#hopefully next time i can get stickers from a print shop

[kiwiwinjindouche]

I have some great news!

Have you ever been afraid of losing your stuff? of someone unwanted entering your house? well, fear not anymore! our company is happy to announce the pre-orders for some amazing clockworks are now OPEN! (until May 3rd) Come get your soldier and/or sentinel now for an affordable price! They will take care of your belongings and watch out for your keys.

Pre-orders are on KOFI because it was the easiest for me, atm.

I'll place the order on Vograce next month, and they should arrive within may hopefully. Then, I'll start shipping them asap. This is the first time I'm doing this, and shipping worldwide is a bit intimidating. I think I can send them as letters and not packages, so I've not put a high shipping cost. I hope nothing bad will happen, wish me luck! (I don't want to come next month "hi in fact fees are higher than expected so lmao" I'd rather die in fact)

Done with love and care, with great attention to details. Marvel at the clockwork wooden design, and the vibrant black acrylic of the sentinel. Visual awareness in the front and back (double-sided printing) for the soldier, while the sentinel are one-sided printed (and yes Dolores, they are 'insured', I'll do what I can to be sure you get your order).

With those come a bunch of stickers! All inspired by Kirin Jindosh's life, including 2 of my characters because I can. I've put a lot of attention and details to those as well, I could go on and on about it for hours. Also! If you buy both keychains (soldier/sentinel), you'll get a free Jindosh sticker! (and… another one, maybe? I'll have to think about it, depending on how things go) (printing them at home didn't go as well as expected, we're not safe from me changing colors or anything until the orders are placed, but it shouldn't be a lot of changes still so the designs you can see are the final ones with a 95% chance)

Last note! I hope Vograce will be able to do it, but I really wanted to do… what's the best way to put this. You know, there're different numbers, for the soldiers, and 2 or 4 arms. What if, hear me out, what if… you know, what if we could do unique keychains? You could have a unique number, with the right amount of arms seen in the game! I REALLY WANT TO DO THIS. You can either choose an amount of arms or go random to play the game yippee!! Hoping very hard it will work aaaaaaaaah

With all that being said, thank you so so much for the support and let's hope everything will be fine and work well!!!!

LINK TO THE SHOP:

https://ko-fi.com/dagyne_/shop

ALSO you can contact me via DM here (or KOFI) or we can talk on Discord too if there's any issue or anything at all!

#dishonored 2 #kirin jindosh #dagyne_rambles #preorders open #preorder #keychains #stickers #gosh i forgor but i wanted to add a badge as well #nevermind this will be for next time i suppose lol

[moonylilies]

2023 Art Summary!!

so here's a single piece from each month i did!! i really wish i did more art this year, so hopefully (and most likely) next year i will!!

below under the cut are links to the ones i managed to post along with my art goals and some thoughts for the next year

thank you so much for those who have been following me this year and i hope we can continue to grow doing what we desire in the next year :3

yall can skip reading this if you just wanna go see the links; most of you probably know i went back to college in january, which unfortunately caused me to gain major art block (ew) when my depression creeped up. i also had like no time this semester with the large ammt of courses i took (i took 6 classes and it killed me with the course load since most of them were online. never again i will be making that mistake). when i go back to classes in january, i hopefully will not be as dying as i was this semester since i am taking a majority art course load. im even taking a printmaking class which means yall will be gettin some goodies posted hopefully

my art goal for next year besides getting more commissions lol (which if you are interested can see about here) is to be able to draw full bodies - i still can't and ive been drawing humans as my main thing for at least 6 years now. i will def be practicing next year by doing many figure studies lol. i also hope i can manage to figure out how to do backgrounds besides the basic ones i tend to do i also hope that with my shop i can break some of my records like getting new states i haven't shipped to yet so that my state ammt goes up from 8 to maybe 10, having my total ammt going up to around 50 sales from 35, getting more fans for my art who love the stickers and prints i am making, ect ect i wasn't able to this year. while i am on winter break, i am trying to set up a shop update for before classes start again which i will be updating on here about when i remember to do so (honestly the hardest thing for me while having an art acct to promote my art and shop is making content besides just posting my art online and hoping people like it)

links for art + what the ones that don't have links are lol: january: lunar new year rabbits feburary: ft ferris bueller's day off au (this one is the one i am the most proud of) march: lucy redesign april: team shadowgear hehehe (this one's my favourite i did this year) may: yuki got hit by a car june: sketch of my oc alyss july: levy for part of my colour wheel challenge that is still a wip (tiktok one two ; reels one two) august: wally ice cream (aka a future sticker) september: art of my oc adora october: the sun tarot card feat sting eucliffe (wip portion is linked) november: bisca icon december: ramen sticker (a sticker soon to drop in my shop once i do a shop update soon)

#mk talks #my art #original art #digital illustration #2023 art summary

[ramblinguitar]

Happy Saturday from your Secret Santa 🎅. I am doing well. How are you doing today?

And thank you! Hopefully this message is just as lovely 🥰.

In regards to Etsy, what made you decide to start selling on there, and what do you find to be your most popular items? My degree is in art, and I like to draw and paint, so I'm thinking handpainting items to sell on there. I just have to make a supply of thing haha.

I also see you like to write! I enjoy writing some too. What kind of things do you generally like to write about? And are your writings available anywhere to read?

I have a soft spot for Nirvana too from my high-school days. I listened to them alot. I know some Soundgarden songs, but admittedly, I haven't delved too deep into their catalog. That's something I know I should do though. Do you have any song recommendations by them?

What other kinds of hobbies do you have? Or things that just interest you in general?

Sorry about the plethora of questions I just dumped on you! I like asking questions 🤣

I will be stopping by again soon, and I hope you have an amazing day! 👋

Hello! I’m so sorry this took me a bit to get to (and no it isn’t too much at all! I thoroughly enjoy it, I wanted to give it time bc of the recs, and then I got busy, and forgot).

For Etsy - I’ve never had like a ‘best seller’, or anything. If one sold more than all the others, it would probably be the Loki one. It was intended for more of a pagan audience, but I’m pretty sure it’s mostly hit the marvel demographic 🤷‍♀️

I think that’s a wonderful idea! I’m also into art (wanted to go to college for it, but didn’t). What medium do you enjoy best? If you intend to sell your works, I’d start with a mix of prints and originals/canvas. And maybe a few stickers. Start with around twenty-twenty five items. Make sure you charge fairly! It can be challenging doing that, and feel like it’s ‘too much’, but you deserve to be paid fairly for your work and time. I’m speaking from experience on that because I didn’t charge properly at first, wanted to make them accessible to everyone as much as possible, and didn’t make enough to meet the cost of materials which I almost had to close the shop over.

I do! Writing has always been a passion of mine. I’d like to publish one day, if I can manage it. I have some works up on here! You can view @skohliwrites for a few poems and one short story. I have others under the #mywriting on this blog. If they don’t show up, let me know, I’d be happy to repost something for you, if you’d like!

I generally writing in the sci-fi fantasy genres, both YA and adult. I also like historical fiction. My current favorite author would probably be Pierce Brown off the top of my head, whom wrote the Red Rising series. If you haven’t read it, I highly recommend!

What genres do you like to write in, or read?

Ooo, I love giving song recs 😂 there’s a tag for it here, too! Feel free to give it a browse - #musicrecs

Here’s a few of my favorite Soundgarden songs, in no order:

And from Chris’ other band, Audioslave, because I need you to hear these vocals:

My other hobbies include playing guitar, being out in nature, reading (that might’ve been a given), crocheting, cooking, and I’m sure there’s some others lol what about you? What’re your hobbies?

Have a wonderful day 🎅! Until next time!

#srs #soundgarden #audioslave #chris cornell #music recs

[forte7]

Hey hey Peeps!

Have belated Thanksgiving! Sorry again for being so quiet - I've had to take on some part-time jobs to support myself so things have been hectic.

I hope to get more convention commission photos up soon (still have a few to get through), but on that note of conventions, I have some news: This next year, 2023, I will be taking a break from conventions. I might do 1 or 2 shows, but will not be appearing as frequently at others this next year.

I need to take time to regroup and work on new things for the table, as well as get together new work for my portfolio so I can hopefully stop working at Kroger and Staples as I do now.

I do have some GOOD news though, to balance this out. The Etsy shop is back up! Right now, all I have are Pick Your Own Button Bundles, as people seem to like to Mix and Match, though I hope to get my pillows up there, maybe the prints, and separate button sets or Custom Button options available soon.

Stickers will probably not be up any time soon, as I'm still looking for a new printer, as mine died a while back and I haven't been able to print new ones since - another reason I need to take a break from conventions as I figure that one out.

Etsy shop can be found here: https://www.etsy.com/shop/FilRomeroArt

And all the Pick Your Own Buttons are divided into separate categories, so finding your favorites will be easier. Collectively, I have over 300+ button designs, with more planned, so hopefully something catches your eye!

By the way, if you do want to support my art and my work aside from conventions or the Etsy, please check out my Linktree, where I have links to my Twitter, Instagram and other social media accounts, as well as my Patreon: https://linktr.ee/Forte_07

#artist #artistonfacebook #artistsoninstagram #ArtistOnTwitter #etsy #etsyshop #etsyseller #anime #manga #videogames #artistalleyartist #linktree #art

[anandasamsara]

Hi, hello, im alive and back after a long while with no updates

Still don't have a job, but at the very least the lands mom owned were sold. We invested the money to try and buy a house. It's gonna take a long while yet.

Dad's health took a turn downside. It's probably cancer, which we all already knew, but yeah. He has an appointment with the oncologist in december to see what exactly we have to do. But. His morals also took the same turn. He's not working bc of a medical leave, but he's been dealing with everything terribly. He's decided he doesn't want to stay with mom anymore, he's been a jerk to her these last few months, and im suspicious that he has someone else. Don't have the courage to bring it up tho, mom's not the best but no one deserves this and it isn't supposed to be my problem anyway. So. Not touching that.

Mom's doing some treatments too, so she's been not awful lately. We had an 180 here. Im worried about her, bur can't help more than with company.

And what about me, you ask? Well, as every unemployed adult with close to zero work experience after being fired from my last job, i decided to invest in something, anything, to feel a bit like im not useless. So i bought a cutting plotter machine thingy to start a print shop that also makes stickers. Will have my first few orders in the next couple of weeks as im starting the business during the most busy art times of the year. There's at least 10 artists already planning on working with me, and 3 big artists alleys coming up, followed by a few smaller ones. But, i was stupid and bought the wrong sticker paper for my printer and just realized it yesterday. Now i gotta wait until Monday to see if i can return it and get the right paper, which im not sure its gonna work, so i might need to spend another 300brl (about 60usd) that i hadn't planned on spending. I even considered opening commissions again, but my head isnt in the right place for that yet. Gonna have to move some funds around, hopefully I'll still have money to try out for my specialization in medieval history next month. Bc even if it's being offered at a public university, it's still paid. Go figure.

Anyways, that's update done i guess, fingers crossed that the business go well enough to pay back the machine too bc that was painful. Financially painful.

#personal

[safety-net-did]

Decided to take the next step toward bravery and connect the shop to our art blog.

Spent the day importing the stickers from Printful into Etsy, along with putting watermarks on the plain images, since I never thought to do that before 🤷

Queued up a couple to share over the next couple days on @snd-arts , gonna get the rest of them queued up tomorrow I hope.

They're set to one per day, which will hopefully last until I either queue more personal art or get more items imported.

Trying to get some activity going with my art again. It's been a long time since I've felt able to really sit down and "do" art. I'm hoping I can spark my brain back, now that I have some more energy.

Legit only done work today. Emotional work with my he-partner, shop work for a few hours, buffering with my she-partner, organizational work with the family.

Finally getting to sit down and not do, which my brain is telling me I need. But I can't quite get my brain to shift out of that gear :/

#diary; self

[crazycomicshow]

Weekly Update 7/24/2022

Seeing all the pictures from SDCC has me wanting to try and get a pass for next year! I had originally planned to try to go in 2021 but those plans got ruined by the pandemic. The good thing about that is it gave me plenty of time to save up the money to go. Which I currently do have so I will not be doing any money scrambling if I do get a pass for a future con. Not sure if I will wear a cosplay if I go but it I did I would only wear it on Saturday since that is the crazy day to try and shop. I am mostly after some con exclusive books and some random items. 

I have a decent list of what I am looking for but will buy something if it does catch my eye. Which is one of the fun parts of the con is finding items you did not expect to find there. Which I have found in the past which is why I have some unique items from comic con. Plus hopefully I will be able to get some new stickers for my poster tube since I have not added anything new to it since i last went to SDCC in 2011. One of my best purchases at the event since it has come in handy so many times. I may even bring a second one so I have more print/poster storage. 

If I do get a pass for the con there will have to be several things I will need to buy before I go. Including a new con bag since I will need something bigger then what I use for my local cons. You do need a bigger and more roomy bag for the event since there is so much more stuff to haul around. Plus it is a good way to bring items to your room from the car. I already have a small rolling cooler but will need a rolling cart to bring the room supplies in. Which is another item I will need to buy before the con since I do not own one. 

Some of the other items like some comic board and bags along with a comic box I can get the months before the con. It is easier and cheaper to bring these items myself since I do not want to have to buy them at a con. Along with bringing a power strip for the room since they never have enough electrical outlets for everything you need to use or charge. Con goers do bring a lot of electronics with them since we use them for so many things. I am glad I had it when others came back to my room for lunch one time. 

I am hoping to have a chance at passes but if not then I will keep saving up money to go. 

#blogger #SDCC

[artbymaryc]

Prepping more stickers for mystery packs. Many new, some repeats. May or may not be having another sale soon <.< ... >.>

#lance #hunk #pidge #shiro #galra #thace #sendak #allura #stickers #hopefully next time i can get stickers from a print shop #my art #prepping

[gingeralepdf]

Walk On By - Part 2

A/N: yay!!!!!! another installment in the shroomrry cinematic universe is here!! i want to say a huge thank you to el ( @harrytheehottie​ ) and brailey ( @daydreamsofh​ ) for being excellent beta readers and supporters. <3 <3

and thank you to everyone who has shown my writing love. i truly appreciate it so much. i hope you like this part just as much as the first one. :-)

if you haven’t read part 1, catch up here!!

🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄✨🌈✨🍄

****CONTENT WARNING**** alcohol consumption, mentions of drug use

You’re simply buying magic mushrooms from Harry. However, if you keep running into each other, is it going to stay that simple?

word count: just under 5k

**September 15th, 1977, Los Angeles, California**

The brakes on your car squeal as you pull into the last empty spot along the curb and shift into park. The music from your radio comes to an abrupt stop when you turn the key back to shut the engine off. Your head hits the headrest behind you before you empty your lungs into the silence.

Cars drive past on the street to your left. It’s just past five thirty, so all of the after work traffic is in full swing.

You’ve been avoiding this errand for two weeks now. There’s a record that you’ve been wanting to get your hands on ever since one of your coworkers played it at a work function. After looking through shelf after shelf in all of your favorite shops in L.A., and even making some calls to shops in surrounding areas, they’ve all come up short.

This seems to be your very last resort. Right across the street, sandwiched between a donut shop and a hair salon, is Jupiter House Records. From what you remember, this shop has a really good selection and variety, but the handful of unpleasant interactions you’ve had with the owner have been enough to make you look somewhere else. You’ve been stubbornly avoiding this place for years. Now you have a whole other reason for not wanting to spend hours in this store digging through to find your favorites or discover new ones.

Harry works here.

You haven’t seen him since he showed up on your doorstep to return your address book. The conversation you had with Jenny when she came home from work that evening plays through your mind again.

Both of you plop down on opposite sides of the couch in your living room. You sigh and take a big sip from your glass of wine before explaining the whole interaction to her, starting from the moment you opened the door to the moment you saw him drive away in his car.

