space. Rubbing a hand across her face, she rested her elbow onto her knees as she tried to pull herself free from the memories. But she could still see it. Nell, draped over Adam’s lifeless body, her own form bleeding and on the brink of death. Her sister, sobbing, begging, pleading for the man who would never come back. The man who never wanted to come back. She could still see Bea’s head, kept in that fucking house of death, staring blankly back at her. She could see her sister’s bloodless corpse at the ritual site. How much had she seen in the past year? How much more would she have to see? How many more people would die? Tears began to roll down her cheeks and Luce shook her head, hating herself for crying, for breaking down. But once they started to flow, she couldn’t stop them. “I’m sorry-- I’m sorry.” She sobbed, shaking her head as her breaths came out in shuddering gasps. 

“Luce,” Nadia said, moving in closer as the other woman started crying. It was like being hit with a semi truck. Luce felt so much. So much. Nadia had never felt so much grief. But she’d never been around someone who had been through so much, either. No one should feel like this. “You don’t have to apologize. You can let it out. Just let it out. It’s okay to let it out with me, okay?” She leaned forward and wiped the tears away from Luce’s face, even though they kept pouring. Nadia didn’t mind. She didn’t. There was nothing for Luce to apologize for. Nadia wouldn’t have come if she minded this. She knew what she was getting into when she responded to that message. “I’m here.” She kept her voice soft, soothing, even if she felt Luce’s emotions building up in the back of her throat. “It’s okay to let it out. I promise.”

Nadia’s hand was cool against her skin and Luce leaned into it instinctively. Her shoulders shook at the other woman’s quiet words. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve to be here when the world had lost one of the best people it had ever known. She didn’t deserve comfort when her own sister was mourning the loss of the man she’d loved. But, selfishly, she wanted it. Even through the guilt and the grief, God, she ached to be just a little less alone. “I should have-- done more. I should have gone after Bea when she sent me that text, when she told me to stay at work, the day that she was,” Her words caught in the back of her throat and Luce shook her head once more. “I-- I-- I should have learned. I should have gone with Adam. I shouldn’t have put so much fucking pressure on him to bring her back, I shouldn’t have been so angry, I should have just--” Fresh sobs burst free and her shoulders slumped forward. “I should have done more. For both of them, for all of them. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Hey, no, it’s not fair for you to do this to yourself,” Nadia said. She could feel Luce spiraling down into this, and it was all she could do not to fall with her. She couldn’t do that. She had to pull Luce up instead. “You can’t possibly know what would have happened if you’d gone. You might not have changed anything at all. There’s no going back there, Luce. It sucks. It fucking sucks, but there’s no going back.” And, selfishly, a part of Nadia was glad about that. She didn’t know what she’d do if Luce had been the one to take her sister’s place. It was awful, and she hated herself for it, but Bea was back. She didn’t know if Luce would have been able to come back. “And you can’t-- you can’t blame yourself for him, either. I didn’t know him but this-- the going in alone, all headstrong and shit, that seems like the kind of thing he would do. He seemed like that kind of guy.” As Luce slumped forward, Nadia moved towards her, wrapping her arms around Luce’s shaking shoulders and holding her tight, rubbing circles on her back. “That’s not true. You did what you could. I know you did. And all you can do now is be there, okay? That’s all you can do now. You let this out, and, when they need you, you be there for them when they do the same.”

Luce heard Nadia’s words and she knew… that the other woman was right. Just like Bea had said, they couldn’t go back and rewrite time. They couldn’t change the past. But it felt fair, it felt like the guilt and pain was the only fair thing she could do because who the fuck was she compared to her sister, to Adam, to all of the people who had suffered and paid the price? What made her life any more valuable than theirs, any more worthy? “I know that I can’t change anything, I know that.” She managed through the tears, sinking into Nadia’s arms. Luce’s arms wrapped around the other woman’s form, clinging to her like a lifeline from the misery that was threatening to wash over her head and drag her down. “I just don’t know how. How to be here. With this, with all of this, this pain. It’s-- it’s so much. It’s too much.”

As Luce all but collapsed into her arms, Nadia did what she could to keep them both up. If there was nothing else that she could do, then it would be that. She could do that. She could shoulder this pain for Luce. “It’s not easy,” Nadia said. It wasn’t. Sometimes, it’s so much easier to run. It’s so much easier to leave and pull away. She knew that. She knew that. “It’s so much. But that’s why you don’t do it alone. That’s why you can’t do it alone. We’re-- People, all of us, we’re not meant to carry these things on our own.” Maybe that’s why there were empaths. There had to be people out there that knew how to carry these things. There had to be people out there who had no choice but to carry things. She held Luce tight, eyes closed as a few tears of her own slipped out. Or were they Luce’s? Or were they both of theirs? “I don’t think there’s any guide on how to do this. You just do it, and it gets easier every time. But I’m here for you, and I won’t let you do this alone, Luce. I won’t. You don’t have to anymore.”

Resting her head on Nadia’s shoulder, Luce felt her tears begin to subside, though the pain still remained. And she knew it wouldn’t go away. The grief she’d felt last summer, when she’d burned a chunk of the forest to the ground in anguish, it had subsided some over the year. It had eased. But just like her fire, it had never truly abandoned her. It had never left. It had remained, in the pit of her stomach, in the back of her mind. Haunting her. And in the wake of Adam’s death, the emotions had returned to her in full force. “You don’t--” But the words petered out before she could finish her sentence. Because Nadia knew that she didn’t need to do this. She didn’t need to do any of this, she didn’t need to subject herself to the emotional onslaught. But she was. And she was offering. All Luce had to do was accept the help. “Thank you.” She mumbled, hugging the woman tighter.

“I know,” Nadia said. “I know.” And Luce knew, too, with the way she didn’t finish what she was going to say. It wasn’t out of necessity that people cared for each other, not in the way that they needed food or water or shelter. It was a want and desire to not let the people you cared for suffer alone. Nadia cared for Luce. So much. Probably more than she would admit, even now. She didn’t want Luce to suffer alone. She couldn’t let her suffer alone. And even as the tears stopped, there was still suffering. That wasn’t going away any time soon. But the burden of suffering could be shared, and it was more manageable when it was. Luce’s arms tightened around her, and Nadia made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t be the first one to let go. She’d hold Luce until the other woman stopped. She’d hold her until Luce told her to go away. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m here. Anytime you need me, I’m here.”  And she was. And she would be for as long as she could, shouldering these feelings and making sure that Luce knew she didn’t have to be alone again.

CURSED: CHAPTER ONE

"He was a boy, She was a girl"

Kai Parker x OC!Mack Grace

Series synopsis: "We're both cursed, in a way."

We all know the story of Kai Parker, but he once lived in a very different life. Do you ever wonder what that life looked like?

Chapter summary: Mack meets a new guy at school, Kai Parker

Warnings: swearing?

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Mackenzie pulled open the car door and climbed into the passenger seat, leaning over the middle console and planting a sweet kiss on Ben's lips. He smiled into the kiss and pulled away.

"Morning babe." He said happily.

"Morning." She smiled back.

Mack dropped her bag by her feet and sat back, pulling her seatbelt across her body and plugging it in. Ben revved the engine and began driving off in the direction of the school, arguably way to fast.

The whole way to school Ben hammered on about how annoying the freshmans would be and how he was so ready to be the quarterback this year. Mack nodded along and made sounds of agreement every now and then, but she really didn't care much for Ben's popular boy life. Mack was the quiet girl who got good grades and sat on her own at lunch. She only went to parties and attended football games so she would appear the 'perfect girlfriend' as Ben said.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Ben turned to her and cupped her face, pulling her in for a long kiss that was only really to give everyone else a show. And that made her stomach drop. They got out the car and instantly she felt Ben's arm wrap around her waist, pulling her into his side tightly.

As they wandered through the halls everyone waved and said hi to Ben, completely ignoring Mack. Ben received the wanting stares of girls and some claps on the back from some of the guys on the football team. As they reached her locker Mack stopped and unlocked it, shoving her books inside and grabbing her sketch book.

"I still don't know why you even bother with those, you're not good enough to get a scholarship." Ben said bitterly, motioning to her sketch book. Mack furrowed her brows and slammed her locker shut, charging off to her first period class. She heard Ben call after her but ignored him, knowing it'd come back to bite her later.

The head splitting noise of the clock ticking filled her ears, the screeching of chair legs against the scratchy floor and the constant first-day-back chatter of her classmates slowly driving Mack insane. She'd been in the room for less than five minutes and she was already ready to self combust just to get out of this hell-hole. The graphite gilded across the page as she drew, sketching god knows what and doodling all over her sketch book pages. Someone coughed obnoxiously above her and Mack instantly looked up, coming face to face with a super hot boy she'd never seen before.

"Is this seat taken?" He spoke with a hint of cockiness, gesturing to the empty seat beside Mack. She shook her head and watched as he made his way round and pulled out the chair, dumping his bag next to the table leg and plopping down into his seat, leaning back and crossing his ankles. He looked over to Mack and her head snapped back down, her attention back on her sketches.

The teacher walked in and Mack quickly placed her textbook over her sketches, hiding them and pretending to pay attention. In actual fact, she already knew what the teacher was talking about, the droning sound of his voice like a white noise.

About half way through the lesson Mack felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked to where it came from only to see the boy from before studying her intently.

"So what's the deal with you? I don't think I've heard you mutter a single word since I've seen you." He asked, slightly confused. Mack shook her head and looked down at the desk before looking back up again, her sight instantly catching the boy's captivating blue-grey eyes.

"Who are you? I've never seen you before." She asked shyly, speaking more than she'd like to. The boy grinned widely before offering his hand for her to shake.

"Kai, Kai Parker. And I just moved here last weekend. My twin sister is also in our grade." Mack nodded and kept sketching, hoping he'd leave her alone now. But he didn't. "So how long have you lived here? What's your name?" He continued. Mack sighed.

"All my life, and I'm Mack Grace." She said almost too quietly. The sound of his voice made Mack rest her head in her hands and try to tune him out, but nothing worked.