Jenny grins. The only sound in the room comes from the ticking of the clock on the wall as you wait for her response. “I think he likes you.”

You squint. “That’s what you’re taking away from all of that?”

Her eyes widen and she springs forward, almost sloshing the wine out of her glass when she sets it on the coffee table. “Oh, so you’re telling me he saw the ‘If lost please return to..’ in your address book and decided to make a trip to our house to return it to you in person, when he could have just sent it in the mail?”

You can feel a crease forming between your eyebrows and you take in a sharp breath, fully prepared to counter her point, but she barrels through.

“And he wanted to ‘make sure you were okay’. Out of all the dealers that we’ve met, how many have just shown up at our houses to check up on us? Zero.”

You press your lips together. You can’t argue the fact that this alone sets Harry apart. However, this doesn’t mean he likes you. Maybe it just means that he’s the kind of person that goes the extra mile for the people he does business with. He could have easily left you and Jen sitting on the sidewalk after the concert, but he decided to help, to do what any other good-natured person would do.

“And let’s not forget how he threw the paper on the doorstep so you wouldn’t have to walk all the way down the driveway.” Jenny clutches her chest and swoons.

Scoffing at the way she’s adding dramatics, you challenge, “How do you know he didn’t show up here to see you?”

“He didn’t ask about me, did he?”

“No,” you begrudgingly mumble into your glass.

She grabs her glass from the coffee table and gives you a knowing look. She’s made her point, and the more it lingers like the aftertaste of wine, the more conflicted you become.

You’ve spent more idle moments than you’d like to admit since then thinking about the night you were sitting outside of the Forum. Thinking about what possessed you to lean in and study his face so closely. Was it solely the effects of the drugs? If that’s the case, then why do you want to go back to that moment so badly? And why didn’t Harry pull away? Did he really blush when you were staring at him? Was his heart really racing when you gave him a hug, or was that just your wild imagination?

The honking of a car brings you out of your thoughts. You take a deep breath and trill your lips. There’s a slight break in traffic. If you don’t get out of your car and cross the street now, you fear you’ll stay here stuck in your thoughts all evening.

With a huff, you rip your keys from the ignition and push your door open. You cross the street, walking with a purpose, and make it to the sidewalk.

The full strength of your nerves doesn’t hit you until you’re just in front of the store and the glass door swings out with a simultaneous chime of a bell. Your heart drops from your chest to your stomach and you freeze on the sidewalk to avoid colliding with the man exiting the shop.

When he stops to hold the door open for you, it takes you a moment to gather yourself. You mutter a ‘thank you’ as your hand firmly grips the cool metal of the door handle. Almost like you’re using it as a crutch to get you through the threshold.

Your shoes meet the shaggy mustard yellow carpet, matted down by years of customer traffic.

A woman that looks about your age greets you from behind a counter to your right. You return her half smile and she goes back to flipping through the magazine on the counter in front of her. The nametag on her floral shirt reads ‘Nora’. Behind her is a door with a red ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’ sign taped to it.

Underneath the counter that she’s leaning on is a glass case holding records and cassette tapes, all marked ‘deluxe’ or ‘limited edition’. Spread out next to them are a few t-shirts, buttons, and stickers with the store logo printed on them.

You weren’t expecting it to be so quiet. Right now it seems like you and Nora are the only people in the store. The coast is clear. You can relax a bit. The adrenaline rush you were feeling on the other side of the door has now been replaced by the whirring of the air vents and David Bowie’s “Queen Bitch” playing over the speakers.

You turn to your left to take in the rest of the store, meandering into the first row of record shelves.

The large window taking up the entire front wall lets in plenty of evening sun that warms your skin through your shirt. More shelves, each one three tiers deep, line the rest of the walls and create aisles in the middle of the room.

Signs hanging from the ceiling above each section indicate the genre. The one you’re standing next to is labeled ‘new releases�� with a smaller font that reads ‘alpha by artist’. Other sections are labeled country, rock, disco, classical. Your eyes land on the back corner of the store where the funk, soul, and jazz sections are.

You make your way over while pulling your sleeves up to your elbows.

Unsure of which specific section the record you’re looking for will be in, you decide to start on one end of the corner and search all the way through to the other in hopes of finding it.

You fall into a familiar routine of searching through the first tier, then the second, leaning over to search through the top tier, and then taking a step over to start the whole process again.

Once you’re about halfway through the soul section, the bell on the door chimes again. You can’t be bothered to look, not wanting to lose your place.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.”

Goddamnit. Your hands freeze their movements and your heart begins to race all over again. You know exactly who just walked through that door.

“Harry,” Nora admonishes, “I finally have a date after two months and you’re gonna make me late.”

Harry’s mumbled response is drowned out by the loud creak of the door behind the counter, but judging by Nora’s gasp and the unmistakable thwack of a magazine, maybe it’s better left between the two of them.

You begin to slowly file through records again, this time not paying much attention to what you’re doing. More-so to give your hands something to do and appear busy while trying to hear the rest of their conversation.

Nora sighs, “It’s been really slow today. Hopefully it’s a slow night for you.” All you hear is some shuffling before she adds, “Oh, boss wanted me to remind you not to play the music too loud.”

“Did he? Dunno what he’s talking about,” Harry says, feigning innocence.

Nora laughs, “Whatever.”

The next thing you hear is the jingling of keys and footsteps across the carpet.

Harry raises his voice from the back room, “Are you gonna punch out?”

“Will you do it for me? I’ve gotta go.”

“Sure.”

The bell on the door rings and Nora yells from the doorway, “I left three boxes in the back for you to restock!”

“Oh thanks,” Harry yells back with sarcastic enthusiasm.

“Bye,” she sings as she walks out.

The door slams behind her. The bell’s high pitched ringing seems to hang in the air.

Silence falls on the room when the song playing over the speakers stops suddenly, making the room quiet enough to hear the traffic outside. You hear a needle drop and after a few seconds, the opening guitar notes of “Can You Get to That” by Funkadelic begin to play. The corners of your mouth turn down to fight a smile when the volume is promptly turned up much louder than what it was when you walked in.

You take a sharp breath in, realizing that you’re going to have to turn around at some point. Surely you can’t just stay in this corner and keep your back turned to him until the place closes. You don’t know what you’re going to say to him. Will he even recognize you after not seeing you for weeks?

There’s not much time to decide what to do when the sound of footsteps approaching on the carpet is getting closer to you.

Your heart leaps into your throat when you hear his voice.

“Finding everything alright?”

You turn your head to the left.

Harry is standing a few shelves apart from you with a box propped between the shelf and his hip. The sunlight from the window shines through the ends of his hair and the sleeves of his white t-shirt when he grabs a record from the box and reaches out to carefully wedge it back into the right place. You scan down to where his shirt is tucked into a pair of dark brown corduroy pants, and further down to see a pair of dirty white sneakers peeking out from the ends of the flares. When he turns his head to the box again, you notice that his mustache is significantly thinner from the last time you saw each other.

Heat rushes up your neck and onto your face when he glances up at you.

His hand pauses in the air and his eyebrows raise slightly before the corners of his mouth do the same, revealing just a hint of his dimples. His head tilts back and he blinks in surprise. “Oh… hi.”

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding when he addresses you by name. Mirroring his smile and turning your shoulders to face him, you reply, “Hi. I… didn’t know you worked here.”

A flat out lie, but thankfully he doesn’t seem too suspect about it.

He frowns and looks down at his shirt, pulling it out in front of him to reveal his nametag. “Hm. M’ afraid I do,” he says flatly.

A breathy chuckle leaves you, amused at the way he’s effortlessly making sarcastic remarks like this with you and his coworker. Quite different from the stiffly awkward interactions you’ve had with him. It’s like you’re seeing him in his natural environment. Him being at ease is having the same effect on you.

“Do you need help finding anything?” he asks, continuing his previous actions, this time with a soft smile.

“Actually, yes,” you clear your throat, “I’m looking for this specific record. I’ve looked all over for it by now. I’m pretty sure it should be in one of these sections if you have it, but...” you trail off as you cast a glance over your shoulder to the shelves you have yet to go through.

“I can take a look in our inventory. Save you some time?”

Of course. Why didn’t you just ask about that when you first walked in? “Sure. That would be great.”

Harry hoists the box into the crook of his arm with a faint grunt and you follow him over to the counter. After setting the box at the end of the countertop, he walks to the other end and reaches underneath the register, pulling out a large beat up binder with ‘inventory’ written on the spine.

It lands on the counter with a plop, probably due to the huge stack of paper inside, separated by multicolored tabs.

“What’s the artist’s name?” he asks after opening the binder to the first page.

“The Equatics.”

He pulls on the ‘A’ tab and folds it over.

“Oh, sorry, it’s Equatics with an ‘E’.”

He tuts and shakes his head before tracing his finger down and pulling on the ‘E’ tab. “Equatics with an ‘E’,” he mumbles.

You fold your lips between your teeth.

Now you’re thankful for the loud music filling the room as you’re standing wordlessly in front of the counter watching him flip through the pages of the inventory binder. Hair hangs in front of his face as his head is tilted down to scan over the pages, all filled with scribbles, arrows, and notes in the margins written in blue, black, and red ink. It all means nothing to you, especially looking at it upside down. You can only imagine how tedious it must be to keep up with.

With his left hand pressed flat against the counter, the expanse of his arm is right in front of you. Hopefully he can’t feel your eyes surveying his tattoos, at least the ones you can see from this angle. A small cross on his hand, an anchor on his wrist, the tail of a mermaid, a delicate rose near his elbow, a heart just beneath the hem of his t-shirt.

He inhales sharply and clears his throat into his fist, “Looks like we do have it. It’s actually in our as-is section.” As he’s speaking, he spins the binder in your direction and slides his finger almost to the bottom of the page to point out where it lists the artist, album title, and the section it’s in.

Despite the relief that comes with finally finding something you’ve been searching for, your face falls a bit. You know that ‘as-is’ is often just a nice way of saying that something is heavily used. “Does that mean it’s… damaged?”

Harry hums and tilts his head to the side, not meeting your eyes until he responds.

“Not always. Honestly we’re pretty much required to put stuff in that section even if it’s just the sleeve that’s messed up. Sometimes the record itself is still in great condition. You can still find some good stuff in there.”

“Okay. Where’s the as-is section?” You don’t remember seeing a sign for it when you walked in, unless you just overlooked it.

“Right. It's, uh, down this hallway here. Kind of hidden.”

Harry rounds the end of the counter and you follow him over to a doorway covered with a ruby red beaded curtain. Harry pulls it to the side and steps through first, pausing to hold the curtain back for you. You mutter a ‘thanks’ and step into a long hallway that extends to your right.

He releases the curtain, letting the beads crash together, before starting down the hallway.

Both walls are lined with floor to ceiling shelves full of cassette tapes, with each row of shelving just tall enough to fit their size. There’s so much packed in this long stretch of narrow space, like a condensed, fluorescent-lit cornucopia.

“I had no idea all of this was back here,” you comment, slightly dumbfounded that you probably would have overlooked this hallway entirely if it hadn’t been pointed out to you.

“Yeah, lots of people think it’s off limits because of the curtain. I need to put some signs up or something.”

As you’re walking behind Harry, you realize you were too distracted before to see print on the back of his shirt, let alone make out what it said. Bold purple font reads ‘MY MIND IS UP ON THE MOUNTAINS’ with a smaller font at the bottom that reads ‘(and i didn’t even have to climb)’. The words are surrounded by a sun, a few flowers, a picture of a mountain, and two mushrooms on the bottom.

A smirk creeps onto the corner of your mouth at how incredibly on the nose it seems for him. It makes you wonder if anyone here knows about his other job, or if he’s hiding in plain sight.

Once you’re both about a third of the way down the hallway, there’s a gap in the shelves on the right filled by a nondescript doorway.

“Here we are.” Harry stops and reaches on the other side of the doorway to flip the light switch before stepping back and gesturing for you to walk in first.

You step into a small room. It only contains two long folding tables pushed against opposite walls. Rather than fancy, neat shelves, the records here are stored in milk crates and cardboard boxes lined up on the tops of the tables. It almost looks like you’ve come across a garage sale.

You furrow your eyebrows and purse your lips to the side as you walk up to the first box at the end of the table closest to the door. When you reach in, Harry speaks up.

“I could help you look for a bit, if you want.”

Harry’s now leaning against the doorframe, running a hand against his jaw. Do you see a slight tinge of pink creeping onto his cheeks as well?

“I don’t really have anything better to do. Plus this section... isn’t really organized,” he continues.

You bring your attention back to the box in front of you, a sharp breath escaping your nose when you turn the Johnny Cash record back to reveal a Mozart one behind it. “I can see that.”

“But if you want to look around by yourself I understand, I can leave you to it,” he says, already slightly backing up into the hallway.

“No, I wouldn’t mind the company. You could take that table and I’ll take this one?” Your own words surprise you as you’re speaking them. Moments ago you had been dreading crossing paths with him again, but now that you’re having a moment that feels comfortable, you find yourself wanting him to stick around longer.

A curiosity is growing in your mind, wondering if Harry is feeling the same way, if that’s why he offered to help, if that’s why he slowly joins you in the room and mirrors your position at the table behind you so you’re not standing back to back.

You both search through the crates without a word, only the faint sound of the music from the front room coming down the hallway. Meanwhile, your thoughts are going back and forth between Jenny insisting that this man likes you and talking yourself out of that idea, insisting that he’s simply being nice, doing his job.

“How have you been?”

The question catches you off guard, taking a moment to realize that he’s actually said it out loud. “Um. I’ve been good. Nothing exciting going on, just working a lot. You?”

“I’m alright, thanks. I’ve been working a lot too. Where do you work? Don’t think I’ve asked you.”

“Do you ever listen to KIIS-FM?”

“Yes?” He responds, possibly thinking that you’re trying to shift the subject.

You smile to yourself, “You’re welcome. I’m a sound engineer there.”

“Oh shit,” he says enthusiastically. “That’s really cool. Do you like it?”

Briefly turning to look at him, your smile grows wider when you read the interest and excitement on his face. An expression you’re seeing for the first time in him, and it's because of something about you. Your heart flutters and you turn back to your table.

“Most days, I do. It can be a real dick fest sometimes though. Not in a good way.”

Despite mumbling the last sentence, Harry seems to still pick it up.

He barks out a laugh. You turn, eyes wide, to see his shoulders shaking and him covering his mouth with his hand.

When he turns back to you, clearly making a lot of effort to compose himself, he places his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Oh yeah, the way you laughed really convinced me,” you lightheartedly roll your eyes.

“No it’s just… the way you said it was really funny,” he says, chuckling through his words. He continues, “So you studied engineering at UCLA then?”

Your eyebrows crease as his words hang in the air. You guess it’s not wild to assume that people who live in L.A. have attended UCLA. However, since you’ve never mentioned any kind of schooling to Harry, you can only gather that he’s making that assumption from the UCLA t-shirt you were wearing when he showed up at your house.

“I thought I remembered Jenny mentioning that you both went there.” His tone is cautious now, hesitant even. Like he’s picked up on his own blunder.

You decide to brush over it and simply nod, “Yeah, that’s how we met, actually.”

You return to looking through the crate in front of you. You gasp when you see the familiar red cover of the album you’re looking for.

You feel Harry turn around behind you. “Find it?”

You pull it from the crate. The bold red cover with a blue-grey circle in the middle, running your finger over the lines and arrows creating rings around it with a few stars placed here and there. You turn to smile at Harry, holding up the record in place of an answer, too excited to form words. The paper dust liner crinkles as you slide the plastic disc from the sleeve. Holding it by the edges, you tilt it to the left, to the right, and hold it up closer to the light to inspect it. Your shoulders visibly fall when you spot a long scratch running from the middle to the edge.