"Mack? As in Mackenzie? That's an awful long name. Do you go by a nickname? Mack - no, too many people call you that, I bet it's what you tell everyone to call you. Oh, oh what about Kenzie? Actually, no. Too long. Ohhhh I know! I'll call you Kenz. There we go, short, sweet and catchy. Nice to meet you Kenz." Kai babbled on, not realising Mack had completely ignored him.

She'd just met the guy and she already hated him. Mack felt awful but he was just so annoying. Hot, but annoying. The rest of the lesson continued like that, Kai chatting incessantly in Mack's ear as she tried to get the work done so she could go back to her sketching and ignoring him.

"Those are soooo good." Kai basically whispered as he leant over Mack's shoulder with wide eyes, entranced as her pencil moved over the page. She snapped the book shut to stop him from looking and he turned away, muttering an offended, "O-kay." And whistling while rolling his eyes. He was staring at just the page she'd done that lesson, which was now almost completely covered in sketches of people in their class, from all the angles Mack could see them from her seat. She rolled her eyes and kept drawing, letting her long hair fall as a curtain to hide herself from him.

The sound of the bell was like music to her ears and Mack instantly stood, scooping her books into her arms and charging out the class and down the hall. With her eyes kept trained down, Mack didn't realise someone was in front of her until she collided with them. They both fell to the ground and Mack's sketches were littered all over the floor, pieces of loose paper floating down around them. She scrabbled to her knees and crawled around aimlessly, picking up the pages and stuffing them back into her book. She went to grab the last page but the other girl got there first, Mack's eyes drifting up to meet hers.

"S-Sorry." Mack said shyly, taking the page from the mystery girl and slowly standing up. The other girl joined her, giving Mack a warm smile.

"Don't worry about it, it was my fault. I'm Jo." She said reassuringly, offering her hand to Mack, who hesitantly took it before shaking.

"I'm Mack." Jo smiled at her and let Mack's hand go, stepping back slightly and speaking up again.

"Do you know where Mrs Price's class room is? I'm totally lost and totally new here." Jo admitted bashfully, looking at Mack with pleading eyes. Mack nodded and motioned for Jo to follow her before they both walked down the hall, side-by-side.

"You don't talk much." Jo observed - not in a rude way though - as they approached the door to the classroom. Mack nodded and opened the door, letting Jo walk in first. She thanked Mack before heading inside and picking two seats at the back for her and Mack.

"I was never really listened to, so I stopped talking." Mack said simply, sitting down and folding her arms over the desk. Jo nodded slowly and turned her attention to the front of the class, where Mrs Price was introducing herself to the class.

As the lesson went on Mack felt as if she could sleep, she hated American History. It was so dull and useless, not to mention Mack could probably correct Mrs Price in every 'fact' she told. Finally they were set some work and a sheet landed on her desk. Mack picked it up and examined it, just a boring old worksheet. Mack turned to Jo, hoping to find out more about her.

"So you said you were new?" Mack began. Jo made a noise of confirmation before elaborating.

"We only moved here last weekend, family of 10. I have a twin brother and a bunch of younger siblings." Mack nodded and furrowed her brows in thought.

"A twin?" She pushed.

"Yeah, he's a good brother but is extremely annoying." Jo chuckled. That's when it clicked.

"By any chance is your twin Kai?" Mack asked, suddenly realising the resemblance between the two. Jo nodded and wrote something down.

"You've met him?" Jo said while writing.

"Yeah, I sat next to him in first period. Does he ever shut up?" Mack said with a laugh at the memory of Kai chatting in her ear for the whole hour. Jo laughed too.

"Sometimes. If he's eating or-" Jo cut herself off quickly before she said too much. Mack tilted her head to the side in confusion.

"Or what?" She asked.

"Oh, um, or if he's listening to m-music." Jo answered quickly. Mack nodded uncertainly and begun her worksheet too.

Mack slowly wandered out to the car park from her last period lesson, really not wanting to spend the whole ride with Ben, but knowing she had no other way home. She walked up to Ben's car and saw him leaning against the car door, arms folded over his chest.

"Hey babe." He smirked, pulling her into a kiss. Ugh, Mack hated the name 'babe' but decided to say nothing. She smiled and said hi back quietly before opening her car door and plopping down on the seat, leaving her bag on the floor at her feet. She began humming a tune, tapping her nails lightly against the armrest as she did so. Mack looked over at Ben as she felt him sit down, shutting his door with a thud and putting the keys in the ignition. She turned her attention to her window, watching as couples walked by holding hands and friends gossiped about their first day back after winter break.

"Please stop humming, it's almost as bad as listening to you talk about fucking art scholarships." Ben snapped, huffing frustratedly and pulling out the parking space. Mack stopped and frowned, looking out the window again and ignoring whatever shitty music he put on.

Her mind drifted as they drove home, thinking about her day. Meeting Jo might've been the best thing to happen to her, seeing as she was a potential best friend. Mack and Jo really clicked, they just kind of understood each other. After their second period had ended, Mack had asked Jo to sit with her at lunch and she agreed.

The other person she thought about was Kai. God, Kai. She new he was annoying, a typical grade-A asshole and extremely attractive. She knew she should stay away, and that she shouldn't think about a guy as attractive as him when she had a boyfriend, but she didn't care. He was probably the most talkative person she'd ever met and also the most annoying, but Mack felt drawn to him, strangely.

"Mack, Mack!" Ben repeated, waving his hand in front of her face. Mack snapped out her thoughts and looked over at Ben, who didn't look too happy. "We're here." Is all he said, gesturing to Mack's small house behind him. She fake smiled and thanked him for the ride, giving him a chaste kiss on the lips before grabbing her bag and getting out the car.

"Hey Dad." Mack Shouted as she walked through the door, dropping her bag on a chair and walking into the small kitchen and reaching for a glass from the cupboard. She filled it with water and gulped it all down, setting the glass down on the counter before sitting at the small dining table and opening her bag.

"Hey Wolfy." Mack's Dad smiled, ruffling her hair as he walked past. "How was school?" He asked.

"Good I guess, I think I made a new friend." Mack said happily, pulling out her textbooks and starting her math homework.

"Good good." Her dad said, sitting down on the plush old armchair that was fading from age. He picked up his book and put on his glasses, opening it up and peering over the top at Mack. "Your sister has the night shift tonight and I'm meeting Tony for a meeting about the company at eight, so you have the house to yourself tonight." He said before redirecting his eyes to his book.

Mack's dad helped run a company with his best friend Tony, but it wasn't very big. They struggled with money so her sister wasn't in college, so she already worked at a local business and often took on an extra night shifts to help with money. Mack worked a weekend job, but spent lots of her time on her school work and drawing. She was insanely smart, getting straight A's in every subject with almost no effort, but she'd never get a scholarship off of that alone. The only thing she had a shot at was an art scholarship, otherwise she wouldn't get to go to college at all.

Mack looked up at the sound of the phone and so did her dad, but before she could answer it he got there first. He listened for a moment before holding out the phone for Mack to take.

"It's Ben." He said before walking off.

"Hey are you doing anything tonight?" Ben asked. Mack chewed her lip, contemplating her answer before deciding he'd be able to tell if she lied.

"No, Kim is taking the night shift and my dad is going out at eight." She said, still not sure if she should've just said she was busy.

"Perfect. I'll come over for eight thirty?" Ben said.

Mack gulped. This would be the first time she was home alone with Ben and for some reason the thought scared her rather than excited her.

"See you at eight thirty."

Yours Entirely

Part one   She was named after a bird

How could I have missed this. Something so glaringly obvious, something so vital. Ibis has always been like you why would now be any different. She has had your gifts for years. YEARS! I have only just found out, beloved. All because one of Richard’s children wished to create tension. I can understand why our youngest cannot stand that girl. Yet I cannot understand how or why she kept this from me.

Ibis said it was so I would not grieve you more, said that a look of sorrow has glazed my face more and more these past few years. That I know is true, but I still wish she would have told me. She is all the best parts of you. She has your eyes, your personality, everything. I know she is so much more than just you but whenever I look at her I see you.

Todd keeps telling me that I need to introduce myself to her as her and not as our child, your child. That is and will not be easy to do, but I know it is what you would want. So I shall try.

I will love you forever. Until we meet again, beloved.

Yours entirely,

Damian

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

It seems that getting to know our youngest as herself will not be as hard as I first believed. I do not know whether I should feel relieved or if I should crumble as I feel at this moment. I had not really seen our dear Ibis for a couple of days. Thanks to the job and my job. Today we got the chance to eat breakfast together before she went off to school. I cannot begin to describe the shock, bewilderment, and possible horror I felt when I first laid sight on our child.

Half of her hair was gone! Leaving only stubble behind in its wake! The other half was partially dyed a blood red! I never would have suspected this from her. It does seem very her though, and I cannot say that I love her any less because that would be a lie. If this is how she believes she can differentiate herself then I have no qualms with it. I just hope that if she marks her skin permanently that she may give me a heads up. I do hope I am better at parenting than father was. I even complimented her look, as I said it suits her. She may have been surprised but like you she has trained to not show it at all.

Many of the heroes from the league have been asking about Ibis. They now know what was long questioned and I fear for her. I do not wish for Ibie to join our line of work. I know she has voiced that she would hate being part of such things. I guess to everyone having such power and not using it for good or even bad may be a waste. I do not see it that way. I know you have told me many times of life on Azarath, a majority of not all the citizens possessed powers like you and Ibie. Not all of them used their powers for good or evil, they had them and lived everyday lives. I truly wish that for Ibis.

I know I have told you before that Grayson wishes to train her. I cannot understand why. This family has enough heroes as it is. All his children, all of Drake’s kin and even two thirds of our family; all heroes. Why can’t he just let Ibis be free? You felt free by being a hero, but Ibis would be caged. A caged bird does not sing.

Moving on from such petulant topics, Ibis is starting her last year of high school soon. Time really flies. She wishes to go into the arts, and I fully support her in that. I know it's shocking, especially since I decided that pursuing art would hinder my future. Beloved she is talented. More talented than I ever could dream of being. Not just with paint and graphite, she can write stories like I have never imagined, she can play numerous instruments just at the sight of them. 

We have narrowed down the list of schools considerably, none of them close to Gotham. Close is relative truly. The top school on her list is in Providence, RI so that is not a terrible trip. The others are much farther. There are schools in Chicago, California, London, New York (though she would rather not go there), Berlin, Finland, Glasgow, even Beijing. 

I will miss her truly, but she needs to find her own place on this vast planet. I cannot push her, I will not. That does not bring happiness and that is all I want for our Ibie. Happiness.

God I miss you. You would know exactly what Ibis needs, what I need. You could’ve helped Ibis so much. All I can do is try.

I love you as always and forever. Until we meet again my beloved.

Yours entirely,

Damian

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

Our son is trying to kill me. No I am not being dramatic, love. Gideon asked me today for your ring. It is not that I do not like the person he wishes to spend the rest of his life with, I do indeed find them pleasant. It's just that I haven’t thought about the ring in years. I told him that he should get his beloved their own ring. That kept him at bay, he did not question me further. Do you still have the ring? I know that is a silly question to ask, but I still wonder if you wear it.

Adira has yet to bring home anyone of any interest to any of us. I believe Ibis said that ‘Dira may never settle down. Which in my opinion is much easier than meeting any potential spouses. For the longest time though she was harboring feelings for one of Logan’s children, that went nowhere. At least Logan will never be related to us, I have to see him enough as it is.

Ibis is probably the most like us when it comes to romance and dating. She is seventeen and has never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, not even secretly. I know that eventually she may find someone, but I would like to dream a little longer. Though I do worry about her. She is definitely the most like us. She is usually in her room, or the library and she doesn’t seem to have many friends. That isn’t a bad thing, as we both know, but even we spread our wings a bit more at her age. At seventeen Adira was sneaking out to go to parties, if she wasn’t on patrol or with the Titans of course. If I was not there when Gideon was born I would say he was from Grayson’s side of the family. Do you remember all the friends he had that came to the manor when he was small? Believe or not he kept all of them and gained more. He is quite gregarious. Should I worry about Ibis?

Grayson has recruited the Kents in their attempts to recruit Ibis. I still do not understand their motives behind such a crusade. Maybe this is an attempt at bringing you back? That would prove idiotic as you said yourself you cannot come back. I am not saying that I do not want you back by my side, beloved. I do, so very much, but if it means sacrificing our child? I would not wish for that. I would much rather find a solution so both of you could be here. Not to mention Ibis is still a child (she may not see it, and Grayson may not see it, but she is). She is not even in college, she has barely seen the world. You and I both have had more experiences in our teen years than I believe Ibis will ever have, and I am content with that.

Luckily we do have Todd on our side. Who has been spoiling Ibis for as long as I can recall. Though I must say he has been quite helpful in advising and educating our daughter. Do you know how many languages Todd has in his arsenal? I ask because I believe he has equipped our daughter with every single one. She is the only one of our children that speaks Arabic fluently. Sometimes when it is just the two of us we will just speak Arabic. Gideon tried learning in college but I believe he grew frustrated with it. Adira says that if she has her portable translator why would she ever need to be fluent in a language. Where did I go wrong? At least one of our children could go out in the world properly.

I miss you. I cannot place into words how much, but I hope you can understand. I know if you could, you would be here, by my side, by our children’s side. That does not aid the ache inside of my heart, beloved. If anything it cracks it wide open.

I wish I had more time to write this to you today. Truly my dearest I do. Sadly, Grayson and Drake have arrived in hopes of kidnapping Ibis, as an attempt to persuade her. I have to call Todd. I hope you can understand. I love you.

I will love you forever and always. Until we meet again, beloved.

Yours entirely,

Damian

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

Hi! Sorry this took awhile things have been happening with me and I had no idea how to finish this until now! I know some wanted a Damian POV, or something of the sort? I was already going to write this anyway, but the support is greatly appreciated!  I do not know if I will continue this further, but if inspiration strikes and my will is agreeable, it may happen. If anything is out of place or otherwise just let me know!

Be safe! Take care! Until we meet again!

unsolvable equations

w/ s.mg ft. j.yh

g/ non-idol!au, friendship

a.n/ something that stems from listening to eden’s discography while on the train, peak nostalgia hour

t.w/ none

In the drowsiness of four in the morning, Mingi sat in his chair, hunched over various papers, textbooks and notes. His hand continuously wrote lines upon lines of numbers and symbols. What started as a liked subject in high school had plunged him into the depths of a sophisticated system. He remembered his teacher saying talent was a pursued interest. Here he was awake at four instead of sleeping, he couldn’t stop until he figured out what was waiting for him at the end of the massive equation. The small desk lamp flickered, he knew soon the batteries needed replacing again. He could have bought a new lamp but there was no other light source he would rather work with this late.

The door of his room crack opened and a mop of messy brown hair peeked inside. Mingi sat up and winced, his back cracked after being in the same position for far too long. “Ya, still up?” His roommate and best friend of many years came in. A steaming mug of a mysterious beverage in his hand. “Milk and honey, it’ll help you sleep,” he placed the mug on the desk’s only clear spot, a coaster blocked off part of the wooden surface. It was purposely reserved for instances like tonight. “Thanks, Yunho.” Mingi smiled and sipped the night treat as he watched his best friend fall into his bed. Yunho pointed at the lamp, voice laced with sleepiness, “You’re still using that wretched thing?” Mingi gasped in mock offence and clutched his heart, “Wretched thing? My precious baby?! You’re the one who gave me this loyal babe. How dare you!” Yunho’s chuckles were muffled by the pillow, his cheeks rose adorably.

He noticed throughout the years, Yunho’s facial structure stayed the same. The squishy cheeks he couldn’t seem to shed became what Mingi called ‘Yunho’s health scale’. No sound came from his long-standing roommate and Mingi turned his attention to the compact yet worn lamp. Scratches and tiny dents littering the metal surface were hidden by stickers of countries he had flown to for his work. The wretched lamp ate its batteries faster than Mingi could fill his thick hardbound notebook with numbers. He picked up his pen, a well-loved Pilot Custom Heritage 92 demonstrator fountain pen from his mother, the only one he used upon receiving it. Mathematical equations and numbers were as concrete as it possibly can but Mingi was anything but.

The grey ink sloshed back and forth in the converter. He was once asked, “Why grey ink?” It reminded him of the wooden pencils he started out with, the shade of childhood on paper and the stains on his fingers and hand from the graphite. Before the ink had a chance to bleed onto the paper, a click of tongue and rustling sheets were enough for Mingi to cap his pen. He drained the rest of the milk while it was still warm and headed to bed. He occupied the empty space beside his friend, mathematics could wait. He won’t be seeing his friend for sometime after tonight. He took one last look at the lamp, reminding himself to remove the batteries and pack the device into his bag. The body heat radiating next to him was the last thing Mingi felt as the grips of dreamless sleep overtook him.

The aircraft intercom crackled to life, Mingi recited the pre-flight announcements from rote memory. He straightened his grey suit jacket and made his final round of safety checks. Once he sat down, he inhaled and exhaled methodically. He hated takeoffs and landings, the years in this field still didn’t completely curb his fear of height. He wished his friend was here to hold his hand. Alas, it was a moot thought. Yunho who pursued a career in the entertainment industry was back in Seoul at the company, recording or dancing or both and he who chased after his dream to be a flight attendant was in a flight bound to Spain. He proudly presented the wings he earned the same time Yunho was set to debut. The eventful night was spent in excited screaming and future prospects before it mellowed out to sombre conversations. Two friends lying on the floor, eyes memorising the ceiling of the house they wished to visit more often. How far they had come in their lives.

Mingi closed his eyes and flooded his mind with numbers from his hardbound notebook, fingers writing the continued equations on his thigh. He would transcribe them later. The equation he bred was lauded as innovative by the professors of the university. They did express their concern over the complexity and the possibility of it not being solvable. He knew. He thought of it prior to presenting his rough draft but he wouldn’t settle for second best. Solvable or not, it was his and his alone. Having no closure was closure itself and he needed to know what lay beyond it, disappointing or not. The image of the compact lamp flickering and the mug of milk and honey flashed to the forefront of his mind. Yes, he would be fine.

His fellow flight attendant squeezed his shoulder with a slightly worried smile. The plane had reached a stable altitude. He smiled and told her softly he was fine and thanked her for being concerned. He unbuckled the seatbelt and helped with drinks distribution. Somewhere way at the end of the aircraft, he heard a baby wailing. As usual, he would go up to the parents and ask if it was acceptable for him to help their soothe the baby. Most would be relieved to place their babies in his arms, Mingi understood, there was nothing wrong in wanting a little respite, there was nothing to feel guilty. He gently took the infant into his hold and walked up and down the aisle rocking the babe, mumbling sweet nothings. He didn’t come back to their seat until the baby was fast asleep.

The Spanish sun blazed in winter. Mingi shed his outer coat, leaving him in a simple long sleeve shirt. The green pastures of the highland stretch for miles all around him, flocks of sheep grazed and bleated without a care in the world. He trudged up the dirt path toward the quaint cottage. He couldn’t travel with his friend last time but it didn’t stop Yunho to list all the places he had been all over Spain, Mingi was equipped with chicken scrawl writing and badly drawn structures and maps on the postcards. They made sure none of them was neglected in any way. Two differing personalities yet they knew how to take care of each other without saying a word. Time truly flew without waiting.