“Oh no,” you whisper, bringing the record closer to your face. You lightly run your finger over the scratch. It doesn’t feel rough, you actually can’t feel it at all. A fraction of hope is restored knowing that the scratch isn’t too deep into the grooves. However, there’s no way to know if it’s unplayable unless you actually try to play it.

Harry seems to read your mind. “You could test it out on the player up front if you want.”

“Really?” You spin around, seeming to shock him judging by the way his upper body slightly jerks back. “I mean-- I would appreciate that. If it’s not too much--”

He shakes his head, “It’s not a problem.” He walks toward the door where he waits for you to gather everything up.

The front of the store quiet once you both emerge from the other side of the curtain.

“I liked your choice of work music, by the way,” you say once you’ve both made it back to the counter, hugging your record to your chest.

“Oh yeah, Maggot Brain. S’ a fun album.”

You lean forward to rest your forearms against the smooth wood of the counter, waiting while he takes the record off the player to make room for yours. “Do you listen to a lot of funk music?”

“I do. I’ve never really understood why some people aren’t into it. What’s not to love, right?”

“Exactly! My coworker showed me this album and I think it’s one of my favorites now. It was recorded by this group of high school students in seventy two. They won some studio time in a contest or something and they really made the most of it.”

“Hm. M’ excited to listen to it now.” He stretches his hand out, “I’ll take that.”

You hand over the album. “Could you start it on track two? I think that’s my favorite one.”

“Sure.” He places the record on the player and carefully moves the needle in place.

A warm feeling washes over you when you hear the familiar soft guitar and drum beat at the beginning of the song. You both stand in place as the bass line comes in and all of the instruments’ parts crescendo.

Once the beat drops and the main guitar comes in, Harry turns to you with raised eyebrows and an impressed smile.

“Amazing, right?” you ask through a chuckle.

“It’s really good.”

“I know! And I don’t notice the scratch at all. It sounds perfect.”

“S’ exciting. I’m glad you found it.”

He walks over to where you are and starts to inspect the sleeve, turning it over to read the back. He adopts a similar position as you, forearms resting on the counter as he taps his fingers on his bicep to the beat of the song.

“That guitar part is amazing.”

He’s leaning close enough now that you can see a hint of stubble along his jawline and his upper lip. His cologne, a swirl of vanilla and something else you can’t quite put your finger on. He looks up when you don’t respond and you avert your eyes immediately.

“I think so too,” you mumble.

“I find it crazy how something really amazing can be right in front of you for so long and you never notice it or you just keep missing it.” A pause. “This has been in the back room for… I don’t even know how long, and I probably never would have listened to it if you hadn’t been looking for it.” Another brief pause as he scratches at his chin, seeming to be in deep thought. He shakes his head, “I don’t know. Maybe that’s weird, but I think about that kind of thing a lot.”

“I don’t think it’s weird. That can happen with… so many things, too.”

“Like people.”

His eyes quickly dance over your face. You swear they linger on your lips for a second  before returning to meet your eyes.

“Like people,” you repeat. “And I think it is good to think about that stuff from time to time but… it can get overwhelming. Sometimes it could even distract you from the things you’re enjoying now.”

Your eyes do the same motions, glancing all over his face, lingering on his lips, and then back to his eyes. This feels extremely reminiscent of the night you were sitting outside of the Forum, when you were practically nose to nose after you had taken a whiff of his hair. You had been telling yourself that the gravitational pull you felt that night was solely induced by the shrooms. However, you seem to be feeling it again now as your eyes trace over the plane of his cheek, the tip of his nose, the arch of his lip.

A slight crease between his eyebrows slightly contradicts the almost tender look in his eyes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to speak.

Unfortunately he’s interrupted by the shrill ringing of the phone on the wall behind him.

You flinch at the sudden noise and Harry huffs in annoyance before clearing his throat into his fist.

He walks over to the player to turn the music down before answering the phone with a simple, clipped “Jupiter House.”

He covers the receiver with his hand and mouths ‘sorry’ to you before holding up a finger and going into the back room, closing the door until it's just cracked behind him.

You release a heavy sigh and rub your temples.

After a short conversation, Harry comes back and hangs up the phone.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles, untangling the cord from his fingers. “Are you happy with this, then?” He asks, pointing to the record player.

“Uh- yes. Yes. I am.”

You go through the transaction in silence, watching the way Harry slides your record into a brown paper bag and the way he makes your change. At this moment, you’re wishing Harry came with a cartoon thought bubble over his head so you could know what he’s thinking right now. What exactly did he mean when he said ‘like people’? What was he about to say before he was interrupted?

He carefully folds and creases the paper, but instead of handing it over, he pauses, hands poised on the top of the bag.

“Sorry, I forgot something.” He opens the bag again and crouches down behind the counter.

“What--”

Before you can get your question out, his hand reaches into the glass case between you, hovering over the merchandise that you noticed when you first walked in. He picks out a button and a sticker. You hear them drop into the bag before he pops up from behind the counter.

“You didn’t have to--”

“I know.”

His smile and his voice are reassuring, absolving your confusion in a matter of seconds. 

“Thanks for your help. It was nice running into you,” you smile, taking the bag and holding the record to your chest once again.

“Take care. I’ll see you around.” He smiles.

You back away from the counter and push open the door. The bell rings in your ears one last time.

*********************************************

thank you so much for reading!!

if you enjoyed part 2, please remember that reblogs and/or nice messages mean the world to fic writers. <3

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-> STAY TUNED FOR PART 3 <-

#shroomrry #my writing #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles reader insert #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #drugs tw #alcohol tw

[mintaka14]

For the Lady’s Favour

A Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter One

 Alya made soothing noises while Marinette moaned softly.

“It was just a setback,” Alya reassured her.

“It was a disaster was what it was,” Marinette mumbled into her desk, and wrapped her arms over her head. “Why does it always have to be so hard? Maybe the universe just doesn’t want me to be with Adrien.”

“I am not letting the universe dictate to us!” Alya insisted, and anyone watching would have felt for the universe in the face of Alya’s expression. As it was, Marinette didn’t look up.

“I’m just so tired,” Marinette muttered. “I’m tired of trying so hard to just speak to him without turning into a babbling mess. I’m tired of trying to get him to notice me.”

Alya patted her on her back.

“Why can’t someone chase me for a change? Where’s a knight in shining armour when you need one? Every anime heroine has one, why can’t I?”

Alya’s hand slowed. “You might be onto something there,” she said thoughtfully, but Marinette didn’t hear her.

“Someone willing to do brave deeds to win me,” Marinette said wistfully. “Go on quests, and do stuff to prove that I’m more than a good friend.”

Alya was sitting out of her line of sight. It sounded like she was writing something, but when Marinette turned to look Alya waved her away.

“You were saying about brave deeds?”

“I’d settle for a cup of coffee and someone who actually wants to spend time with me.”

“Got it,” Alya said, and Marinette swivelled around at the sound of tearing paper, but Alya had folded whatever it was out of sight. She reached across Marinette and snagged an envelope from the stationery drawer. As an afterthought, Alya snatched up a tiny sticker of a ladybug and added it to the envelope.

“Listen, I’ve got to meet Nino in a minute,” Alya told her a little guiltily. “You gonna be okay? I can come back later…”

Marinette waved her away with one hand. “I’m fine.” She sighed. “It’s not like I’m not used to crushing humiliation.”

She was engulfed in a hug, and then Alya whirled away to the staircase, the envelope in her hand.

“You will be fine,” her friend insisted. “Trust me.”

The door clicked shut, and Marinette frowned.

“Why did that sound so ominous?” she asked the suddenly silent bedroom.

~~~~~

Once the afternoon rush in Café des Fleurs started to settle, Luka paused to flick his blue-dyed hair out of his eyes and glanced around the tables. Everything seemed under control for the moment, no one needing refills, no empty tables that needed to be cleared. Most of the faces that afternoon were new to him, but one of the tables near the counter was occupied by three teenagers laughing over something.

The blond boy looked familiar, and Luka frowned, trying to remember where he knew him from. He wasn’t a regular customer. The kid with the headphones around his neck and the amiable expression was, though, and Luka remembered Nino because he had good taste in music and sometimes stopped to chat whenever the counter wasn’t too busy. Nino’s girlfriend, the sharp-eyed girl with the glasses, was pointing at the noticeboard beside the counter, and Luka turned to look.

The envelope pinned to the board that she was gesturing at hadn’t been there at the start of his shift, he was sure of that. He’d put up a flyer for his band’s gig on Friday, and there definitely hadn’t been an envelope of any sort there then. In fact, he could have sworn it wasn’t there before Nino and his girlfriend arrived in the middle of the afternoon rush.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning on the counter, as the girl unpinned it with overdone surprise and handed it to the blond boy.

“I wonder what this is, Adrien?” she asked disingenuously.

Radiant. Carefree. Dreamy. Adrien the Fragrance.

Luka’s eyebrow rose as he made the connection. Huh. That explained why the blond boy was so familiar. He’d been plastered on every billboard in Paris, and played out on every media site for what felt like months. Pretty enough, Luka supposed, but a little too synthetic for his taste.

“Are you brave enough?” the girl was reading from the envelope. “Well, are you going to open it, Adrien?”

“What if it’s for someone else?” the blond boy responded, turning it in his hands.

“There’s no name on it. Go on, you should open it.”

Egged on by his friends, Adrien opened the envelope, and Luka watched the the boy’s eyes go wide as he read the letter inside. He was looking for all the world as though every Christmas had come at once. And Nino’s girlfriend was trying to suppress a satisfied, and rather smug, smirk.

Luka bit back an amused smile, and turned away to deal with another customer, too busy to pay them any more mind for a while until he looked up from the coffee he was pouring to find the blond boy standing in front of the counter.

Radiant. Carefree… Damn. He was going to have that stuck in his head all day now. Hadn’t his sister said something about going to school with Adrien Agreste, the model?

The boy tapped the envelope on the edge of the counter, and then slid it towards Luka.

“I don’t suppose you saw who left this on the noticeboard, did you?” he asked hopefully. Luka sent a quick glance towards the table where Nino and his girlfriend wer sitting.

Pretty sure that was your friend’s girlfriend. He didn’t voice the thought, and, after all, he didn’t know for sure. Were they playing some kind of prank on the blond model?

“Sorry, mate,” he told Adrien. “But it can’t have been that long ago. It wasn’t there before the rush started.”

Adrien spun around to eye off the busy tables, but there were mostly middle-aged office workers and a couple of families with very young children, and he slumped noticeably.

“She’s not here,” he muttered. He turned back to Luka with a smile that looked a little too practised to be genuine. “Thanks, though.”

The girl leaned in as Adrien slid back into the chair beside her, and she seemed to be insisting on something. In the glimpses he had of the table between customers, Luka could see her talking hard at Adrien while the model scribbled something on a piece of paper in front of him with a look of deep concentration. Nino seemed to be staying out of it.

Luka was sliding a tray of coffee and pain au chocolat across the counter for the waitress to collect when Adrien approached the counter again, looking nervous now.

“Excuse me?”

Luka gave him an easy smile, and a raised eyebrow.

“Can I… put something on the noticeboard?”

“Feel free,” Luka said, and then his attention was claimed by a woman ordering café crème to go. When he finally had a moment to glance up, Adrien seemed to be getting ready leave, and there was a folded piece of paper pinned to the spot where the envelope had been. Luka leaned on the counter, waiting for the next move.

Sure enough, as soon as the model was out the door and into the expensive-looking black car that had pulled up outside the café, Nino’s girlfriend was taking down the note Adrien had left on the board. Nino didn’t look happy about it, Luka noticed.

“Alya,” the boy said, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

She gave him a dismissive wave of her hand. “It’s fine, Nino. It’s genius. You’ll see.”

They gathered their bags and headed for the door, neither of them seeing the sceptical lift of Luka’s eyebrow as he collected up their empty cups and gave the table a wipe. The customers got stranger every day.

~~~~~

Marinette hadn’t been expecting to see Alya again that afternoon, and when her bedroom trapdoor crashed open, the pencil swerved across the design she’d been sketching. Marinette muttered under her breath, and reached for the eraser.

“Tadah!” Alya announced, producing a folded page with a flourish and a smug grin. She held it out to Marinette. “You can thank me later.”

“What?” Marinette turned it in her hands, frowning at the little paw print drawn in one corner. “Alya, what is this?”

“This is your very own secret knight. Go on, read it!”

“Alya, what are you talking about?”

“Remember you were talking about wanting someone to do heroic deeds for you? So you don’t have to trip over yourself trying to get them to notice you?”

“Alya –“

“Just read it!” her friend said impatiently, and Marinette unfolded the page, reading the message inside.

‘My lady, Your bravery in issuing the challenge shall not go unmarked. I would be honoured to try for your favour with heroic deeds …’

“Alya, what the hell is this?!”

Alya’s grin grew wider and sharper. “Remember what you were talking about? Well, I just wrote it down and put it up on the public notice board at that coffee shop near the park. And someone took it!”

“Alya!”

Marinette stared at her friend in growing horror.

“How could you do this?! Someone wants to try for my favour? What kind of weirdo would do that?? What kind of friend would do that? I don’t even know who this is from! What if this is some creepy perv? What if –“

“Mari, calm down,” Alya cut off her rising panic. “Look, you’ve got nothing to lose here. They don’t know who you are, you don’t know who they are, you never have to even talk to them in person if you don’t want – it’s perfect.”

“Who – wha –“

“And of course I’m going to check them out for you, and make sure they’re not some skeev,” Alya added soothingly. She put her hands on Marinette’s shoulders, leaning down to meet her eyes. “I’ve got you covered. And, hey, what if it’s some really cute teenage boy who’ll love you forever? All you have to do is send a note back and get them to do something to show they’re serious.”

Marinette’s head was still spinning. “Like – what?”

Alya shrugged. “Coffee’s always a good start. Coffee’s a good first date, and you can find out a lot about a person by their taste in drinks. Ask them to send a coffee to wherever you want, and I’ll even deliver your request to the noticeboard myself. You don’t have to do a thing except wait for it to turn up. I’ve got you.”

“Coffee?” Marinette found herself repeating stupidly, and Alya gave her a grin.

“Or something like that.”

“I can do coffee. One drink can’t hurt, can it?”

#For the Lady's Favour #lukanette #pro lukamari #lukanette endgame #Dash&Lily AU #shenanigans #Alya no!

[bat-besties]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Remus is the most eccentric customer who visits Janus and Virgil's café. When he goes missing after talking to a mysterious stranger, Janus resolves to investigate further- and Virgil isn't letting him go alone.

AO3 10k 

Huge thanks to @mariniacipher, I could not have written this without her. She let me talk about the idea for hours, it has somehow developed into a series, and the story itself took a real twist because of talking to her! Another massive thank you to @5-crofters-jams, who did a marathon edit of the entire piece for me, and has made the story so much smoother and more effective (and much less British because my original dialogue did upset her American sensibilities XD) Also thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, who knew everything I needed about pigeon corpses!

CW: dead bird, touching the bird corpse, bird funeral, Remus levels of comments about gore and innuendo, drug mention, mention of vomiting, kidnapping and captivity, feeling nauseous from anxiety, light dehumanization, brief allusion to racist violence

- 

Remus was...

(There was usually a little gesture there: Virgil’s rolled eyes, or Janus’ helplessly fond smile, or a disapproving look from Remy-)

....Remus.

Their anarchist cafe saw its fair share of unusual customers but only one of them was, well, Remus.

Morning sunlight threw beams which striped the posters covering the walls- old propaganda posters mixed with ads for tutors, food banks, and drag shows. There was a quiet chatter of customers, occasionally broken up by bursts of laughter or a called greeting to another patron as they came in. Kids from the skatepark sat on a pile of beanbags charging their phones, having given up the comfortable chairs for a small group of elderly butches with stretched tattoos who were now speaking with slang from fifty years ago. A mother whose baby was trying to grab onto her braids was trying to feed him with one hand and hold her husband’s with the other. A college student frowning at their laptop screen and consuming coffee at an alarming rate was seemingly oblivious to the punk trying to discreetly read their laptop stickers. One of a Pan-African flag matched the full-sized one on the wall, swaying with wafts of coffee and baked goods along with spider plants and assorted pride flags. Old photos of a Black Panther group in the town, reprinted and signed by some of their patrons, were framed proudly on the walls.

Since everyone had been served, Virgil was taking a few breaths to check over the register and prepare for the next rush. The rhythm of checking, preparing, and letting the background chatter fade into the background blended into a pleasant, thoughtless routine. Cups out. Setting out more sandwiches. Look over the register. Maybe get something from the back-

“Morning, shitwad!”

Virgil ducked under the counter as something thumped into the coffee machine behind him, and a few of the regulars laughed in good nature.

“Oh, good morning, darling,” Janus replied smoothly, appearing from the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow shirt which contrasted with his deep brown skin perfectly, as well as a bowler hat and dapper bow-tie. He pulled plastic gloves over his hands with all the elegance of a debutante preparing for a ball.

There was a shrill wolf whistle. “Those are some sexy wrists!” was the next comment, followed by a squawking laugh, and Virgil rolled his eyes as his friend brought a flustered hand up to adjust his collar. Every day, he faced the deep attraction between the most sophisticated person he knew and the most outlandish, and he didn’t know which was more obnoxious. As Virgil popped back up, Janus reached over to the projectile on the back counter. It was the small, feathery body of a dead pigeon, carefully wrapped in cling wrap.

Virgil gave Janus a long-suffering look and got out a bottle of disinfectant. “Morning, Remus,” he grumbled, despite his irritation. “What can I get for you today?”

“My friend died at 3am last night,” he replied instead. “I need to store her in your fridge until you both get off work, and then we’ll hold her funeral!”

When they were alive, Remus treated the pigeons as gently as they did each other-

That is to say, he was ruthlessly protective of chicks, ready to grab and move anyone encroaching on territory, and, if pecked, was fully ready to bite back. Still, at his two-tone whistle a whole flock of assorted birds would fly down to meet him. His eyes would shine bright as they flew around him like a feathered whirlwind, and settled on the surfaces all around him like a hopeful congregation as he fed them with whatever he had. Despite their number, almost all had names and ascribed personalities.

Exactly how he could tell the difference between two seemingly identical pigeons Virgil had no idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Remus wasn’t fucking with him about it.

“Why did you throw her if you’re trying to preserve her?” Virgil said, but he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. In fairness, it didn’t look too damaged by the blow. It would take a lot to change the kindness Remus showed the doves, as roughly as he showed it.

“I thought you’d catch her, emo! It would have been a beautiful moment!” he protested, throwing his grey eyes open wide.

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what? Yeah, maybe it would have been. But you forget-”

“Fight or flight,” Remus filled in. He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

As usual, he was dressed in as many layers as he could be, with only a hint of pale skin showing on his face and through a pair of fingerless gloves he had cut himself. Everything else was an amalgamation of black and brown leather, denim, flannel, a puffy coat, a long flowing skirt in leopard-print, and fishnet tops over cotton T-shirts, leaving barely any Remus-outline at all. It didn’t matter what the weather was; his outfit might change components, but it never revealed so much as his neck.

Everyone had their reasons, Janus would quietly say at almost anything their customers said or did. It wouldn’t have crossed their minds to ask why he covered himself so much, but it was something Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about sometimes.

Maybe Janus was right and Remus was handsome, but his face was so obscured by his moustache, stubble, and makeup in purple and green- or whichever colours he felt like- that he seemed to be aiming for ‘gives you a headache after you look at him too long’ more than anything else.

His hair was almost literally a bird’s nest. He had completely rejected offers of a hairbrush or a comb, insisting he preferred it the way it was. The third co-owner of the cafe, Remy, with whom he was staying at the moment, had made many attempts to detangle his hair, all of which had been met with screaming and gnashing of teeth. After each clash, Remy would send Virgil a barrage of complaints by text. But while Janus had offered for Remus to stay at his own apartment, Virgil and Remy had made a mutual decision to save them from 24/7 pining by volunteering instead. Janus had refused even considering dating him the very first day he had barged his way into the cafe- and into its founder’s affection. As long as Remus came to them for food and shelter, it would be an unfair balance of power.

Remus reached into an inner pocket of his coat and slid a purple pin with a spider silhouette on it over to Virgil. “You could stab this into those big brown eyes of yours,” he said, widening his own at the barista.

“Sweet, thanks,” Virgil said, pinning it onto his apron string. It did match with his spider-web hair design. “Then I won’t have to look at Janus getting flustered any more.”

Remus grinned at Janus, who was trying to act as if he’d been so invested in carefully holding the pigeon that he hadn’t heard. He leaned on the counter and dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I think he’s sexy.”

“That’s disgusting,” Virgil whispered back. “I’m going to throw up in your coffee.”

He shrugged. “I’d still drink it. Then I’d just be able to judge you based on your stomach bile.”

“You’d be so fucking impressed by my stomach bile,” Virgil retorted. “It’s so acidic from anxiety it would kill you immediately.” He turned to start wiping down anywhere the pigeon had even possibly touched.

“Bartender!” Remus yelled in an exaggerated English accent, banging on the counter. “Bartender! I would like a coffee and a sandwich, please!”

“One moment, my dear,” Janus said in a more passable impression, opening up the freezer door and placing the tiny corpse into an empty ice-cream container well away from the rest of the food. “I’m just cryopreserving- what’s her name?”

"Her name is Loki,” Remus supplied, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone which was surprisingly tender coming from him. “She's good at stealing chips from tourists. And flying and shitting at the same time.”

Janus threw away his gloves, thoroughly washed his hands, then made a small note: "Loki: not for consumption." He glanced up at Remus so he could see the note, who repaid him by throwing his head back so he could laugh. Janus' mouth quirked into a snicker too, and the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fall away from the two looking at each other.

"We're going to get a violation," Virgil interrupted, because that was the expression of a Janus who would complain and pretend not to pine for hours after Remus left. He turned on the coffee machine to hopefully distract from the moment. "It's a dead fucking animal."

"So is the rest of the meat," Janus dismissed without looking at him. "And it is wrapped up and away from the rest of the food."

Ever since Virgil had joined the team and the cafe had begun to establish itself as a firm success, the city council had done everything in its power to shut it down. Each time, the cafe had won, even if their most recent fight was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life, and their personal lives had been dragged through the dusty carpet of every courtroom in the city. Each step of the way, Janus insisted that the risk was worth it.

After all that, Virgil was not letting the cafe close on account of a dead bird, as skilled a thief as she might have been.

"It’s a pest animal you let in here," he insisted.

Janus dismissed him with a shrug. "Come now, so is Remus."

The customer grinned. "You flatter me, rattlesnake." His eyes traced Janus' face as they scrunched up with joy. "Can you tell me about Dodgy Knees again?"

He closed his eyes as if pained. "Diogenes! Diogenes! I'll break your knees if you mispronounce-"

"Kinky!"

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, is that so?”

So Virgil tried to ignore the disaster scenario of the cafe being shut for good, fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Remus, and somehow got caught into a conversation about the pros and cons of leaving society to go feral in the woods.

“No, I do agree, but wolves-”

The door rattled, and an older white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit walked in. He wasn’t entirely out of place amongst the clientele, but he honestly looked more like the businessmen in some of the cartoons Janus had papered one wall with. Remus ignored the bell as he leant his elbows on the counter, gesturing with his sandwich as he talked to Virgil while the barista came up to the register.

“How can I help you today?” Virgil asked the man, who was glancing around the decor. That type of customer was almost certainly drawn by the coffee, all blends hand-picked by Remy.

“I’ll be in and out in just a moment,” he replied with a small smile, and Remus stopped talking. “An espresso to go, please.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, a moment-”

A blush crept up Remus’ cheeks, and he ducked his head with uncharacteristic shyness. As the man caught his eyes his entire expression softened, the hard lines of his face seeming to melt as his lips parted slightly, like he would say something. But, for once, he was speechless.

Janus looked as though he had been slapped in the face. “Are you acquainted?” he asked, in such a casual tone that Virgil knew he was deeply hurt. He arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“I- yes, I believe we are,” the customer gave a genial smile in return, his eyes fixed on Remus’. “Some time ago.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “Where do you know him from, Remus?”

There was a crinkle of plastic and leather as Remus shrugged. “Long story,” he said distantly.

Virgil slid a cup of coffee over to the man, who tapped a black card to the card reader and gave him a quick smile. “Keep the change,” he quipped. It was a tip some ten times greater than their recommended 20%.

“Thanks,” Virgil mumbled, but his focus was on his friend, who was drifting out of the door, as he tended to do at the end of a conversation. “Hey, Remus, we’ll see you later?” he called after him.

“Sure, Virgey!” he replied, giving him a quick grin before he held the door for the businessman, and the two of them walked out together. The older man ducked his head to whisper something into his ear, and Remus laughed and linked their arms as they headed into the street.

As soon as the door swung shut, a cloud settled over Janus’ expression. “Well,” he said, adjusting a sandwich which was just slightly out of line with the rest. “They say a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet. It takes all sorts. To each, indeed, their-”

Before he could utter another saying, Virgil interrupted with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” Janus asked caustically. “Remus was acting unusually, yes?”

“Sometimes people get nervous,” he ventured. “If they like someone-” There wasn’t a single trait Remus said wasn’t his type; a silver fox with money was as good as any.

“Don’t say ‘like’, it’s so middle school,” he snapped, and Virgil flinched at the tone in his voice. He grabbed a cloth and headed over to a table which some regulars he knew were just vacating to wipe it down. Poor Loki’s funeral was going to be a tense event.

Except, as night fell and the cafe began to glow with the golden lights and the warmth of the ovens, and as Remy arrived to help them with the evening rush, Remus didn’t show up for the body in their freezer.

The brief liveliness Janus had shown bustling between the kitchen and the front faded as the final family trickled out. He waved away most of their offered money, seeing as it was a birthday party and he knew them, and Remy and Virgil made meaningful eye contact but didn’t protest.

As they closed, Remy filled the awkward silence with chatter about the men he was dating, the new hair product he had tried, the fact Remus never washed up when he was told to, and he was, like, so sick of it-

But no Remus appeared to defend himself, even after they left half-an-hour late and each one tried to call him.

He didn’t appear at Remy’s to sleep overnight, and he didn’t come into the cafe at all the next day.

That next night, Janus disappeared into the back, leaving Virgil to clean up by himself.

His stomach was upset, and he couldn’t help but think about that man over and over.

Long story- what exactly did “long story” mean?

Remy used the phrase when it really was a complicated story full of exes and rumours and friends of friends-

Virgil used it when he was asked why he didn’t speak to his family any more.

But he’d never seen Remus look like that before, and the guy had seemed nice- and there was an obvious suggestion for why his friend was busy overnight.

He realised he’d been wiping down the same table for the past five minutes.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly behind him.

“Yeah?” he turned, and his brow immediately furrowed at his friend’s sombre expression.

He had his phone in one hand, and his hat in his other. “I’m going to ask you for a favour,” he said slowly. “You are quite free to decline it.” He paused. “I want to go to the house of the man who Remus went out with, and check that he’s alright.”

“I...don’t know that’s a good idea,” he said, twisting the spider badge on his apron so he could avoid the weight of his friend’s expression. “I mean...it could be an invasion of Remus’ privacy, if that was an old friend or-” Scared of causing further upset, he tilted his head to fill in ‘something else’.

“Yes, I know.” He sighed, looking out into the night through their plate-glass windows. “You know I’m not one for hunches-”

“Eh, you turned out a guy for being an undercover cop in like two seconds because he asked about ‘The Antifa’-”

Janus gave him a look with almost the level of exasperated fondness Remus engendered, and Virgil fell silent.

“I’m not one for hunches, but I’m usually right when I have them, then,” he finished lightly. “I have a very bad feeling, and a Google Search for anyone in the town who could possibly have a black card doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Anxiety coagulated in his stomach, but he tried for his final hope. “Are you sure it’s not...jealousy?”

He gave him a long, tired look. “The thought has never even been a worry of mine,” he said drily. “Still, I can go by myself, and make my own self a bother, worse, a fool.”

And it wasn’t really a question at all whether Virgil would let that happen. “Two of us is just a bother,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel, unclipping his badge from his apron and slipping it into his hoodie pocket.

Janus hung up his hat and put on a neat suit jacket over his outfit. “Thank you, really-”

He shook his head, opening the door so that a rush of petrichor and tarmac washed out the pervasive smell of coffee and food from the cafe. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the night, still damp from the earlier rains. The lights of the shops around them reflected against the wet tarmac, and music pumped out of passing cars giddy with the promise of the coming weekend. They headed to the bus stop, Janus politely greeting every person they passed, and Virgil ducking his head so he didn’t have to. He didn’t know if the people who replied were familiar to his friend from the neighbourhood, or just trying to be polite in turn.

As soon as the bus stopped with a hiss of steam, Janus led him down to the back, and sat by the window, checking the map on his phone again. “It will be some time,” he said. “But, I ask you to be patient.”

“Course.” Virgil rested his head on Janus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “Just tell me the stop before and I’ll be...right with you.” Moving vehicles lulled him to sleep anyway, and he would just worry the whole way otherwise.

“Of course.” Janus wrapped an arm around him, so he wasn’t jolted as the bus started again.

As Virgil dozed in fits and starts, the window changed from views of convenience stores and fast food shops to blocks of apartments, to anonymous offices and retail outlets, to high-walled parks, and then houses set back from the road by sweeping drive-ways or pavements almost as wide as the road was. Finally, his head was jostled off Janus’ shoulders, and he blinked as the stop dinged, too loud after the fog of sleep. Outside, it was pitch black but for the pools of light beneath the streetlights, and the golden glow which the mansions kept far behind barred gates.

They stumbled off the bus, and Janus checked his phone just once more before they headed off down one of the identical sides of the road.

Virgil pulled his hoodie close around him against the night chill. He considered putting his hood on to protect his ears from the nipping wind, but they were already two black men alone in a very white neighbourhood. It wasn’t worth it when his stomach was already rolling with anxiety. He rubbed his thumb over the badge in his pocket and tried to breathe the cold air in 4-7-8. They walked over empty roads, past rows and rows of similar houses, until they turned a corner and cars lined the road, piling into a single driveway which was illuminated like a Christmas lights display. A few fancily-dressed guests stood by the cars, but most of the noise came from inside. The house towered even its neighbours, and was built in the faux-Classical style which he hated.

Janus checked the address against his phone, then nodded. “That’s it. What did you call those, again? False temples?”

“Temples to dumb rich Americans and bad architecture,” Virgil supplied with a quirk of his lips.

“Quite right,” he replied, assessing the entrance. “And in all likelihood, Remus is stuck inside with his…”

“Yup.” He looked between his own patchwork hoodie and Janus’ dapper suit. “Maybe you could sneak in, but I definitely wouldn’t fit in.”

He straightened, and adjusted his bowtie. “Then we’ll go around the back,” he replied.

Virgil shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope, that’s- Jesus Christ, no, that’s a great way to get arrested or even shot. No.”

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly. “These past two months, Remus has visited us every day except that brief time after the fight over the milk cartons, or whatever it was-”

“I asked him to clean up a drop of milk and he poured the rest of the carton over my kitchen,” he said sourly, which he felt he was entitled to despite the situation.

“Yes, yes,” Janus dismissed. “Anyway- he always comes, doesn’t he? So now-”

“I have a really, really bad feeling- and bad thought, and bad everything-” he protested, backing away from the gate.