Red brick walls greeted him at the end of the path, the metal gates creaked open with a push of his hand. The reclusiveness of the location swept Mingi into a whirlpool of nostalgia. Passing by the abode and around to the spacious back garden, the blue expanse of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance embraced him. The groundskeeper found him drifting off in the hammock, the sun blanketing him in warm rays and the wind brushing through his hair in loving strokes. He deciphered what the keeper told him in accented English, if he had come here years before, he would have blurted out his iconic line from the Australia trip, “I cannot English.” He thanked the keeper and pretended he didn’t almost trip from getting out of the hammock. The sheepish smile on his face and the mirth dancing in the keeper’s eyes were enough for Mingi to know he wasn’t slick. He stayed outside until the sun set below the horizon. The golden hues gilded the area and Mingi imagined if this was the shade that was perpetual for the gods at Mount Olympus, if this was the same sight Yunho witnessed. The Mediterranean Sea shifted into a pool of liquid gold then to abysmal black when the sun spun to the east.

A pack of AA batteries sat ready to use on the wooden desk beside the four-poster king-sized bed. Of course, Yunho knew Mingi would forget the batteries for the lamp, half the world apart and he was still being taken care. The baggage check security confiscated the batteries because he didn’t remove them beforehand. He had been doing this a lot recently, losing himself in reminiscence. The keeper called him down for dinner, classic Spanish dishes graced the table and Mingi was fed until he couldn’t. An amicable conversation of the cottage’s history, the highlands and each other’s lives lingered in his ears. He couldn’t help but to close his eyes from time to time, savouring the Spanish accented English. He was sleepy by the time he returned to his room with a pot of Lady Grey. He drew open the off white curtains and left the windows ajar. The moon was full and bright, it seemed closer than when he was in Seoul.

He should get some sleep before jet lag settled in but he gravitated to the posh wooden desk. If he was his younger self, he would pick the bed, no hesitation. The Mingi now was even surer of himself, the passion simmering under his skin and lighting his eyes were no longer hidden under a pretence of foolishness. He was still the “work smart and my way” Mingi everyone knew yet the refined confidence oozing from his presence turned more heads and the sharp intelligence landed him in the opportunities of his dreams. He placed the batteries into empty slots and flipped the switch. The room was dimly lit by warm white light. The nib of his fountain pen glided across the white pages, spilling grey inks in numbers and symbols from memory. The wind came through the open windows and ruffled the papers. Mingi didn’t sleep until the blue hour descended and the birds said good morning.

The Seoul winter welcomed him home and the summer of Yunho’s affection wrapped him tightly in its embrace. His friend had come to pick him up from the airport, Yunho in his street clothes and Mingi still in his grey uniform. The metro ride to their shared apartment was spent by telling each other the adventures they were up to while apart. His heart warmed at the mention of their shared place being too empty without him. The feeling was mutual when Yunho was on world tours. Occasionally, they would be lucky enough to be on the same flight. Mingi dragged his suitcase into his room and collapsed onto the bed. He felt blanket being draped over his shoulders and a hand patted his head, “Goodnight and sweet dreams.” There was much to do after this. Yunho started to unpack his suitcase, the crunching of plastic bags didn’t bother him. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier and he didn’t know when he gave into the clutches of a well-rested sleep.

February, the coldest month of the year, the last Friday of his time at Seoul National University. He came to the contentment of the unsolvable as the tassels were moved from right to left. The finale of the current chapter had arrived. Mingi ran toward his friends, the seven who he held dearly to his heart, the seven who accepted him for who he was. The winter wind bit his skin and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. The blue-and-black robe swung from his movements and the cap fell off his head. The equations were not meant to be solved. There was no right answer for it. Only the progress mattered. Show the work. He was thrown into the air amidst cheering. At that moment, Mingi knew he had reached his closure. The sunlight broke through the coverings. The equations mutated itself, as cold as these numbers could be they were novel. Life was never meant to be solved.

“Dr Song Mingi!”

Artistic Vision

Summary: In which Nene models for Mei despite her insecurities.

Rating: G

Warning: There’s references to Nene’s body image issues and some body-shaming.

Notes: So, like MeiNene is also pretty underrated and I just thought the idea of Nene modeling was too good to resist. Hence, this fic. It’s pretty simplistic but it’s not very often that I get to tackle mundane issues and I hope I still did alright. I also hope we see more interactions from these two in the future.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

The sun is setting, and she’s keeping a little anxious. Orange light filters through, casting the entire art room in an almost eerie, ethereal glow. Nene supposed it could make for quite the romantic scene—but rather than a boy confessing to her, she sits on a pedestal with her feet propped up.

Well, when you put it that way, it does still sound dreamy. I can imagine Aoi in this situation—except Aoi would be getting her face drawn.

Instead, Shijima is fixated on her feet. Her ankles, specifically, with such intensity that Nene almost wishes she could suck them into the depths of her skirt, never to be seen again. Except Shijima had begged her to be allowed to draw them.

“They’d make such a unique subject, Yashiro-san! So distinct! An absolute must to recreate!” she exclaimed. And Nene, desperate to please and easy when it came to flattery, couldn’t turn her down, even if the idea of someone staring at her swollen ankles for hours on end was—perhaps not the scenario she most dreamed about.

Shijima was still scribbling away. Her gaze intense behind her glasses, and it would’ve been flustering if Nene hadn’t gotten used to it after the first hour.

Being a model isn’t nearly as cool as I thought it’d be. I feel all stiff.

“Oh,” Shijima says suddenly, looking up at her. “Do you need a break, Yashiro-san?”

“M-Maybe a little.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Shijima waved her hand, ever friendly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a human model. And I get too caught up. You know.”

“I know,” Nene echoed quietly. “But, I don’t mind sitting here. I would just...like some water and a minute to stretch out, maybe.”

“No problem. I’ll get you some.”

“I’d appreciate it!”

Shijima sets her sketchbook and pencils aside. She had used multiple ones, which all looked pretty fancy. Nene can only imagine what it would be like if she were having her portrait painted. Even now knowing how tedious modeling was, the idea was an exciting one.

“Such a beautiful, elegant, and perfect young lady you are, Nene-san!” The painter exclaimed. He was, of course, represented by a vaguely but incredibly attractive man. “I couldn’t possibly hope to capture your radiance!”

Nene only laughs, noble and ever so proper.

“As long as just a fraction of my beauty can be shared, it’s all I can wish for!”

“So generous! So humble! I love you so much, Nene-sama!”

Something like that, maybe?

“Ehehehehe.” Nene couldn’t help but giggle. “Oh no, I can’t possibly model for all of you...”

“It’s just me here, Yashiro-san,” Shijima reminded her. Nene yelped, but rather than comment further, Shijima just offers her a cup. “Here’s some water. Sorry that it’s room temperature.”

“T-That’s fine! It’s fine! I’m fine!” Nene took it and nearly downed all of it, nearly choking in the process. Shijima’s face twitched, but when Nene glanced her way, she was perfectly composed. Somehow, she didn’t feel at ease. “Shijima-san, um, you didn’t get any for yourself?”

“I’m fine,” Shijima chirped, much more convincingly than Nene could hope to be. She sits back down, once again taking her sketchbook. “You’re the one unused to all of this.”

“Aha,” Nene laughs dryly, sipping a bit more modestly. “I admit, I’ve only ever dreamed of being in this position before.”

“Was it everything you ever hoped it’d be?” Shijima asked.

“I... Not really.” Nene shook her head. “No offense to Shijima-san, but I was imagining something a little more romantic.”

“Romantic, huh,” Shijima droned, now tapping her pencil to the paper. “Right. There are people out there who think modeling can be more intimate than it actually is. Well. I could always ask to draw you naked—if you’re comfortable with that.”

Flustered, Nene shook her head much more furiously than before.

“J-Just my ankles are fine!”

“I was joking.” It hadn’t really sounded like a joke, but Nene was happy to brush it off regardless. “You know—it’s kind of weird. Talking with you like this.”

“Eh, why?” Nene asked. “We’re friends, aren’t we, Shijima-san?”

Shijima hummed.

“A model and their artist—have a bit of a different relationship than that of friends. But yeah, we’re friends. I was really happy when you agreed to model for me. I did really want to draw your ankles. They really do have such a unique shape.”

I don’t think I can take that positively even if Shijima-san means it that way.

“You’re so self-conscious about them,” Shijima did observe. “Covering them with your hand isn’t going to hide them, Yashiro-san.”

Nene retracted her hand, straightening out her legs even as it was embarrassing to do so. When her eyes inevitably lingered on those swollen ankles of hers, she found herself deflating.

“They’re unique,” she admitted. “But they’re not very attractive, are they?”

Shijima blinks at her. Nene quickly shrugged.

“I-I mean, as happy as I am to help you—I do wish I didn’t have these. These ankles, I mean. I mean...” Her shoulders trembled as she forced a laugh. “The make me look like a daikon. Daikons aren’t exactly known for being pretty.”

“You don’t think you’re pretty?”

I mean—there’s a reason why you’d rather draw my weird ankles instead of my face, right?

The question lingers on the tip of her tongue. Her face feels hot. She wonders what expression she must be making because it feels awfully twisted. She can’t even tell Shijima’s gaze right now, with those thick glasses as a barrier. All the same, she must surely be acting like an annoyance right now.

“Sorry. Just forget I said anything, Shijima-san.”

Shijima hums but she’s poised to resume drawing all the same.

“Straighten your back please, Yashiro-san. Your posture needs to be the same as before.”

Nene does so. After a few more adjustments, she returned to how she should be, and Shijima resumed.

“I should be done in a bit. You can still keep drinking water, Yashiro-san. Just don’t move your feet.”

Nene nodded, taking another sip.

“I just said not to move, Yashiro-san.”

“A-Ack, sorry! Sorry, sorry!”

“I’m joking, you’re fine.”

“Eh.” That didn’t sound like much of a joke... “Okay, then.”

She fixes her posture all the same, ever self-conscious. Shijima doesn’t make a second remark and her face is still stoic. Unreadable. If Nene hadn’t seen her excitable before, she’d wonder if Shijima could emote at all.

That’s such a judgy thought. She reprimanded herself. Aoi would be ashamed of you, Nene.

Still—since she was thinking of Aoi again, she wondered something else.

Shijima-san is comfortable with me because we’re friends. But there might be other people she’d rather draw.

“Even without looking at your face, I can tell you’re deep in thought,” Shijima remarked then, making her flinch. “Careful, Yashiro-san. Seriously. Don’t move that much.”