An orange sports car swerved past them, and parked horizontally across the driveway, and a young white man in a tracksuit the same colour as his car leapt out and gave them a wide grin. “Hey! Hey! Hello!” he yelled, and flashed them peace signs, to which Janus replied with a pained smile and Virgil a small wave. “Everything’s started- have they done the fireworks yet? Or the, shit, thing with the melted chocolate and it flows-”

“Chocolate fountain,” Janus supplied with the smile he reserved for his more aggravating customers. He slipped his arm into Virgil’s and pulled them forwards. “We were hoping to arrive for that too, ah-?” He waited for the man to supply his name, but instead-

“I like your hair!” he said to Virgil, admiring the spider web design. “Rad!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, subtly trying to pull them backwards as Janus marched him to the door after the guest. “Your car is...yeah, that sure is a car.”

“Sure is!” he replied with a blindingly white smile. He flashed something at a bodyguard at the door- who had sunglasses, earpiece, everything- Virgil noted with a sickening thrill of fear.

“And your friends, sir?” the bodyguard asked.

“Yeah, yeah!” The guest tossed his car keys at his chest and headed through to a foyer filled with well-cut suits and low-cut dresses, champagne glasses and trays of canapes. Marble floors reflected the lighting, which glinted out from chandeliers above. A wide staircase glided up to the hidden upper floors.

“Oh, hey! Hey, you!” the young man yelled as soon as he got in, bounding over towards a woman who greeted him with a grin, raising her glass like a toast.

Janus and Virgil just blinked at each other. “Are you...sure?” Virgil asked quietly. “Remus is here?”

“I’m honestly not so sure any more,” Janus muttered to him. “But let’s not rely on whatever chemicals are keeping our dear friend happy, and start looking around.”

They moved through a throng of people and out into a wide ballroom, filled with yet more guests and a live string quartet playing in one corner. Along with the music was the trilling of occasional birdsong from tropical birds fluttering inside several oversized golden cages dotted around the room. A few others held white marble statues, but they couldn’t compare to the shifting flurries of reds, blues, and greens. Without agreeing on it aloud, the friends first went over to a small party congregated by one of them, in case the birds had attracted Remus.

“No, but then I said-” A balding man was proclaiming. “I said, Rudy, that’s not the Dow Jones Industrial Average at all.”

The group burst into laughter, Virgil gave Janus a bemused look, and they moved on.

Everyone was well-dressed, in sparkling necklaces or ties in jewel colours or even in more casual clothes, like the man from the sports car, which still seemed to drip wealth. Wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t that fancy a look, but when even Virgil recognised that pair from an ad campaign for a luxury fashion line which would come out next month, he guessed it didn’t matter. Nobody looked at them twice. Still, there was nobody dressed in the contents of an entire rummage-sale bin with purple eyeshadow used as contour.

“There-” Janus whispered- “Is that?”

They both froze as they watched a man with a moustache waltz past in the arms of a lady dressed in black. It wasn’t Remus.

Virgil scanned the room again, eyes passing over the gilded cages, and the tropical birds and statues inside them- nobody in the crowd admiring them was any business of his-

As they parted, the figure inside the tallest gold cage became clear. It shifted position- an animatronic? He looked more closely as it moved after everyone had turned away, fiddling with golden chains around its-

“Oh God-” he whispered. “Look.”

Virgil was an avowed atheist, but if the person inside the cage wasn’t a statue, he must have been an angel. His shining hair was cut short to show of the clean marble lines of his face. His chest was sculpted too, covered in scars which looked like they must have come from a golden sword like the one he was gripping. He looked as if he would swing it into position if not for the gold chains wrapped around his arms, tethering him to the delicate bars of the cage. He was gazing out into the distance.

Most striking of all, dove-grey wings crested over his shoulders and trailed all the way down to his ankles. His white tunic contrasted the hints of pale purple, pink and blue shimmering in his wings.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Virgil had ever seen.

He glanced at Janus for his reaction.

He found only an expression of absolute horror. Janus was completely silent for a moment, struggling for words, before he gasped. "Oh, Remus- what did they do to you?”

A cold feeling washed over him.

No- those were their friend's grey eyes, and that was the shape of his face, stripped of his facial hair and usual tacky makeup. No wonder Virgil hadn't recognised him.

Compared to the usual chaotic spark in his expression, he looked blank. As if his mind was somewhere else entirely- or like he'd been drugged.

Still, Virgil couldn’t help but be drawn back to his wings; they were hyper-realistic, even twitching as he tried to tense his shoulders to alleviate the pressure of the chains on his arms. And the amount of feathers it would have taken to make that shifting, downy gradient...not even all of Remus’ flock had that many. It was compelling, but sickening.

It felt wrong to look over his arms and legs when he was usually so adamant about covering them, so he dropped his eyes and tried to erase the knowledge of how muscled Remus was beneath his usual shapeless outfit.

It wasn’t that Virgil found his friend attractive exactly, but with wings like that, dressed like that- he was a centerpiece, clearly, and even as his stomach churned with the wrongness of the display, it was a palpable effort to keep his gaze from snapping back to him. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to Janus.

“He’d never, ever choose to dress himself like that in front of everyone," Janus whispered, anger crackling red at the edges of his quiet voice. "And even if he did, he’d never shave off his moustache.”

He shook his head. “So...what do we do?”

In response, Janus sauntered over to the left, took a champagne flute from a waiter, and then gestured for his friend to follow. They zigzagged through the crowd until they got closer to Remus, whose eyes remained glazed and distant.

They stopped just by him. Up close, it was clear the tunic was some kind of cotton material, and the sword had blunted edges. He was wearing makeup too, and a lump in his mascara made Virgil feel another sharp pang of pity. As ridiculous as painting them on would have been, how real the scars looked in comparison to the rest of the outfit was jarring. He was built and scarred like a fighter, and all the little touches to make him look delicate only emphasised how roughened he was. Both were at odds with everything he knew of his friend.

“Remus,” Janus whispered. The name fell like a plea. “Remus, it’s us.”

All of a sudden, the man’s eyes snapped to them, his expression melting into disbelief. “Remus?” he echoed. It was as quiet as a whisper from a crypt. “You know him?”

“You’re-” Janus’ face fell. “Remus, that’s you-”

The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Twins, we’re twins- you know him? Please, is he okay?” He looked almost identical, though up close the differences began to stand out. He was probably more muscular, but who could tell under all of Remus’ clothes? The main differences were a gap between this twin’s front teeth and, more than that, his eyes. Even as he looked at them desperately, there was something missing from them, some jolt of hope or excitement which just wasn’t there. Their heaviness was an uncomfortable weight on Virgil’s face.

He wrapped an arm around himself. “Sorry, he went missing-”

“But we tracked the man he left with back here,” Janus filled in. “Isn’t he here too?”

The man shook his head again. “No, I- I’ll earn more information, after this. I don’t know anything,” he whispered. “I just know he found him, and he wants him to come back without a fight.”

Virgil never should have just watched as that man walked Remus out of the coffee shop. Long story his ass- “What the fuck is happening?”

Remus’ twin tried to shrug and then winced as the movement tugged on the chains. His wings fluttered with the movement. “They just tranqued us the first time. I don’t know why he’s delaying recapture-” He took a deep breath. “Just tell him to run away as soon as he can.” His grey eyes hardened to steel. “He might as well keep doing it.”

“I will if I can find him, thank you.” Janus took a small sip of his champagne. “What exactly was the capture for, if I can ask?”

The captive glanced around the room, and at the movement Virgil cut his eyes to the side. Nobody watched that he could see. “The wings, of course,” he said with a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’re real, go ahead and look at them.”

Janus’ eyes widened, subtly taking in the wings.

“My name’s Roman,” he continued in a low, urgent voice. “Tell him that Roman said to run, okay? Don’t listen to any of their offers or threats. I’m not a gladiator anymore; I’m here instead. It’s...not too bad.”

As Janus opened his mouth, Roman shook his head. “Don’t talk to me too long.”

“We can get you out,” Virgil said before he knew what he was thinking. “Whatever this is-”

“Go,” Roman insisted. “It’s not worth trying to do anything for me. And don’t call the police-”

Janus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about that.”

“Fine.” he lifted his eyes to the middle distance again. “You should go now. Please.”

Virgil gave a little nod, taking Janus’ arm. “Okay. We’re gonna go.”

“Thank you,” Janus added. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then let Virgil lead him away.

He steered them back through the ballroom with their backs to Roman, trying not to glare into the eyes of each of the guests they passed. It would almost have been easier if there was a big fuss and show about the captive man, rather than the chatting and dancing and gossiping with, oh, a living being as a conversational curiosity-

As they came back into the entrance, Janus began to turn towards the sweeping staircase.

“No,” Virgil said under his breath, trying to tug him back to the doorway. “No fucking way. I know you’re angry but-”

“I’m not angry,” he replied coolly. “I am, rather, curious. Because I don't think they tell everything to Roman, and we’re not going to get luck like this again. Any information will help.”

He glanced up at where the staircase twisted out of sight. If Remus was up there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And, despite his words, Janus was throw-ignorant-customers-out-of-the-cafe mad. Except, he wasn’t quoting memoirs of increasingly obscure activists or putting neat yellow gloves on in warning, so Virgil didn’t know what he would do.

On cue, Janus reached into his breast pocket and drew out the gloves. He slipped one on, tugging it into place. “Better for fingerprints, and more neat.” He glanced at Virgil. “You don’t have to come with me, in fact it may be better if you didn’t.”

It wasn’t fair for Janus to pull on his ridiculous gloves like a boxer about to face a much bigger opponent, and ask him not to fight by his side. Even if Virgil had decided to leave the party, it wouldn’t have been fair.

“I will,” he said, tucking his hands into hoodie paws. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as if it would break out- that was a thought to tell Remus when they saw him. “I’m gonna complain about it afterwards.”

Despite his apparent composure, it took Janus a moment too long to answer as his eyes traced Virgil’s face. “Of course.” He took his arm. “Shall we?”

He was half-expecting an alarm to blare as soon as they set foot on the first stair- but nobody noticed. They took another few steps, feet sinking into the thick red runner. The back of his neck prickled with stares, but he knew from long experience that those were imagined. Or were they? No, that was anxiety. Janus’ hand tightened on his forearm and he stopped. Above, someone paced past on a wooden floor in the measured rhythm of a guard. He gagged.

“Deep breaths,” Janus murmured.

“I hate this,” he replied. Then he forced a breath in his nose and out of his mouth.

After the footsteps faded, they kept walking until Virgil moved his heavy boot onto the polished wood floor as gently as possible. Identical two-panel white doors stretched along the hallway without any noticeable distinction, until the corridor took a right turn at the end of the row.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Virgil whispered, and Janus nodded.

With their footsteps echoing almost too loud on the floor, they each crept to the far ends of the hallway. There was nothing beyond the corner except another staircase, and thankfully no more doors.

He tried the door handle on the far right with his sleeve over his hand, and it turned. He nudged it open and peeked in to see a huge bedroom strewn with suitcases and clothes, and a sparkling necklace of diamonds carelessly draped over a black dress. But no Remus. He shut it and moved onto the next.

Locked. The next was too. His hands were shaking like there was a motor in them.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Okay. Next one- unlocked.

It was a bathroom, all white marble and gold like downstairs. He closed the door and glanced over to Janus, who shook his head.

He glanced at the staircase before crossing the corridor and turning the handle of the middle door slightly.

A voice rose behind the door, deeper and smoother than Remus’. “Hello?”

Virgil reached in desperation for the next door handle as footsteps sounded from inside, and tugged it open in time for Janus to walk in quickly and efficiently in the rhythm of the security guard. He followed with a few strides, shutting the door behind him in with a fumbled click. The room was an empty guest bedroom. Janus was hiding himself under the bed before Virgil caught his arm and pulled him out. He headed to the big sliding window.

“Please, please-” he whispered to himself, trying to lift it. Locked, locked, oh God-

Janus searched the mantelpiece for a moment before pressing a cold key into Virgil’s hand. He tried to put it in but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn’t-

Janus took it off him. It fit with a click.

Virgil pushed up the window in a rush of cool air. He climbed out onto the little ornamental balcony running between a few windows and stood flat to the wall, chest heaving, before Janus followed with a tumble. He reached over and shut the window while Janus crouched down below the sill. The room was still empty.

Virgil slid down the wall, trembling hands over his mouth. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was sure he would be sick-

Janus had curled into a ball, forehead to the stone of the balcony.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.

After a while, they ended up both sitting side by side in the space between the two windows, hands twisted together. It was silent.

Virgil glanced back into the room. “It’s empty,” he whispered. “We should leave.”

Janus nodded. “One moment-” He crept towards the other window and peeked in the bottom before he dropped to the ground, hand over his mouth.

Virgil widened his eyes. On cue, his heart finished its brief rest.

Janus pointed to his suit jacket, then made a rectangle shape with his fingers. Virgil frowned. His friend repeated the gesture, and it clicked. Black card.

He so, so badly wanted to run now, but instead he crawled over to poke Janus in the side so he would move over to give him space by the window. Their eyes met, and Virgil pulled his hood over his cold ears to settle in for a wait. He kept his head down, pillowed on his forearms, while Janus risked peeking up every few minutes.

Suddenly, Janus grabbed his arm. Virgil lifted his head. He could just about see Roman standing in the doorway, rubbing at the deep red marks around his forearms, and the captor leaning back in a leather armchair holding a glass.

Janus put his hands up to the window-

“Janus,” Virgil hissed, but then the window slid a crack upwards and voices travelled through.

“Quite the party, wasn’t it?” the captor said, pouring himself a drink.

Roman nodded too quickly. “Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice, attempting a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on a closed silver laptop on a side table. “Yes, it was...very grand!”

He rolled his eyes. “What did you think of the decor?”

“Quite magnificent! Like a- an aviary in a palace.” His wings were trembling as though there were a breeze running through them.

Tilting his head and looking Roman up and down, the captor spoke just as genially as he had in the cafe. “You really aren’t as interesting as your brother was. Too many blows to the head, no doubt.”

Roman’s mouth tightened. His fists had too.

Against the deep, comfortable, red-brown tones of leather and what must have been genuine mahogany, and the backs of books all bound neatly and sticking out of the shelf as though frequently read, Roman’s outfit stood out as even more fake. Gold accents in the sandals he was wearing matched the subtle gold trimmings of the room, but if the study were a convincing stage, Roman looked like a badly cast understudy.

The captor laughed. “Predictable. This isn’t the fighting pits.”

Virgil and Janus shared a look before watching again.

“Your brother’s been living like a tramp and he’s still more beautiful than you are, under all the mess,” he commented, as casually as if he was observing the weather. Roman’s eyebrows drew together, watching for the end of the statement. He brought up a hand to cover a scar along the edge of his neck. “He’s not as scraped up as you, of course. And he really-” He swirled his whiskey for a moment before taking a sip of it. “He really is genuine. You can imagine worse things than this, can’t you?”

He paused, then nodded.

He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s the difference.”

Janus grabbed Virgil’s hand. He curled over and pressed it to his own forehead. Virgil rested his hand on his back and bent to whisper in his ear. “Hey, only I need to listen, so-”

He shook his head and Virgil cut off, peeking back over the windowsill.

For just a moment Roman glanced at the window before he asked, “So, where is Remus anyways?” He seemed to freeze as he waited for the answer, a statue once again.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He held his hand out and Roman looked at him blankly. “The laptop,” he snapped.

“Oh!” He grabbed it from the side table and tried to hand it over from a distance.

He took it and flipped it open. Roman stepped back immediately, hopping from one foot to the other like a boxer. Virgil felt himself tapping on Janus’ back in sympathy.

The captor flipped the screen open and typed for a moment before he began to read something. Virgil felt Janus’ chest go still.

The captor laughed. “Oh, would you look at that- “Queer Eye’s Karamo Brown urged to cut ties with Salvation Army”.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing worse than a hypocrite- did you know about this?”

Remus’ brother’s jaw tensed and he shook his head.

He carried on reading for a little while, tutting, and then switching to another tab. “Okay, fine- come and look.”

He crossed the room to stand behind the man, hands gripping onto the back of the sofa as if he would fall over without its support.

“Don’t touch the furniture.” With a roll of his eyes, he reached his hand behind him, twisted his hand into his captive’s wing- then tugged. As he pulled a handful of feathers away Virgil winced, but Roman only reacted with a tightening of his hands. Then he took a measured step back from the couch.

“You know,” the captor said so softly that Virgil had to strain to hear him. “You know, Remus would have cried and cried at that.” He scattered the feathers, spotted with blood, over the floor. “That, or started swearing- and the crying would come after that.”

“You’ve told me before,” Roman snapped. As soon as he spoke, he froze again. “Oh, uh- I’m sorry-”

The laptop clicked shut. “I asked you to behave this evening,” the captor said, getting up and tucking it under his arm. Virgil and Janus crouched down further. For some reason, a tiny chip in the stone paving caught Virgil’s eyes. A tiny fissure ran from it into the rest of the solid slab. “That meant all of this evening.”

“Please-” His voice broke, and pitched high it sounded like Remus’. Janus’ hand tightened on Virgil’s until it hurt.

“Out.”

Virgil tugged on Janus’ hand and bent his head to his ear. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Janus looked up. His eyes were shining, and at the same time Virgil felt like a monster for not crying and a sharp annoyance that his friend had given into his emotions. He took a deep breath, and both feelings passed. He tugged on his hand again. “Okay, time to go,” he whispered.

He decided not to risk closing the window while the man was still in the room, just nudging Janus to the side. They crept across the balcony, slid up the far window, and climbed through one after the other, painfully slow.

They padded through the empty room, then opened the door and slipped out together. Downstairs, the last of the party guests were trailing out, either upright with exhaustion shining in their eyes to match the sparkle of their jewels, or with the help of a few discreet employees supporting champagne-soggy legs. Wordlessly, Janus slung his arm over Virgil’s shoulder, and he let his friend lean on him as they passed security and walked down the long drive to the dark street. He was heavy, but Virgil was careful not to stumble.

They carried on walking that way until the corner, when Janus straightened up and adjusted his jacket. Still, they crossed the road side-by-side and didn’t speak.

As they walked, the bottom of the sky was being washed out into greyness. The houses were unlit now, and they looked smaller in the dark. It just barely smelt of metallic dew. Virgil thought he might start screaming if he opened his mouth.

They reached the bus station sooner than expected. There was half-an-hour before the first early-morning bus. With a huff of air, he sat down on the pavement and leaned his back against the pole.

“Well that was just what we expected, wasn’t it?” Janus said lightly. He stayed standing, facing the mansion they had come from. Virgil looked up at him in silence. “I’m going to murder that man,” he continued in the same tone. “The security for that house is shocking. I’m sure it isn’t that hard. Perhaps I should let the twins do it, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll help bury the body.”

“You know, Virgil,” Janus met his eyes. “You really are the best friend anyone could ask for.”

"What?" he mumbled as he looked down. "He was a dick."

"Come now, you also broke into the house of someone connected to illegal fighting rings whose interior decoration tended to the alive and miserable.”

Heat flooded into his face. “Least I can do.”

“Quite a bit more than the least.” His lips quirked into a smile. “Especially for someone who was terrified of talking to customers a year ago.”

"Oh, shut up." He poked Janus' neat brogue with his boot. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes here figured out the whole thing anyway." His chest felt funny, and he hugged his arms around it.

"Well, Watson," He took a deep breath and decided to stop tormenting Virgil with his tenderness. "I have our final deduction- the man had no clue where Remus is."

"Really?"

Janus shook his head. “He was just looking for an excuse for Roman to slip up the whole time. Taunting him, the furniture, physically hurting him- it was all trying to push him to some tiny ‘infraction’ so he could bluff about the information.”

“Huh.” He replayed the events and nodded slowly. “Sure, I can see that. Still, we don’t know if he’s always like that. He didn’t deny the information when Roman touched the furniture- which is a fucked up rule, Jan- I don’t know if him not saying where Remus is was an excuse at all. He said Remus was better than his brother, and he gets pissed when you suggest cutting those clumps out of his hair. He must have been-” He regretted saying it to Janus, but it was deduction time. “He must have been really- cruel to him for Remus to act anything like Roman. He enjoys being cruel, clearly.”

“You’re right.” He twisted the finger of his glove. “Still, surely telling Roman about how scared Remus was would upset him. And he didn’t, so something doesn’t add up.”

Well, his intuition hadn’t lied before. “So what do we do?”

“We find Remus first.” He straightened his shoulders. “Remy would have texted if he went back to the apartment, we can assume he’s not at the cafe since he was found there, and he could have gone to his usual parks and streets but if he’s being watched he wouldn’t. So, where would he go?”

“It wouldn’t be anywhere with a lot of people,” Virgil added. “Or maybe even with a lot of birds, since they all come to him. Somewhere abandoned?”

Janus nodded. “I think we could check out some of the old warehouse districts.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a start. That one’s only ten minutes after the home one.”

They waited quietly, each caught up in their own thoughts. The bus to their district began trundling past until it slowed down for them and the door opened.

Janus shook his head at the driver. “Sorry, we’re not coming.”

She began to close the doors again without comment.

“Wait!” Virgil waved at her. “Wait a moment! Wait-”

She stopped with a huff almost as loud as the bus’ exhaust. Janus let Virgil pull him through the door by his hand, tapping his card dutifully.

He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled into some seats.

“Where’s the place we were talking about running to just before, uh, bird-friend left?” Virgil whispered, even though he doubted the tired commuters would be listening in for names and details. “And where can you bury the kind of bird friend in our freezer? And where wouldn’t be a place you’d search?”

“The forest?” he replied. There was only a scrubby patch of it outside the city.

“Yup. Look, we should go back to the cafe to get Loki, anyone asks and we’re just, you know, getting rid of the health violation in the fridge in a way which isn’t a health risk to a park or anything.”

Janus stifled a yawn. “That’s very smart.”

“Thanks, it was kinda impulsive, but-” Virgil shrugged as he looked out the window at the unrelenting row of houses. “I’m happy to be out of there.” He tucked his arm around his friend. “And you can nap until we get there.”

“I’m just fine, Virgil,” Janus replied, affronted. “Besides, I don’t want to rumple my outfit.”

Virgil gave an exaggerated yawn himself, and Janus immediately followed. He glared at him, which only made Virgil give him a small grin. “Bedtime.”

He was met with a head thunking onto his shoulder. “You had better wake me up in time,” he threatened.

“I will.” He readjusted so he was more comfortable. “We’ll be fine.”

*

By time they reached the cafe the sky was white and grey. Virgil waited by the bus stop, leaning his head against it as a half-asleep Janus unlocked the front. After enough time for Virgil to consider if he could sleep upright (five minutes), he reappeared with a canvas bag with a rainbow flag hand-printed on it, and a stack of three sandwiches, which he handed to Virgil.

The bus came soon after, and they collapsed into one of the back seats.

They had barely finished the sandwiches by the time they reached their next stop. They got out onto a cracked bit of sidewalk and looked at the trees rising above them. Silent, they walked forward until the concrete suddenly ended.

Virgil breathed in the stench of wild garlic and dug his toe into the slimy layer of dead leaves. Damp air curled in his mouth as though it would die peacefully there. Something chittered in the distance, and then cut off suddenly. He tried to tilt his head up to look at the trees and suddenly the vertigo of only sleeping for a few hours on the bus journeys hit him.

It was a world away from the gilded cage and the dizzying party.

He took a deep breath. “This feels right.”

Janus nodded. He tucked the bag under his arm carefully. “I hope…” he trailed off softly. “Well, Virgil, let us venture onwards.”

He touched his friend’s elbow for just a moment before he walked into the dark trees. After a moment, Janus followed, and they walked on together.

There was occasional litter, plastic bags and water bottles, but as they got deeper into the thick trees and tangled brambles along the forest floor it disappeared. Janus winced as he tried to lift his perfectly shone shoes over a muddy patch Virgil’s leather boots trudged through with ease. The trees were stout and gnarled, fungus protruding out of them like infections.

They wandered without any real direction, just trying to make their way further into the labyrinth of trees.

Virgil suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and he grabbed his friend’s arm.

It could have been a pile of abandoned clothes and torn out feathers-

But there was a glimpse of leopard print, and the vague outline of wings, and a low crooning coming from the figure curled there.

Janus crouched down six feet away from him, laying Loki’s bag by his side. “Remus,” he said so softly that Virgil barely heard it. “Remus, it’s Janus.”

Remus froze. Then his wings curved up around him. They were a lot taller than Janus was crouching. A pair of grey eyes came up to meet Janus’. His lips parted as he looked over the two of them. His purple and green makeup was smeared together until it looked like a black eye, and even his moustache seemed to have its own case of bed-head.

“We-” Virgil cleared his throat against a sudden lump. “Well, Janus, mostly, he found the guy’s house? And we went there, and, uh, we were worried about you so we looked.”

His eyes widened.

“We found your brother,” Janus said in a quiet voice. “Roman. He told us to tell you that he wasn’t a gladiator any more; he was there instead. That it, uh, wasn’t too bad.”

For a moment, Remus stopped breathing. Then he brought his hands up to his head, slumping his shoulders and letting his wings wrap around himself. “Bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “What else did he say?”

Janus bit his lip. “He told you to run away as soon as you could, and not to listen to anything they offered or threatened.”

Remus made a strangled yelping laugh which set Virgil’s teeth on edge. His wings were trembling so much that there was a slight breeze on his face. “Roman’s saviour goddamn hero bullshit-” He twined his fingers into his hair and started tugging. “He’s not- fuck,” he winced as he caught a matted section. “Not pathetic enough for that job.”

Janus tried to reach a hand out to untangle his hands from his hair, but Remus only stilled and leaned his head into his glove. Janus gently tugged at his wrist, but Remus wrapped his fingers around his hand and held it to his hair.

“Dude, you’re not pathetic. You broke out of that place all by yourself?” Virgil found his voice off-putting in the silence, but he kept speaking. “That’s hard. And you hid in the same town, in plain sight, for ages. And-”

“I ran away,” Remus said into his knees. “And I knew he’d get punished or die. He had to fight people. All goring out eyeballs and pulling out guts by the handful. Or the clawful. Depended on what kind of people were captured.”

“There are more people like you?”

He shrugged and, just like his brother, the movement made his wings move. “With the weird animal thing? Oh, sure. I would rather have a tentacle dick but you get what you get.” He spoke without humour.

Janus pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, not seeming to care about the smear of dirt on it. “Darling, I’m sure you’re well enough endow-”

“No!” Virgil yelled, holding his hands up. “I have risked myself too many times today for you two to have to listen to that from you.”

Remus shrunk back further into a ball. “Sorry.”

For a moment Virgil was struck genuinely speechless. Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, no, I was just teasing.”

Janus turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes in response. Maybe he should have guessed Remus would be more delicate, but, well, it was Remus.

“Anyway, it’s okay, alright?” he attempted.

“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smudged his makeup even more with the heel of his hand. “Fine.”

Virgil pulled the third sandwich out of his pocket and handed it over. “Figured you’d want that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Remus took it and began to carefully undo the wrapping. He took a small bite of the corner. “Mom and Dad are normal but Roman and I just were just born this way- oh there ain’t no other way,” he sang as he shimmied his wings. “But we lived in the middle of nowhere, and we stayed at home our whole lives, even though we talked a lot about hiding ourselves so that we could move. We kept ourselves to ourselves and we had a farm.” He threw his crust to the forest floor, seemingly by habit of having his flock around him. “Hope they didn’t search there for me; that would suck. Our parents saw us get captured, so at least they know what happened.”

Janus nodded as he listened. “How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Goodness,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”

The corners of Remus’ moustache twitched up into a smile. “Nah, you couldn’t. Thanks,” he said through the remains of his sandwich.

Virgil waited for him to finish eating.

“We brought Loki with us, in the bag,” he said. “We figured it would be a good cover, and we can hold the funeral here.” He reached into the bag to pull out a trowel. They definitely hadn’t had one in the cafe, so Janus must have stored it there after Remus disappeared.

Janus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a bag of classic Lays. He handed them over to Remus. “I do hope the flavour’s alright. I think it’s a classic.”

“Perfect,” he muttered. He stumbled up to his feet with a wince, holding his wings out for balance. Even without them fully spread out, the wingspan blocked the entire section of tree behind him. He rolled his shoulders back and flapped his wings.

Both of them stared.

Remus grinned and widened his eyes. “I can fly, you know. I could shit on you midair like-” All at once, his face crumpled and he held a hand up to his mouth. “Sorry, it all hit me again,” he said with a voice like sandpaper.

Virgil put his hoodie sleeve over his mouth as he swallowed back a guilty laugh. He started digging into the soft forest soil to distract himself.

He heard a flutter of feathers- had he been missing that under the whisper of all Remus’ shifting clothes before? - and then sobbing into a suit jacket. It was kind of scratchy on your face, Virgil knew, but it hid tears pretty well. He moved his whole shoulder into his digging, watching a depression form as the other two murmured words of upset and comfort to each other.

“I thought it was you,” whispered Janus against the shell of Remus’ ear. “And- my heart just stopped.”

“I wish it was.” Remus leant his forehead against Janus’ chest.

“But then how would I hold you, hm?” he replied, and there was the brush of fabric on fabric. “We’ll get him out.”

“You promise?” Remus said, and Virgil’s hand clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a good idea to-

“Promise. Split my chest open with a pickaxe and hope to pickle my heart.”

There was a wet laugh. “Kinky.”

“Come now, that was romance as well as kink.” His best friend’s voice was unbearably soft.

A warm feeling settled in Virgil’s chest despite the chill of the weather. Dammit. He stabbed the trowel into the ground again, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.

He kept digging, until a set of feathers nudged into his face. “Did you poke me from all the way over there?” Virgil asked incredulously. Remus’ wing was as wide as he was tall, and he used it to poke him in the cheek again. It was a little disconcerting to see how much it moved like, well, a limb of his.

A feather brushed over the tears on his cheek. The wing retracted, and Remus came over to kneel by him and take the trowel. He sunk it into the ground, gouging out a huge section of earth with a small battle-cry. He flung it over his shoulder rather than adding to Virgil’s careful pile and then grinned at him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bag. “I think you finished the grave.”

He carefully wrapped the pigeon in the canvas bag Janus had chosen for her and handed it to Remus.

He looked at the little bundle in his hands for a long moment. Then he took her out of the bag. He began to unwind the plastic wrap.

Janus winced.

“That’s not clean-” Virgil whispered.

“It’s going to pollute the forest otherwise,” he replied without looking away from the corpse in his hands. “This is more natural. Besides, they’re pretty clean birds.”

So they watched in silence as he carefully took it all off and placed her in the grave. She was still intact, though her body had stiffened. “Thanks for being here, even if you were technically using her to stalk me,” he said. “Um, this was Loki. She was mischievous, and bold, and really smart. I’m going to miss her.” He cleared his throat and nodded, eyes wet. “Okay. Ready.”

Virgil scooped a handful of dirt with his trowel and scattered it over her. It pattered softly against the earth. Remus was staring hard into the distance. A few rays of sun poked through the trees as he pushed the rest of the dirt back into place. “Should we leave some rocks or something?”

Janus nodded. “I can collect-”

“I thought Roman was dead until a few days ago,” Remus interrupted. It sounded like a statement from a scratchy vinyl recording. “Ghosties are easier to carry around than big living brothers who got jacked from murder. Whatever you need me to do to get him out, I’ll do it. Killing, going back- whatever.”