“S-Sorry, I was just taken aback!” she exclaimed. “I-I mean, you’re so stern sometimes but—you’re pretty perceptive too, Shijima-san. I guess that’s the eye of an artist for you.”

Shijima makes a non-committal hum.

“I know you said to forget before,” Shijima began. “But—sorry, Yashiro-san. I’m still bothered by it. You’re so harsh on yourself just for—what? Your uniquely swollen ankles?”

“Slender legs are prettier,” Nene said, just a tad more frustrated than she wanted to be. “Guys don’t like thick legs. They don’t care for thick ankles, either.”

“I think they’re artistically inspiring,” Shijima replied. “In fact, when you enroll in college, you should maybe see if you can model for figure drawing classes.”

“While does sound nice,” Nene murmurs, definitely thinking of admiring college boys before shattering that fantasy with her own metaphorical fists. “I’d rather not get leered at like a shrunken head in an oddities museum.”

Shijima adjusts her glasses. She pauses in erasing.

“Is that how you see it? What a shame. But—I guess that’s just what it is, being concerned about stuff like that. I wouldn’t know—with how unremarkable I look, I don’t get much attention. And I don’t really care to, either.” She resumes, sighing as she does. “But—I do love drawing your ankles. And I think—they’re beautiful in their distinction. You shouldn’t judge yourself by narrow beauty standards. Those aren’t just limiting, they’re destructive. And the people who prefer them are often impossible to please anyway.”

Ah, huh. Shijima-san sounds—pretty mature, just then. Still. Still.

“Who’d want an ugly chick with fat daikon legs?”

Nene’s hands fist into her dress for a while before she forces herself to relax.

“Done,” Shijima droned and with an actual smile, she turns her sketchbook around to show off her work. “What do you think, Yashiro-san?”

“Yeah,” Nene said distantly, nodding and swallowing. “Those are—definitely my ankles.”

It was eerie how perfect a recreation they were. Nene could see in horrifying detail how rounded they were, how even her feet looked big, toes too curled and the arches too defined. When was the last time she did her nails? They desperately needed a clipping, and oh god, had she missed hair on her legs the last time she shaved—?!

But, somehow, in the midst of her spiral, Nene did notice Shijima’s fingers. Stained with graphite. She noticed how the paper had been crinkled from having to redraw parts several times over. The recreation was perfect—only because Shijima had been so insistent. And Shijima looked so proud of it, too, even though Nene hated the look of them so much.

Blinking, Nene could ultimately only smile in return.

“You did a great job, Shijima-san.”

Whatever she sees—she’s passionate about. That must count for something.

“You weren’t too bad of a model,” Shijima said. “Can we do this again sometime, Yashiro-san?”

She hesitated but she ended up nodding, smile tightening.

I want to see what she sees one of these days.

Be Honest

Note: Spoilers for 6x02! 

Summary: The biggest challenge, Cisco soon came to learn, of being Killer Frost’s reluctant co-life coach, was that getting Killer Frost to open up was like pulling teeth.

~.~ 

The biggest challenge, Cisco soon came to learn, of being Killer Frost's reluctant co-life coach, was that getting Killer Frost to open up was like pulling teeth.  

Caitlin did not like to talk about her problems either, so Cisco wasn't sure why he's quite so surprised. The difference, however, between dealing with Caitlin bottling up emotions and Killer Frost pretending not to have any, was that with one he could have a nice, civil conversation with that ended with hugs and mutual understanding—The other was desperate scrambles to damage control imploded social disasters.  

 Thus, when Killer Frost knocked on Cisco's workshop door with a grimace that looked like she drank spoilt milk for breakfast, he dropped his welding tools like hot potatoes. "What did you do?"  

 "I fucked up."  

 "What did you do?"  His tone was not kind, and it never seemed to be instinctually. He had to control his voice around her. She bristled when he grew cross without the chance to defend herself, despite the pattern which proved he always had reason to be.  

 Frost didn't reply straight away, but she did go for Cisco's extra rolling office chair. Reclining back against the leather, she began to ramble her story while yanking off the black combat boots Ralph found for her at a thrift shop. Cisco tried to follow along, batting away her feet as she tried to prop up her mesh socks against his screwdrivers.  

 Frost rolled her eyes and huffed. "I was doing him a favour, I thought you told me to be nice. Now Ralph hates me."  

 "He doesn't hate you," Cisco replied diplomatically. That man's patience for Killer Frost rivalled the water in the ocean. Cisco couldn't relate. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  

 Cisco adores Caitlin, and he adores her will to stick out taking a long cognitive nap to let her alter ego have some life experiences, but by god did he not adore her.  

 He's not sure what it is. Barry thinks he's being stubborn and unwilling to try, and Ralph simply never had a problem with her to begin with, but Cisco misses his best friend terribly. The way they laughed and joked, and split the work together to lighten each other's loads. And it's hard to articulate the loss he's feeling without outright dissing Frost to her face.  

 Cisco tried to reformulate his words, cutting out his irritation. She came to him on her own, and she was following the advice he provided. Despite her feigned nonchalance, he knew she really did hang onto every word he gives.  

 "But you lied," he pointed out gently. "If you were honest, he wouldn't have felt so embarrassed when he walked into Jitters with split pants. He knew you knew he was flashing his Spider-Man undies even after he asked for your opinion on his outfit. See? Breach of trust." 

 Cisco turned around, pulling his mask over his eyes so he could get back to work. He had just ignited his blow torch when it extinguished with a spurting fizzle. Cisco looked down to find ice over the nozzle. He bit back a groan and swung back to face her, raising an eyebrow after getting rid of the gear altogether. "Yes?"  

 She could never just ask nicely.  

 "So..." Frost frowned like she couldn't wrap her head around something. She brought one of her legs down from his desk, bending at the knee to lean against, pulled up to her chest. Her hair spilled over her ripped black jeans. "Telling the truth is more important than sparing feelings?" 

 Loaded question. Cisco hesitated. "Sometimes."  

 "Well, when do you know?"  

 "It's a judgement call. When you feel it's important enough."  

 "How do you know when it's important enough?" she pressed.  

 Cisco massaged his temples. "If the truth is something that the person needs to hear, and you're telling them because you care about their well-being and you truly believe it will benefit them going forward, then yes, it supersedes being sensitive." He met her eyes. "Okay?"   

 "Yeah, sure."  

 "We good?" 

 Whatever, she'd usually snark then stalk out. And then Cisco would find Ralph and they'd Compare Notes and Call Banks and Explain Things to save Caitlin's credit score or her reputation with her growingly exasperated landlord.  

 "Do you have a migraine?" she said instead. Cisco started, taken aback. "I—Uh." He had to admit his fatigue could not be entirely blamed on Killer Frost's obnoxious gum chewing habit. 

 She stood up, "When was the last time your prescription was refilled?"  

 "It wasn't."  

 "I'll get something for you." With a firm grip on his wrist, she yanked him out of his chair and stormed down the hall to the Med Bay in her socks.  

 "...Caitlin?"  

 Frost turned around and snapped, "Is it so hard for you to think I care?" 

 Cisco blinked as she rummaged through the drawers of the Med Bay, unable to form any words to reply. 

 Everything was disorganized now, the stethoscope he'd gifted her slung limply over the edge and bags of saline left unopened on the counter. And there was still all the art, reduced from her initial splurge, to lessen Caitlin's financial headache, splattered abstract all over the place. There because he had encouraged her to follow her own wants, explore her own inner-mind. And her framed masterpiece, the Princess Bubblegum copyright infringement in its 2HB graphite glory in the middle of it all.  

 Without any finesse, Killer Frost broke the lock to Caitlin's drug cabinet, and dug through the array of medications until she found an orange capsule bottle.  

 "Take two now. It's all I have left. I guess Caitlin would normally keep them in stock." She ripped off another sheet from Caitlin's memo pad and feigned her signature. "Get Kamilla to go to the pharmacy and don't skip out on their instructions. Okay?"  

 Without the echoing voice or attitude mixed with the medical jargon, it was like she was really there.  

 Cisco swallowed the lump down his throat, unable to explain the sudden prickle behind his eyes. "Okay," he whispered.  

 Killer Frost crossed her arms. "Just say it."  

 "No." There was nothing to say. It's a trap. If he tells her how much he misses Caitlin she'd simply use it against him.  

 Her mouth pulled back tightly. "So you can give advice but can't take it?" 

 Cisco twisted the child's lock on the bottle and unscrewed the cap, popping two pills immediately. He made a weird face as he washed it down with a cup from the sink, frowning deeply at her insinuation. "Excuse me?" He's not the one playing Risk and Monopoly with Caitlin's money and social status.  

 "Fine," she said. "I'll do it."  

 "Do what?" 

 "What you told me to do."  

 Cisco heaved a tired sigh. "You just need to apologize to Ralph about the boxers and--" 

 "You're a coward who's given up on what you want with your life--"

 "--Wait."

 "No--"

 "Frost--" 

 "--No. You're dating a girl you have no feelings for because you think it's safer than falling for someone who might hurt you again and you're sitting every day in that little workshop of yours fiddling on toys you don't really care about because you don't get the chance to use them yourself."  

 Cisco gawked.  

 "You're not as nice as you think you are, you're bitter and mean, and yeah you yell, like a lot. You're rolling your eyes behind everyone's back and then mutter like we're the stupid ones. At least we're not running away from all our problems."  

 "Frost--"  

 "And you're not happy. You're not happy. It's not fooling anyone. Wake up."  

 Godforsaken seconds dragged on like scraped skin against asphalt. Cisco wasn't sure how long they stood across the room from each other in tense silence.

 Her demeanour was cool, neutral. Infuriating.

 Cisco didn't know how to feel, the weight of the words still ringing in his ears. He fumbled, trying to find ammunition to fire back, anything to defend against the empty dignity Killer Frost just pulled under him like a rug.  

 His vocabulary went blank, his brain numb, and when he opened his mouth nothing came out—Nothing. Nothing. Empty.  

 The clock on the wall ticked, and Frost snapped her gum.  