“I don’t need you to do those things,” Janus said firmly. “All I need you to do now is come to my apartment,” he turned to his friend. “I’m not putting you in any further danger, Virgil-”

“Bullshit.”

He paused, brow furrowing. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “This is the part where you’re you’re going to think you’re being really smart about everything,” he held his hands up, “but you stick to your principles too much and you risk yourself and maybe those two-”

“Thank you for your confidence, Virgil,” he said acidicly.

“Anyway.” This was a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m helping.”

Defensive, his voice grew more formal. “If this is about the court cases, or the job, I promise you that you owe me nothing-”

“I like you, and I like Remus, and I don’t like what’s happening.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing; it’s just as simple as that. Okay?”

After a moment, Janus gave a nod.

“Aw, you like me?” Remus cooed. He wiggled his shoulders and grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Course.”

Janus gave Remus a helplessly fond smile. “Then it’s decided. I think we could all use some sleep, then we start this evening.”

#ts fic #sanders sides #remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #dukeceit #platonic dukexiety #hurt/comfort

[artsyhamsterdraws]

My first Artist alley experience

So I did it. I survived! Can I get a wahoo yeehaw boiiiiii

*cough*

Anyway I wanted to write a "lil" thing about it all, like how it went, what I learned and shit like that. So here we go~

The convention I've been going to for a while now (3 times if you count this one) is called Närcon summer, and it's a "bit of everything" convention in Linköping (sweden) that happens every summer, but they also have one in the winter and fall as well, tho I've never been to those. (I want to try and get to Närcon Winter this time if it's possible).

It's pretty big. Apparently this year they got about 12.500 visitors over the weekend, so I got to meet a lot of people!

So, how was it?

Well if I wanna be short and straight to the point, it was amazing. I had so much fun and I can't wait to return!

Long answer? Well this one will go through the whole experience from start to finish. So buckle up kiddos this might get boring.

So for me it started even before the convention opened it's gates. During it I had decided to try and sell sketchbook commissions for 50 sek (like 5 bucks), because (1): It meant I would have something to do and wouldn't just have to sit at my table and stare off into space, and (2): Seemed fun.

I then decided to try and start selling them before the convention started, so that some people could come and pick them up day 1 if they wanted to. This worked, way better than expected. In the end I had 5 drawings to make before I even got there.

Here also comes the first thing I learned!

If you sell it for cheap, some people will tip you once they see the final result!

Not everyone paid extra, but I had a couple do it and that seriously almost brought tears to my eyes :')

I had reasons for selling them for so little, but I know that it was way too cheap considering the amount of time I put into each of those drawings. I just felt that; since basically no one knows who I am and this is my first time having a table, this would be a good way to get my name and work out there.

I mean, it did work since I sold 13 of them in total? Over 3 days? (I've never drawn that many things in such a short amount of time ever before).

At first I thought I wouldn't be able to sell more commissions once I got there since I already had 5 of them to do (3 of which I managed to finish before I got there). But apparently I can be fast if I need to? Suddenly they were all just...done and I opened up the commissions again!

Here are a couple of them that I remembered to take pics of:

It was a mix of fanart, original things and OC´s! Some of them I actually wanna make digital versions of cause I think they would look cool...

Once I got there I had to face one of my fears...my neighbors...  I had no idea what so ever who I would be seated with so I was afraid these upcoming 3 days would be filled with awkward silence and avoiding eyecontact. BUT! And that's a huge but (hehe)! They were great. Literally first second I met them I was like "yeah this is going to be fine".

We had so much fun, and once it got late we would sing Abba songs, and today I feel sorry for the people that had to listen to us... :P

I hope to meet them again next närcon, but the gods probably won't put us as neighbors again. They're probable mad at us for the Abba thing...

Oh and, they're both very talented and y'all should check them out! Here are their instagrams!

Literalpleb Apeachiations

Both had a bunch of fire emblem stuff, and apeachiations had some real pretty steven universe prints I wish I could buy but I don't watch steven universe so :(

Oh and I was given amazing gifts from them!

Then I bought these 2 key..chains...rings...I can't remember the english word....

Anyway I saw the Kirby one and knew I had to get it, and then I was talked into gettin the other one (I love it and wanted it don't get me wrong. It's a joke). I have yet to play the new fire emblem because my pre-order is back home and I'm at my parents place for another couple of weeks so :(

(I bought stuff from other people as well but I'll show that at the end!)

------

Setting up the table was fun! I decided to bring my bookmarks and a couple of prints, + like 8 stickers of my hamster logo. I gave 2 of them away tho to my neighbors .

Oh and I put one of my cosplay rifles on the table as well because I decided it would be too much work carrying 2 around. x'D

It started out slow. Most people just stopped by and looked and then moved on. I sold maybe 1 print and 2 bookmarks the first day? I didn't expect much anyway since it was my first time there. Honestly I'm surprised one of my prints even got sold ^^' So I wasn't that put down by the first day...

But then it was Friday, the second day, and things started picking up! I sold out one of my prints! Someone even decided to buy that damn rifle I randomly threw on there, which was amazing. I still can't believe it?

Friday was also the day my friend and I decided to do our cosplay. I missed a couple of hours in the alley because of that, since we had to get back to the hotel and change and all. Tho we did it during the evening so that it would get colder outside and we wouldn't miss THAT much time.

The alley closed around 10pm so we left around 3 to change, got back at 7 and spent those last hours there. Once it closed we also stayed way later at the convention, just walking around and actually looking at things!

Ok back to artist alley!

------

The last day I entered the building, and then only went outside once to buy a drink. Other than that I literally sat there a whole day. 10-10. (Don't worry I had a friend with me that came and went with drinks/snacks).

This day was by far the busiest! I had figured out already that most people wait until the last day before they buy a lot, which makes sense since you want to scope out the whole place before deciding on anything. Saturday (the last day) was also probably one of the days most one-day goers chose? I don't have evidence but that's the day I would choose if I only went 1 day at least...

I decided I would have sales on the last day. For example you got a discount if you bought a whole set of bookmarks. The commissions stayed the same price tho since it was already so cheap. ^^'

In the end I sold 45 bookmarks, the rifle, all my stickers, 13 commissions and all prints except for the 2 with the woman laying in flowers :/ My poor Selma (oc). Might put those on my etsy? I still have bookmarks there btw! Even though I sold a lot those did not sell out. xD

-------

Now, the last day was also the day I bought stuff from others. I decided not to buy anything from the big shops in the other building, and only spent my money on food and artist alley stuff!  Gotta support em fellow artists ya know!

I already listed the things I bought from my neighbors, but I went outside of our little hidden away corner too (I did not pay extra for like a good seat heh...).

I had table 74 (in the upper right corner)...so yeah we were very hidden. Considering the bad spot my table did very well!

Anyway, Here's the cool shit I bought!

The artists' Instagrams:

Linn Standal (Cinnapai)

Emma Lupine

Linda Lithén

I also picked up a bunch of business cards from people I couldn't buy from this time...

-----

So then. What did I learn for next time? Weeeeell...let's make a list I guess!

If you sell commissions for cheap, some people will tip you once they see the final result! (These people are very kind)

The first day is slow. Don't panic!

You always need to bring more business cards than you think. I thought I had enough but nope, they were gone halfway past the second day :/

Next time I'll bring more prints. (Only brought 2 of each, except for the spirited away one. Of that I had 4)

People make cute sounds when they see something they like :'D

Hhhh people are so kind!

Take pictures of your damn commissions!

Bring more drawing paper. (I had to buy a new sketchbook the last day cause I had like...one empty page left)

Leave a sketchbook on the table for people to look through

You're not as bad as you think you are.

People are very kind

Put the commission sign in the middle where it's easy to see it. A lot of people didn't see mine before I moved it.

Putting a sign saying "only one left" on an almost sold out item is good.

Keep track of which prints get the most people to stop. Make note of this and order more of them for next time.

Also take notes whenever someone buys something, so you know how much you sold!

Find something you can hang your prints on so you don't have to lay them on the table. There's not as much space as you think there is.

EAT!!! FFS!!!

Write down your instagram on your business card! (I forgot I had one xD)

Aaaand I think that's that?

Like I said, I had an amazing time and I really hope to do something like this again very soon! Hopefully I'll have time and money to get to Närcon winter. I'll at least try and grab myself a table just in case, and sell it if I can't go in the end. I probably won't cosplay there tho and only focus on artist alley. ^^'

Well, how the fck did you read all this? Impressive. I am impressed. Here's a picture of my cat as a price!

Bye!

#artist alley #my art #cool art #other peoples art #Närcon Sommar #närcon sommar 2019 #näcon #things to remember #long post

[momtemplative]

A COVID mammogram.

I hadn’t stood among people in so long that the idea seemed ludicrous. And terrifying. I hadn’t been out in a public place in over six weeks. (Jesse does the weekly grocery shopping.) When Jesse asked if I was nervous about my mammogram appointment, I said, no. But I was nervous about going to a hospital—germ kingdom—and being in such close proximity with people who are in such continuous close proximity with sick people. I’m most certainly not alone with those concerns; I had just been reading about how it is becoming more common for people to avoid medical care due to fears of COVID, and how dangerous this can be. So, reluctantly, I kept my appointment. 

When it was suddenly the day before, it occurred to me that I needed a little practice run. I needed to see that people in small, spread-out groups were not so scary, just people and not vicious germ-spreaders. (Hopefully.) So I geared up with hand goop, sani-wipes and my cloth mask and headed to Home Depot for some flowers. My nerves rattled steadily from the moment I left my driveway to the moment I pulled into the parking lot. 

There were a ton of cars. Why did I think it would be empty? My shoulders hiked into my ears as I pulled into a parking spot. I video-chatted to a friend as I sat there, as if I were making a recording for myself: “You can do this. All these people just want plants like you. And mulch. You are all here for the same reason. Get on with it!” (A teacher of mine from long ago used to make herself motivational self-talk videos. I recently watched quite a few, so that concept was fresh on my mind.)

The sky was doing a heavy, melancholy thing—purple-grey clouds swirling like low-hanging thoughts. The wind hit me with an obnoxious gust as I exited the car, like when Ruth sneaks up on me and guerrilla-attacks my hair, leaving me looking disheveled and dumb. I returned to my car twice before I finally committed to a cart.

There was a young kid, probably college-aged, sitting alone in his car, with his windows up, as I walked through the parking lot. My first instinct was annoyance that he didn’t have a mask on, then logic slowly caught up to remind me that he was indeed, in his rolled-up car. I instantly changed gears to take pleasure in seeing his chin, his full-face, rather. I had the instinct to yell through his window, “Nice to see your face!” with a thumbs up, while wearing my mask, but I thought better of it. It isn’t until now that I write this that I step back to look at myself, thinking, dear god, what has become of this woman?

I’m pleased to report that everyone had masks on. Good thing, because this was one of those particular outings that I guarantee I would’ve straight-up judged someone’s character based on whether or not they were wearing a mask.

There was not much inventory in the outdoor section and that was just as well. I  only wanted a few pretty things to plant. And to be out in the world again. I grabbed a few small pots of blue-purple plants with tiny petals, a few magenta snapdragons for Ruth, and for Opal, the most insanely violet peony I have ever seen. (It reminded me of the African Violets my grandmother, Lenna, used to always have in little pink plastic pots in her sunroom. Same eye-straining shade of purple.) Then I broke my back on two bags of soil.

My Home Depot experience was lack-luster and underwhelming, as I suppose, is optimal. The outside cashier had a tag on that said, “I CARE about you, please stand 6-feet away.” This was impossible to pull off while paying. Two humans, (at least one with very conflicting feelings), two masks, two feet away. For the record, the cashier was wearing shorts and had a tattoo of a giant spider that covered the back of his entire right calf muscle. I had the thought, “He had the tattoo before COVID and he’ll still have that sucker after it’s all over.” 

On paper: a success. Like taking a newborn baby to Target for the first time, or coming out of a long illness to get back to work. But I could feel a headache creeping up from the base of my skull. I wanted to just curl up in my car and recover.

The next day.

Signs that read HEROS WORK HERE lined the entrance of Avista Hospital like political signs during a campaign.

The main entrance was closed, a printed sign pointed me to the ER entrance. What did I envision behind the closed doors?  A bustling scene of gun-shot wounds and blood-sodden bandages, dozens of people bent over coughing like they swallowed gravel? The mind is an amazing thing. And more than ever, I am seeing the power (and danger) of speculation.

What was behind the sliding door to the ER was, in fact, a quiet scene of two ladies behind a counter, staring at oversized computer monitors, wearing masks. There was also an RN named Justin (as said his name badge), in a face-mask, standing close to the entrance. I took a moment to absorb it all, and as I turned his way, he was already pointing a purple thermometer at my forehead. “Oh, hey—” I said, muffled behind the mask. I must’ve passed because he handed me a green circle sticker that said something in Spanish. I liked these people. 

Next stop was the lady who had me sign all the papers—also named Heather. I remembered her from my last mammogram because of her name. And her hair, which was sprayed solid into a perfect 80′s feather, on the top and sides. The back, however, was long and straight and hung free of chemicals. This time, her facemask cut perfectly between the calcified feather-layers, which I took in as a delightful detail.

Side doors led me to the main entrance of the hospital, where it is usually bustling like Union Station. But it was empty, quiet like the streets of a ghost town, save for a janitor in an orange vest and surgical mask.  

Typically, the mammography office is stocked with magazines of the sort I would never purchase on my own accord—People, Us, Vanity Fair, Oprah—so I purposefully neglected to bring anything to read. But today, the magazine rack was empty, except for one laminated sign saying “No Magazines Due to COVID.” I also forgot a bottle of water (I’m out of practice for packing for the outside world) but breathed a sigh of relief when I remembered the basket of bottled water the mammography office keeps by the door. However today, no water. The Keurig machine was covered in a white sheet as if it had died. I was instructed by Jesse to touch my phone only when absolutely necessary, so I sat quietly and looked at the wall.

The sum total of ladies in the waiting room was only me, unless you count the woman ahead of me who barely sat down before they called her name: “Hi-roo?” Then as they walked down the hall, they said, “Oh, sorry, it says here you go by Lucy.”

I sat by myself in the waiting room for near a half-hour. I’m not sure what Lucy had going on but it took a while. NO complaints, I was happy as a clam to just sit on my ass and think about filling the four corners of my torso with breath. There were four chairs in a row on each side of the room, but the two middle chairs of each were caution-taped off with scotch tape, so people could only sit on either end. 

After the mammogram—which is uncomfortable to begin with, but throw in wearing Jesse’s N-95 mask and it was downright obnoxious—I sat for another 20 minutes in the examination room and waited for the results. No magazines, no phone, only the hum of the radiology machine and the shwoosh of the waves that played in a relaxing nature video on the wall behind my head. 

I turned my chair around to have a better view of the waves and considered the strange and unexpected calm I had felt in my body since the moment I entered the hospital—in spite of the boob-smooshing mammo, uncomfortable mask, and being in very close proximity to other (highly exposed) nurses. 

My assessment: this was the affect of clear-enforced protocols. 

It made me think of how we, as a culture, have been children without a parent (or with one highly dysfunctional one) in this pandemic. We are given unclear rules that some of us follow, some of us rebel against, and that leaves everyone in a state of high-alert exhaustion and confusion.

The radiology tech returned and said, “It all looks great!” before promptly excusing herself so I could get dressed. What a fucking relief.

I slid my mask off and put in on the counter in order to put my shirt back on. Then, I realized what I had done, and lurched for it with a slow-motion grab—Nooooooo—and the peace and perspective I’d just been cultivating shattered in an instant. I was mortified.

But then, I wasn’t. 