 "Why would you say that?" The burning sensation behind his eyes returned, threatening with a pressing force.  

 Finally she lifted her heated stare, scoffing in her trademark manner. With a flip of her hair, she closed the lights off on him still in the room. Her Caitlin voice carried from down the hall only an increment softer. "Why do you think?"  

— our love is a starred staircase; i jump two steps at time but you can only go one by one.

i. → becoming human. “and this is hen.” “mhh, very interesting.” “.... i hate you.” he unwillingly cracks up, slightly turning to the other side because, honestly, he’s not that bastard (maybe) “sorry–” he bites his lips, not wanting to be exposed, gosh, he really is such a bastard “it’s just that– well, how do i put it.... learning a new language from scratch, without any download, it actually is difficult.” there is it again, that devilish sneer “i swear to god, love” “okay, okay. i’ll say it. but please don’t be mad. it’s your handwriting. it’s hard to read. it’s so ugly you could be a doctor.” he’s doing his best, he vows, but since being deviant his sense of humour has highly been affected. you lose no time in emerging onto his jolly demeanor and begin smacking him “you’re not being fair! ouch– please! you promised to not get angry!” he refuges his hair behind his knuckles, while still enjoying taunting you “i’ve spent the past hour memorizing things with you and that’s how you repay me! and i didn’t promise that!” he lets you tease him for too little, and without even realizing it you’re in his grasp, frozen, sweetly pouting, a mouth that he kisses “you’re right, here’s your reward, teacher.” “did you at least learn something?” “ohh, yes, a wonderful lot. i learnt how to kiss you here, here, and here.” and saying that he follows his preaching, teaching you where he adores to leave lovebites. ii. → pieces of you between the pages. it’s not his fault. sometimes night shifts happen. but he hates them abysmally. why? because, as much as he gets bored when you’re sleeping, he can’t help but worship those endless hours he has available, basking in the lone presence of your body, recording each minute thing, with such limited time on this earth, then, he.... but tonight is a little different. he phoned you for a while (you had to force him to hang up), assured that you finished eating at a normal pace, didn’t steal too many snacks from the cupboard, watched something nice and got to bed at a reasonable hour. yes. he’s not your mom but he likes to remind you that his way of loving is varied. of course, soft words and i love yous and invisible smooching were not absent at the roll-call. he’s not only your mom after all. ahh, almost forgot. this is just routine. the deviant thing tonight is: a book. your book. your favourite book. you probably forgot it in his bag. but it’s not very important right now. he picks it up, the spine slightly visible from the black fabric incorporating it. it’s an ordinary book. he sits, and since he’s kinda alone, nobody prevents him from propping his long legs on his desk, relaxing in his leather ergonomic chair. reading a bit won’t hurt. the content, the plot, it’s not really important. what he’s actually reading is: your underlined parts. you normally don’t do that, you said one time. it ruins the paper, you said. yet in this one, this one, so important to you, you used graphite pencil to emphasize. mostly, about love. iii. → doing nothing. “i won’t stand for this!” he huffs in a bit of what appears to be the middle of an angry and annoyed tone. his arms hurriedly coming into a fold around his chest, he doesn’t really know how to react. you try to hide your benevolent smirk, an android this cute shouldn’t exist “why? you’re already doing it.” “that’s– that’s because it was your turn to choose what we should be doing this evening.” “so you’re peacefully protesting?” you urge him, now holding back snorting is almost impossible “.... kinda.” and at this point you’re nearly choking on your own laugh “you’re making fun of me?!” he finishes his retort and darts, indignant, sitting upright on the couch. so so so sorry but you have to cover your face with your digits and turn towards the other side because, honestly, you’re not that bastard as to burst into laughter in front of him (maybe) “gosh– it’s– it’s– pfft– i apologize i’m– ahahAHAHA NO PLEASE NO!” while you were, indeed, mocking him you lowered your guard and him, a weapon, took that as his advantage “PLEASE BABY” “ohh, we’re begging before i even get serious? my my, you’re quite weak.” his fingers carefully threading between your ribs, stroking your skin in a delicate manoeuvring until he’s satisfied with his revenge “you’re terrible.” he grins, both short of breath from being such imbeciles “i am.” he gently lowers down your crouched shape, half on the sofa the rest on the floor, and kisses your reluctant cheek “what’s the plan, then?” “don’t think i’ve changed my mind. i don’t want to do anything. i want to continue until i reach absolute zero.” iv. → your things // your place. he doesn’t need to shower, nor to bathe, and if he indulges in those activities it’s just to bond, he assures you. but suddenly it’s not so credible when you, wanting to surprise him, come back to your place without telling, sneakily unlock the threshold and tiptoe to search for him to no avail. you’re about to open your mouth and shout, to see some sort of shocked reaction, maybe a jump from the scare, but he’s not in the living room. and not in the compact kitchen. and not in the bedroom either. then, where could he be? you silently ponder, a tap of your shoe asking if he left to go shopping. but you know, the fridge is not that empty. could he be....? without letting out a sound you enter the bathroom, certainly not expecting the sight that presents to you. a single curtain separating you from his shadow. of course, you can’t resist the call. with a swift movement you pull the nylon and expose him, who can’t help but nervously shriek in distress “ah! what the fuck!” you cackle “surprise!” he sighs, exasperated by your childish behaviour, and turns off the water “is that my.... body wash?” your attention shifts rapidly, taking in the image of his fully naked anatomy but pointing an index at his palms “what–” he halts mid-sentence, his cyan eyes darting to his fingers “oh, well, huh–” “you’re using my body wash.” “i can explain.” “you always say you’re too upgraded for bubbles.” “.... my phrasing is not exactly that however i was just– curious.” “to try my body wash.” “yes. to try your pink velvet sunflower body wash.” “wait. how do you know the exact name. suspicious.” if his forehead wasn’t already shimmering from the droplets of your interruption he would be drenched in cold sweat “.... i analyzed it.” “you fucking ate shower gel.” “in my defense–” v. → what do you do when you’re happy. he longs for moments like these. for when you both come home, him entangling his arms around your waist as soon as the door closes, leaving a trail of tiny pecks from your shoulder to your lobe, slow as a snail, savouring each millimeter of skin, each little relaxed spasm your muscles have, each complaint you attempt to address to his figure, each tender giggle escapes your mouth. he longs for moments like these. the same as when your shared friends send a text at the last minute, asking if it’s okay to come over and then maybe go somewhere, drinking or eating doesn’t really matter, it’s just to be together. and you sweetly smile, a bit tired after work, but still willing to say ‘yes’, serene in the comfort of not even having the need to change into fancy clothes, only bustling with secret excitement, waiting to be in stitches in the back of a non-automatic car. he longs for moments like these. as that time you both got a couple days off and decided to spend them in a countryside house, clutched by vines of different species: virginia creeper, common ivy and climbing magenta roses. and as soon as the door closed you rushed, gliding on the worn burnt sienna cotto tiles, up the old rusty stone stairs, reached the top and opened the small cabin, only occupied by a toilet and a small painting (‘in bed’ by federico zandomeneghi. a girl with long auburn hair, facing a floral wallpaper, resting in a tranquil atmosphere while stretched out in her bed under light blue covers.). you promptly proceeded to push the wood window frame, letting light invade the whole space. he was right beside you as your head stuck out, inhaling the fresh air and remaining speechless in front of the sun, the sky, the clouds, the as much red roofs interspersed with yellow lichens and green moss, the rest of the panorama composed by infinite sweeps of earthy fields. he longs for moments like these. vi. → our things // our place. “don’t forget to brush your teeth.” he whispers from behind you, his face reflected on the mirror in which you’re admiring yourself in search of some imperfections. you absentmindedly chuckle “i know” your eyes fixated low, watching the drain of the pale china sink. logically, the most convenient way of getting the toothpaste to exit the tube, is to squeeze from the end and let it come out on its own. of course, he noticed, you don’t do that. you, as if reading his mind while he’s standing close, watching and mimicking a human nightly routine, do the complete opposite of what he’s thinking, pressing your thumb at the very start of the mixed aluminium-and-plastic bottle you’re holding. a tiny bubble forms where the cap should be and you hint a smile. infos bothering his vision at the corner of his irises: it’s some internet articles about teeth blackening, mostly persistent in asia. it’s somewhat fascinating to him, or at least, it’s different from the constant obsession with lightening. he wonders what you would think about it. he wonders if you even know about it. white gel slowly fills your tongue and coats the ends of your lips. you’re kinda messy, he admits, but finds it utterly adorable nevertheless. vii. → dying human. your hand. your hand is what kept him alive for so long. because, despite his appearance, he’s as old as an adult can be at this time of your life. your life. two parallels tracks that never meet, going their way, wanting to touch but never able to. you, growing old. him, growing and nothing more. because he can’t be old, can’t he. he will never be old. he must be about.... no, that’s stupid. no hypothesis could change anything. it doesn’t matter which numbers he should have in his ID – not that androids have any in the first place –, what matters is the inequity of your age “you’re always beautiful” you murmur “mh? look who’s talking” the end of your mouth curls up in a childish smile, wrinkles adorning all of your features “flatterer. i could be one of your grandparents for all you know” he gives you a lazy expression, lids half closed, nevertheless content, a bittersweet happiness. he takes your right hand in his and draws it near his cheek “it’s rough, c’mon” you’re a bit ashamed but he lets the warm rays of sunshine glimmer onto him, eyes slowly leaving space to complete relaxation “no, it’s tender, don’t worry, just as you.”

CHAPTER SEVEN.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

PREVIOUSLY.

A SMALL RELIEF FROM DRAMA.... KINDA. i’m laughing i hate this chapter i hope you enjoy it, it was too funny to write

A crinkly set of snaps released themselves free from Devi’s backbone as she stretched in front of the kitchen counter. She shook her shoulders as a secondary effort to clear the bogging feeling of sleep out of her body, but it was growing useless at such a late hour. She gathered her newest cup of water and returned to her seat at her small dining table, across from Johnny, who was focused on what he was sketching. After sharing a late lunch one day at the same table, he migrated his drawing space from the floor of her living room to his new designated ‘spot’ in her kitchen.

Devi watched him with tired eyes while she sipped her water.

Johnny was doing exceedingly well with focusing on his work, but that meant him working later into the night with each passing session, which meant a later sleeping hour for Devi. It wasn’t like he needed her hovering nearby the entire time anymore, but she was still too paranoid to leave Johnny by himself for very long, since he was quite gifted with finding trouble to get into. Devi had let him drag on until almost midnight tonight, since he was so engrossed in whatever he was drawing, but her consciousness was finally at its limit. Pity that she slept so terribly before their meetings, otherwise staying up into the twilight hours would be no problem.

“Ugh.” She mumbled, gathering Johnny’s attention. “Okay, time to pack it up, Nny. My eyeballs are falling out.”

Johnny sulked, looking between his current project and Devi’s yawning face.

“Well…” His lower jaw stuck out a bit while he thought. One of Devi’s eyes twitched closed while the other listed to the side in mild annoyance.

“Well what, Nny?” She asked lethargically. He always had to make up some excuse to stay longer.

“…Would you mind if just— I mean, do you think I could just, stay and keep working? While you’re sleeping?”

Devi’s sleepy eyes blinked open at the question, but Johnny only sat motionless, looking at her curiously.

He really didn’t find anything wrong with a request like that? Just… staying in her home while she was asleep and totally helpless to being stabbed to death? The man that tried to slash her open twice, roaming around her apartment unattended all night long?

Her face pinched uncomfortably the longer Johnny kept his neutral expression settled squarely on her.

“Why?” Devi asked finally, internally demanding an explanation for such a dumbass question.

“I just don’t want to lose my concentration.” Johnny shrugged his body backwards, as though the idea tired him. “By the time I put everything away, and drive home, and unpack it all again, and sit down to draw, I know it’ll be all… fuck-y.”

Devi’s mouth tilted to one side. She could at least understand that feeling; losing your creative mojo simply by being interrupted from it for too long, even if ‘too long’ was something as miniscule as a five-minute phone call, or say, a quick drive home. But did he have to stay here?

She frowned the more she debated it. Johnny had proven himself to be… trustworthy. Mostly. More trustworthy than ever before, anyway. He had really stuck with his promises of self-betterment, at least with the standards she set for him, and he had successfully passed her ‘test’ that he wouldn’t attack her again, even when normal people probably would have. Maybe her brain was just tired, but she figured this could be a decent way to test his self-control again, in a way.

Devi groaned. She was putting herself in harm’s way a lot lately.

“Oh, fine.” She surrendered and got up from her chair. “Just keep it down.”

Johnny smiled at her from his seat and nodded.

“I will. Enjoy your sleep.” He offered casually, then returned to his sketching. Devi pursed her lips shut.

“Thanks. Night, Nny.”

“Goodnight, Devi.” He hummed contently, his hand scratching away in tight circles. She huffed and left to her room, locking the door silently behind her. No need for him to suspect her lack of faith in him.

--

HOURS LATER:

Johnny inspected his finished graphite drawing with his knuckles curled over the point of his chin. He was perched awkwardly in a lean atop one of Devi’s kitchen chairs, with one of his boots anchored on the seat and the other balancing his weight at the very top of the chair’s back. He chewed away at some unmarked leftovers that he had dug out from the back of Devi’s fridge, and tilted his head thoughtfully. It looked good, Johnny thought.

Finished! Devi will be pleased.

His head swiveled to the clock, and the content face he wore slumped into an unamused frown. It was already mid-morning! What a waste of time sleep was – Devi had been incapacitated this entire time, and he had been working for hours on end! He made a mental note to bring up the many valuable things sleeping got in the way of to her again sometime today; she had already shot down his many very good arguments against being asleep, but maybe his finished artwork would convince her.

It wouldn’t be long now – he hoped – that she would awaken, and Johnny wondered what he should do in the meantime. He stepped down from his post to ponder his options. He supposed he could make breakfast, or something like that, but he had already eaten a decent amount of Devi’s food, and didn’t expect Devi to eat much more than he could – he didn’t even know if she liked waffles or not. He made another mental note to ask.

The mild thoughts in his head rattled like marbles at a sudden thudding sound, and he realized as his mind quieted from the disturbance, that the sound was the apartment’s front door. His pupils thinned in suspicion, and he moved to one of the kitchen drawers. After a quick search, he brought up two knives, one in each hand. He weighed them both with a few lolling wrist motions, debating which one would be most effective in warding off any unpleasant intruders. He settled for the chef’s knife, and slid the drawer shut as the knocking started up again.

Johnny made his way to the door with slinky, quiet steps, only turning his attention away for a moment to watch Devi’s bedroom door for any movement. She was either not expecting anyone this morning, or wasn’t interested in having company. Either way, he would answer the door for her so she could rest.

There were no windows like his house had to inspect whom exactly was on the doorstep, and rather than look through the peephole, Johnny simply undid the locks and opened the door to see for himself. He only parted the door enough to allow his figure to fill the gap, and he stood in a hunch, exposing his weapon of choice to the unfortunate woman on the other side of the doorframe. He wasn’t even allowed the chance to speak before she shrieked to the high heavens.

“AAAAIIEK!!” Tenna screamed, holding Spooky close to her mouth afterwards for comfort. Johnny’s irises shrunk further at the grating sound, and he slunk back a ways, though he brought the knife up higher as if to warn her.

“Oh my GOD! I KNEW she was going to get killed hanging around you!” Tenna cried, then leaned forward thoughtlessly to attempt to call into the apartment past Johnny. “DEVI, ARE YOU LIVING!? I’M CALLING THE COPS.”

Johnny winced in annoyance and pushed her back out the door, making her scream from the contact.

“BE QUIET.” Johnny hissed. “Devi is sleeping!”

“YOU SICKO… YOU SICK, SICK MAN.” She languished, misinterpreting what Johnny meant by the comment.

--

IN THE ROOM ADJACENT:

Devi was almost at the comfortable end of a good night’s rest, something that she so rarely experienced the past year or so of her life. Most of her attempts at sleeping ended with exhaustion, after her overactive brain dragged her through hours of anxiety driven scenarios that barely made any sense once she was up and able to evaluate them.

Her body was only just rousing itself from the remaining strands of sleep that tethered her away from consciousness, when a piercing cry startled her awake. For a moment, she was half-convinced that the shriek was another figment from her tormented brain, until she heard Johnny’s familiar irritated voice yelling back at it. Devi shot up, realizing instantly that the other person in the conversation was Tenna.

Tenna, arguing with Johnny.

Good Lord.

Devi heaved herself out of bed as fast as she could to rush to the the living room, only to half-run-into her bedroom door when it failed to open. She cursed, having forgotten that she’d locked it, and hurriedly undid the bolt. The moment she flung the door open, both Johnny and Tenna turned their attention toward her, each surprised to see her awake. Johnny grumbled, unhappy that this guest, identity still unknown to him, had indeed woken Devi up.

Devi could only stare in horror at the large knife clenched in Johnny’s hand, and failed to hear Tenna joyously cry her name in relief that she had, in fact, not been murdered and mutilated by Johnny. Devi sped over to where the pair stood and angrily snatched the blade away from Johnny, wanting to disarm him before addressing the situation.

“JOHNNY.” She whisper-yelled at him, her loose hair pricking out over her forehead. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

Johnny didn’t look nearly guilty enough.

“This person was trying to get into the apartment.” He answered.

“SO YOU GET A KNIFE…”

“DEVI, YOU’RE ALIVE!” Tenna sparkled, hugging onto her shoulder with some rapid squeaks from Spooky. Devi shrugged her arm away, mostly because the arm she latched onto was the same arm that currently held a 10-inch kitchen knife. She wondered why all of her associates had such little common sense, but couldn’t dwell on it long.

“Oh.” Johnny spoke, more relaxed, but still annoyed. “You do know her, then?”

“Obviously.” Devi said through clenched teeth. “God.”

She managed to keep some composure, but still stalked away from her two guests to take in a few calming breaths for good measure. Johnny glanced at Tenna suspiciously, but closed the door as he expected Devi would want.

Devi went to return the knife to its proper place, and grumbled about her misfortune. She knew that eventually Tenna and Johnny would have had to meet, seeing as Tenna was, currently, her only ‘friend’, and Johnny was… there, but she didn’t want it to be like this. She was only grateful that the meeting hadn’t resulted in any bloodshed before she woke up to intervene. Devi patted imaginary flecks off of her tank top and sweatpants, then returned to the living room.

Tenna was lounging on the sofa comfortably, with one leg dangling off of couch’s arm, and Johnny stood off to the side, arms crossed and watching her like a distrustful cat. Devi sighed. At least the room’s atmosphere was less erratic now.

She took a seat beside Tenna on the couch, and got an upside-down, puzzled look from her friend.

“What’s he doing here so early?” She asked, adjusting her posture so she was almost sitting upright.

“—Late, actually.” Devi scratched her hair tiredly. “He stayed over to finish working on something.”

“He spent the night?” Tenna gasped, and Devi tilted her head backwards and away from Tenna’s accusing look.

“It’s not that serious.” She replied.

“Why does she know so much about my schedule here?” Johnny’s head lowered as he approached cautiously. Devi went back to rubbing her hairline.

“She’s my friend, Johnny. This is Tenna. She hangs out with me sometimes.” She gestured across to Tenna like she was on exhibit. Tenna sat up fully, a little insulted.

“You’ve never mentioned me before now!?” She puffed.

“WHY would you want me to bring your name into this? It should be considered a favor to keep knowledge of your existence from Nny.”

“Well he tried to STAB ME because he didn’t know who I was!” Tenna argued back.

Johnny frowned, closer to Devi’s side now. He was unused to having to share her attention with anyone else, and he certainly didn’t like it. It was worse than before, with those random, intrusive customers at the bookstore, seeing as Devi actually gave this particular individual a voice in the conversation.

“Why are you here, Tenna-person? Go away.” He asked sharply, and Devi perked an eyebrow at the rather possessive tone in his voice. Tenna gawked at him angrily.

“YOU’RE the one that’s not even supposed to be here! YOU go away!” Tenna shot back, and Johnny steamed in response.

“NO, NO. We are not doing this.” Devi stood up and offered them each an annoyed scowl, not at all fond of her attention being viewed as something anyone had a right to ‘have’.

“Johnny you were invited to be here, you’re fine. Shut up. Tenna you weren’t, but I begrudgingly accept your random visits, so you’re also fine. I don’t want to hear another word about who is and isn’t supposed to be in my house, or near me, or whatever. Okay?” She crossed her arms – what was this, grade school? Both Johnny and Tenna looked unhappy to not have the opportunity to keep yelling at each other, but agreed half-heartedly.

“Devi.” Johnny moved closer to her, as if he had to now with someone else in the room. “I finished my piece, it’s in the kitchen.”

He stopped, having a quick flash of recollection.

“—Do you like waffles?”

“…What?”

“Do you like waffles? I was going to make breakfast, but I didn’t know if you liked waffles or not.”

Devi stared at him lamely.

“I…” She was still not awake enough for this. “Yeah. Sure, yes, Johnny. I like waffles. Make me some waffles, please, for the love of God, waffles.”

--

ONE MORNING ROUTINE LATER:

“I didn’t even know I had a waffle maker.” Devi commented while she chewed. Johnny’s mouth was full, so he refrained from responding besides a quick nod, but Tenna had no problem talking with a mouthful of dough and syrup.

“REAL GOOD WAFFLES, TOO!” She laughed, forking another half into her cheerful maw. “I didn’t know he could cook things. I think you’ve got a keeper.”

“Oh, please, spare me.” Devi exhaled. She took her empty plate to the sink, and eyed the aforementioned waffle maker suspiciously. She was rather sure that she did not own this particular kitchen appliance, actually.

“Hey, Nny.” She turned slightly, and Johnny perked up on the stool that she had dragged in for him from her art room, lest he bitch and moan about not getting to sit at the table with her.

“Yes?”

“Where did you get this?” Her finger hooked downwards, toward the maker in question.

“Oh, I borrowed it.” Johnny looked to the side, hoping she wouldn’t pry more than that.

Of course, she did.

“You borrowed it? From who?”

“One of your neighbors. They left their window open.”

“You mean you STOLE it, then.” Devi stared at him angrily, and he tapped his fingers together.

“I was going to RETURN it after!” He insisted, but Devi wouldn’t hear it, and only rubbed her eyes in frustration.  

Tenna watched on in interest as Devi began chastising Johnny for stealing from her neighbors and potentially endangering her lease, and with even more interest that Johnny’s reaction was to mope and attempt to argue his point like a bratty child. She had been wondering how their relationship had truly developed after months of hard emotional labor on Devi’s part, but it looked as if she hadn’t been exaggerating his attitude about things – which was good! Maybe Tenna had less to worry about than she thought.

“—Ugh!” Devi flexed her hands in front of her like a pair of talons. “You’re impossible, Nny!”

“Oh, so stealing cheese out of my neighbors fridge makes me Public Enemy #1, then!?” He huffed back.

Tenna laughed; stealing cheese was funny.

“No.” Tenna interjected. “Cheese-thievery is a far cry from hacking people to death.”

“YOU SEE.” Johnny waved his arm backwards toward Tenna, as if Devi needed to visualize Tenna’s ‘defense’ of him. Devi moaned in social agony.

“Johnny—!”

“AH.”

“For God’s sake—alright, fine.” She caved. “It’s not murder. but it’s still not good, Johnny. Especially not when it can get ME in trouble.”

Tenna’s mischievous smile grew from watching them interact. The disagreement was winding down, and she thought she might help it along.

“Don’t be upset Devi!” She grinned, sitting backwards on her chair now. “At least his crimes against humanity have dropped from murder to theft, right?”

Johnny turned his head to look at Tenna questioningly, curious to exactly how much about him Devi had disclaimed. A lot, it seemed like. Devi grit her teeth, but snorted and shrugged it off.

“Yes. I guess I can take theft with a SMILE if it means you’ve stopped killing people.” She deadpanned.

Johnny flinched at the assumption, and snapped his eyes to the opposite wall nervously. The reaction did not go unnoticed by Devi, as usual.

“…Johnny.” She spoke warningly. He didn’t respond besides rapidly drumming his fingers against his pants.

“JOHNNY.”

“W-what!?” Johnny looked to the other wall, and continued to fidget.

“You HAVE stopped murdering people, haven’t you!?” Devi lurched closer to him, and Johnny tightened his posture before shuffling backwards and away from her.

“We-ell…” He looked up and around, anywhere but Devi’s face, which only made her fume more. Johnny stepped around the table, hoping somewhere in the back of his mind that he might be able to use Tenna as a shield if this went south rapidly.

“You—I mean, it wasn’t like—there was never any mention about… stopping… err—”

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!” Devi screamed, and lunged at him.

Johnny also screamed, narrowly escaping her swipes for him as he scrambled around the kitchen. She stopped for only a minute to gather her footing, and Johnny took the opportunity to again try to reason with her.

“DEVI, WAIT.” He sweated. “It’s really not that bad!! It’s not like I’m holding people prisoner in my basement! Just a couple… spur of the moment… killings! Nothing dramatic!”

“THAT’S NOT THE POINT—” Devi jumped at him again, causing a crashing sound of cabinet doors as her and Johnny tore along the side of her kitchen counter. “—YOU IDIOT!!”

Terrified shrieking and the clomping of metal-tipped boots trampled into the living room, leaving Tenna wide-eyed and curious about the sudden turn of events. She chewed up the last of her current waffle, and pocketed another two for later, before peeking out past the threshold of the kitchen archway. Johnny was frantically playing ‘monkey in the middle’ around the coffee table with Devi, who looked like she might beat his head in with the robot statuette she was wielding if he failed to keep the distance between them.

“DEVI.” Johnny called frantically, only to wheeze another scream when she hurled the figure at his head. She only barely missed. “DEVI, PLEASE DON’T KILL ME.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO ASK ME NOT TO MURDER YOU?” Devi hissed, then vaulted over the table, tackling him onto the floor in a flailing ball of skinny limbs.

Tenna’s eyes followed the thrashing ball around the living room floor back and forth a few passes, before her smile returned with some ease. They seemed like they could work this out just fine by themselves.

“Okay, thanks for breakfast, Nny!” Tenna stepped around the carnage and toward the door, ignoring the shrill arguing and sounds of fighting.

“I’ll see you later, Devi!” She piped up again as she slid out the door, leaving her face inside just long enough to allow Spooky to say goodbye as well with a few energetic squeaks.

“AUGH, MY KIDNEYS—DEVI—DEVI—”

--

SHORTLY:

Devi’s breath was still leaving her body in short, angry puffs, but the pummeling she gave Johnny had eased most of her wrath out of her. Most of it. Johnny sat wearily on the couch beside her as she dabbed the rugburn on her elbow with alcohol. She looked up to the scratch on his cheek and frowned, more annoyed with herself for bothering to care about it. She slapped a Band-Aid onto his face unceremoniously, then closed her shabby first-aid kit and left it to sit on her still-misplaced coffee table.

Johnny jolted a little from the sudden contact on his face, but slouched back down after a moment. Devi sighed.

“What the Hell am I going to do with you, Johnny?” She grumbled into the air. Johnny let his clasped hands fall between his legs, pouting at the floor.

“I’m serious, Nny.” Devi looked to him, exasperated, and Johnny looked up enough to meet her gaze.

The day had been going so well, too, he thought. Well, beside the potential-stabbing of her friend and all that. He hadn’t meant to upset her again.

“I’m sorry, Devi.” He offered softly, and Devi groaned. She hated when he showed off that pathetic, passive side of his – it made her feel almost sorry about attacking him.

“Well ‘sorry’ doesn’t fix you killing people this entire time, you moron.” Devi stared at him and watched him shift uncomfortably from the attention. At least her voice was more casual now, even with the added insults, it just sounded like their normal talks.

“I don’t think it’s making anything worse.” He raised his head to her again. “It’s not as though bludgeoning any of those ass ticks makes me want to hurt you, Devi. It doesn’t make me bloodthirsty, or something.”

“That’s not what I’m bothered by.” Devi’s brows furrowed. “Ignoring the fact that it’s murder, it just proves your impulse control is still terrible!! It means the only things you’ve made any real progress in are art and not attacking me specifically.”

Johnny sulked again. In his mind, those were much more important accomplishments than not breaking a coffee pot over some dickhead’s skull, but he relented.

“I know. It’s easier to control myself when you’re nearby to threaten me with violence.”

Devi snorted.

“So what, am I supposed to do then, Nny??” She stood up and turned to him. “Do you need me to keep a constant eye on you? Is that what I have to do to get your murderous impulses in check? You want to just box up all your crap and move onto my fucking couch? Hm?”

Johnny’s previously downtrodden expression vanished, his face overtaken by his dinnerplate size eyes. He stared at her in surprise, uncertain if that was sarcasm or a genuine offer.

“Are… you asking me to move in?” Johnny asked, nearly breathless. Devi’s face went a strange color.

“WH—NO!” Her lower eyelids bent up while she grimaced. “I mean—well—NO.”

It definitely wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, but it was rather plain that if Johnny was here, then he wouldn’t be there, at that shitty, old, previously-demon-infested house of his. Maybe that would do him good, being away from that place? She had only been in his house once previously, but knowing all that had occurred there, she was certain it didn’t put his mind in a good place to call that glorified shed his sanctuary.

No, there was no fucking way she was debating this.

“No, no, no, no.” She continued, pacing away from him. “Alright, I’m done for the day, go away. Go on, go home, Nny.”

Johnny shifted a little, aware that tonight was supposed to be another one of their tutoring sessions.

“…Do I come back tonight for—?”

“GO… HOME… JOHNNY.”

--

NEXT.