I laughed, quiet but out loud. Softening with myself, at the utter inconceivability of getting it all right. The troubling impact of the hyper-germ-awareness boot camp we’ve all undergone over the last 6-weeks-plus was apparent. 

Then I thought of an image I saw in the Washington Post, of people on the beaches of Florida that reopened this week. One beach in particular was teeming with scantily clad people, holding beers and standing too close, and not a single mask in sight. It glared with the phrase FUCK IT ALL, WE’LL DO AS WE DAMN WELL PLEASE.

It makes me think of the kids at the park, back when we went to parks, who run amuck and fend for themselves while their parents are absorbed in their phones. Poor dears, scrambling for guidance.

#momtemplative #HeatMamaWords #mindfulparenting #COVIDwords #CovidMammo

[pixelburied]

Take A Chance On Me

A/N: I’m hoping to turn this into a short series. But as some of you know, I either finish a series in a week or not at all. So we’ll see. Hopefully, my Colt fixation will still be there by next week!

Summary: When words are said in the heat of the moment, consequences soon follow. Starts after the driver’s test in Ch. 6.

“Well?”

Tala pursed her lips into a thin line in response.

She had her hands behind her and was fighting back a smile as she approached the dark, brooding thing waiting next to her new car.

“Out with it!” Colt raised an eyebrow.

Tala tried to scoff but ended up grinning as she showed him her freshly printed license. She bounced up and down, almost throwing her arms around him before catching herself.

Careful, Tala. Colt isn’t your friend. He’s just some guy with free time who drove you to your test.

He must have been thinking the same thing as he reached out to pat her on the head but decided against it.

“Hey, thanks for driving me here.” Funny how they were bickering just an hour ago but she now felt almost grateful that she had someone to share this moment with. Too bad it had to be this guy.

Colt shrugged and motioned his head towards the car. “Let me buy you a drink to celebrate.”

“A drink?” Tala choked. “But I’m- and you’re-“

A smirk played on his lips. “I meant milkshakes.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“What are you doing?” Colt stopped her as she walked around the car to the passenger’s seat and handed her the key. “You’re driving.”

“Me?” Tala’s eyes widened but she was beaming.

“Of course.” He opened her door before moving towards the other side to strap himself in.

--

“Star’s Milkshakes, huh?” Tala marveled at the brightly lit shop with colorful tables and chairs. It didn’t seem like the kind of place where someone like Colt would hang.

“Yeah?” Colt didn’t turn to her as he handed the cashier the money for their orders – one chocolate (Tala’s) and one strawberry (his).

Tala couldn’t help but smile and Colt looked up just in time to see it.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just-“ Tala gestured vaguely at the décor and then at Colt’s order as they took a seat by the window.

“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. They make the best milkshakes, always cheered me up.”

“Did you need cheering up a lot as a kid?”

“What do you think?”

She smirked. “There’s not enough milkshakes in the world to sweeten you up.”

“Ouch. You have me all figured out, huh?” Colt clutched his chest in mock pain.

Tala rolled her eyes before taking a sip of her drink. It was creamy and sweet but not overly so, and she closed her eyes as she savored the flavor. When she opened them again, Colt was studying her intently.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He nodded towards her shake. “Good?”

“Yeah. Yours?”

“Here.” He offered her a taste of his drink and her eyes widened.

“I, uh-“

Colt laughed as her face turned red. “Really? You’re blushing over this? I swear my lips haven’t been anywhere they shouldn’t be, if you’re worried about that kind of thing.”

“Shut up.” Tala scrunched up her nose before taking a small sip. “Oh wow. This is… really good.”

“Right? It was our- uh, my favorite.”

“An ex?” Tala wondered how many he’d had. And then wondered why it mattered to her.

“What? No. My dad. He used to bring me here a lot.” Colt looked out the window, as if he were remembering a different time.

“He doesn’t seem like the type who’d go to a place like this.”

“What is with you and this place? You don’t like it?”

“No!” She raised her hands defensively. “I love it! The milkshakes are great! It’s just- it doesn’t seem like the type of place for- um-“

“You can say criminals.” He laughed again. She noticed he’d been doing that a lot.

She wanted to feel indignation at the fact that he was laughing at her, but for some reason, she seemed to really like his laugh.

“Yeah, well, even criminals care enough for their kids to treat them to milkshakes now and then.” He picked at a sticker on his cup. “Or at least, they used to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Yeah, Tala. What the hell for?

She silently berated herself for sounding weak but then noticed Colt still fidgeting with his cup, not looking up.

She reached out to touch his hand but managed to pull back at the last second.

That’s the second time today, Tala.

Tala wanted to ask about Kaneko, and about Colt’s childhood, but he had already crossed his arms and was looking back out the window. She could tell he wasn’t going to open up more than this and she didn’t really care. After all, why should she, right?

After a few minutes of drinking in silence, Colt cleared his throat.

“Let’s get you back. Your little boyfriend might wonder where you are.”

“Logan’s not my boyfriend.” There was an edge to her voice she hadn’t intended.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I don’t care what you think then.” Tala glared at him from across the table. She wasn’t sure what it was about this boy that riled her up.

He somehow always managed to make her feel anger, exasperation and… something else she couldn’t place yet.

Colt met her stare and she could feel her resolve wavering under his gaze.

Then he smirked. And suddenly, all she wanted was to punch that stupid grin off his lips.

“I really bring out the worst in you, don’t I?” He let out a low chuckle as he watched different emotions dance across her face in succession.

“You have no idea.” She shook her head and took a long sip before turning back to him. “You must have dozens of admirers falling at your feet with that dazzling personality of yours.”

Tala bit her tongue as soon as she said it. She wasn’t trying to be mean and she was worried she’d crossed a line.

To her surprise, Colt didn’t look pissed. Instead, he had a playful smile on his face as he leaned in towards her.

“I can make you fall for me in a week.”

This arrogant, little as-

“Wanna bet?” Tala fumed in her seat.

You cocky jerk. Think you have me all figured out?

Colt pulled back with raised eyebrows and considered her for a second. “What are we betting on?”

She didn’t expect him to take her little retort seriously, but she felt too proud to back out now. She racked her brain for a response until- “Your motorcycle.”

“What?” Colt’s eyes widened.

“If you don’t make me fall for you in a week, I get your motorcycle.”

Colt laughed. “Do you even know how to ride one?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll figure it out like I figured out how to drive.” She crossed her arms and tried to put on an air of confidence.

“And what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

Colt locked eyes with her and a slight crackle of electricity ran through her veins. He leaned back in and she instinctively mirrored his movement.

“No bet.” He finally said.

“You’re just scared you’ll lose.” She slumped back to her seat, slightly relieved but mostly insulted.

Insulted? That can’t be right.

“Look, I don’t play with people’s feelings.”

“You won’t be playing with mine since you won’t win.”

Colt rolled his eyes. “How would I even know if I’ve won?”

“I’ll tell you.”

“You can just tell me whatever you want to tell me.”

Good point.

“I promise I’ll be honest.”

“Ha! Your promises mean nothing to me.”

She narrowed her eyes at his smug grin. “Well then, I guess you’re just gonna have to take a chance on me.”

He cocked his head to the side and examined her. 

After a beat, he moved closer, hand reaching to cup the side of her face. As if on instinct, Tala’s eyelids fluttered together as she closed the gap between them.

Her heart was pounding in her ears and Colt was so close she could hear him softly breathing.

Then she felt his thumb wipe away milkshake from the side of her lip and her eyes shot open at the sound of his laugh.

“Alright, Tala.” Colt smirked as Tala’s face burned red. “You’ve got yourself a bet.”

#colt x mc #colt kaneko #RoD #playchoices #long post #long fic

[siodium]

went to afa with luwi on friday!!

haven’t gone for three years or so bc afa aLWAYS clashes with finals but now i’m a Senpai with only two(2) exams so i can finally gooo

idk what i was expecting but it was surprisingly crowded on a weekday... probably a combination of school holidays / people clearing leave towards the end of the year and... afa being afa

even though the creator’s hub layout was probably the most spacious one i’ve seen so far... we still got stuck in the lanes lol

got the stuffs i wanted from nao (except the belial stickers but i don’t think they were available??) and a tote bag from le delicatessen

took all of my self-control to not get a pouch as well ;; i think i’ll get it next time after i clear my debts

i also want to get ban’s beautiful sandy/faa-san and rantarou prints in A3 but i can get them after the event... hopefully 👀

had fun bullying lucihead heheh

was gonna steal a cha but ban forgot to bring.............. unbelievable

anyway luwi decided to let me take care of piff piff!! i gave piff a nice bath

oh oh i decided to get nendo bodies (bye figma dreams) but the GSC shop only had one type on sale?? idk the peach one seems like it would be too pink so i didn’t get... should i wait for akechi nendo to come home first before ordering hmMMm

now that they announced the sandy nendo and showcased the painted joker pop up parade fig (wHICH MEANS AKECHI IS COMING SOON)... my debt doesn’t seem like it’ll be paid off any time soon

he;s beautiful

#omikuji tells me i should start my abs training again #one ab every two weeks let's go #log

[dozyjojo]

Arata (Shigadabi week)

Day 4: child

Dabi was surprised that the league were able to force Shigaraki out of the house. More surprised that he was actually walking here besides him. What were they supposed to be doing again? Oh yeah, they had to buy food from the supermarket.

In disguise, they looked normal to society, even if it couldn't be farther from the truth. Dabi was wearing a long sleeved black sweater and black gloves. He had black sunglasses and a gray face mask with a skeleton design. He refused to wear any other they offered. He wore his usual tight black jeans along with his combat boots with blue and black laces. Shigaraki wore his light blue hair up in a messy bun and his scarred neck bounded behind scarf. He had a black hoodie on with 'fuck off' printed in bold white letters with the hood down. He had his usual black jeans on. To top it all off, he had the same old red sneakers he always wears. They looked normal since it was winter. Well okay, Dabi was in disguise.

"Why is it so hot?" Dabi whined with a muffled voice, pulling at his shirt collar. "Shut up and stop whining, let's just finished this quickly," Shigaraki groaned. "Yeah yeah," he said before he reached out to him. He slid his arm over his shoulders and squeezed him close. Shigaraki rolled his eyes, but he didn't pull away. He snuggled up against his side. He reached up to hold the hand on his shoulder and interlocked their fingers excluding his pinky.

They finally reached the supermarket and they pulled away. "I have to go to the bathroom," Dabi said, walking off. "Alright just wait for me by the freezers," Shigaraki hollered back. He nodded with a thumbs up and entered the bathroom.

He was finishing up with cearal aisle when an arm wrapped around his waist. He tensed up and his hands twitched. He wasn't stupid enough to use his quirk in such a crowded area. "Calm down, it's just me," Dabi whispered agaisnt him. He sighed and relaxed against his grip. "What the fuck were you thinking?" He hissed at him. "Language," Dabi laughed. "Since when did you care about swearing," Shigaraki rose an eyebrow at him. "There is a child here," Dabi said with mock offense. "What?"

He looked down and Dabi wasn't kidding. A little boy, maybe six or seven, was holding his hand and tear streaks were down his cheeks along with a snotty nose. "What the hel-" "Language!" He rolled his eyes, "heck were you thinking when you stole a child!" The kid visibly froze up and almost teared up at the word 'stole.' "Hey hey, calm down Arata," Dabi mused and gave Shigaraki a dirty side eye. "He was all alone and there wasn't a single parent around him. I couldn't just leave him," Dabi argued. "Fine but the moment we finish shopping, we are finding his parents or dropping him off at the lost and found center," he sighed. "Okay."

The boy walked up to him and wrapped his small arms around his leg. "He likes you," Dabi smiled. "He's not a damn dog and get him off," Shigaraki yelled. People turned their heads at the group at them and he immediately quited down. Dabi shook his head and Shigaraki sighed loudly at him before staring back at the boxes in front of him. The boy stepped on his shoe with both his feet and held him tightly. He groaned before limping to the next aisle.

They were almost done with the long shopping list when they passed the candy aisle. "Oh oh oh," the boy yelled, still standing on his foot. "You're not a monkey," Shigaraki said to him. He looked up at him and said, "candy!" "You want some?" Shigaraki questioned. He nodded and his smile grew. "Fine but just one thing," he sighed. He laughed and hopped off his shoe. "Can I get something too?" Dabi asked. "Fuck off, you know we are on a tight budget," he groaned, never taking his eyes off Arata. "You getting attached to him," Dabi said while wrapping his arm around his waist. "No," he snapped back but his voice didn't have any bite. The boy came running back with a bag of gummy worms in hand. He grabbed the bag and put it in the shopping basket. "Alright let's go." And with that, he hopped back on to his shoe.

They walked up to a cashier line and placed all the items up. After a bit of scanning the cashier looked up at them. "That'll be 4,381 yen, sir." $40 He sighed and fished into his pockets and after a bit off shuffling, he pulled out five one thousand yen bills. Arata grabbed his gummy worms when the cashier was handing him his change. He smiled down at him and handed him a sticker. Arata smiled up at him and let out a quick 'thank you.' Dabi grabbed the bags and reached out to grab Arata's hand but he was already holding onto Shigaraki's hand. He was careful with the placement of his fingers. Dabi was surprised but also angry, it took him weeks to be able to hold his hand and this kid can do it right off the bat. He shook his head, he was getting jealous on a six year old.

He jogged up to catch up to them and tried to hold Arata's hand again but he shook him off. Shigarak handed him his gummy worms and he pulled his hand away to open it. He quickly shoved his small hand into his bag and stuffed his mouth full. "Calm down, you'll get a stomachache," Dabi said. He nodded before eating more but slower this time. Shigaraki held a hand out in front of him and Arata handed him some gummy worms. Dabi held his own hand in front of him but he turned away from him. Shigaraki let out a big laugh before handing some of his to Dabi. He frowned but accepted them. Arata puffed up his cheeks and punched his leg and tried to punch the gummy worms out his hand. He smirked before holding them up over his mouth in an exaggerated manner. He dropped them but Shigaraki swiped them away. He held them up in his hand and Arata giggled away. He tried to snatch them back but Shigaraki had already ate all of them.

"You jerk, how dare you," he yelled at him. "Arata didn't want you to have some, so I took them," he said and Arata nodded. "Weren't we supposed to be looking his parents," Dabi groaned. The little boy's brown eyes teared up and he latched his arms around Shigaraki's leg. Shigaraki placed a hand on his black hair and ruffled up his hair. The boy whimpered and smuttered his face into his leg.

"C'mon we had to find your parents at some point, didn't we," Shigaraki said as softly as he could. He nodded with his face still pressed against his pants. "Okay," he said as he pulled away.

After a few minutes of walking around, they could here a loud scream.

"ARATA!"

They all turn as they see a women rushing towards them. A group of people walk in front of them and when they pass, only Arata was left behind. The women dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around the child.

"Where have you been!" she whailed and took his small face into her hands. "I was with my friends," he smiled. "What?!" "They are right here," he turned and his smile disappeared. "They were here!" he cried out. "It's alright, you're back with me," she smiled. His frown stayed but he nodded.

Shigaraki watched the interaction from far away with a frown on his face and a sadness etched into his eyes. "You really did like him," Dabi said behind him. "I didn't," he scowled. "You still have me," he smiled at him. "Fine," he said as they walked away.

Days later, Shigaraki still thought of the boy. Maybe he had gotten his quirk by now. Maybe he had gotten friends by now. Or maybe he doesn't even remember them anymore. But he knew they couldn't keep him, he could be used against them. "Are you still moping about that kid?" "Hey don't pretend you aren't thinking about Arata too," he snapped. "Yeah you're right," he sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

Dabi's face suddenly beamed up. "Why don't we have a kid of our own!" "You dumbass, do you really know how making a kid works?" "Yeah you fuck," he said before he tackled him down the booth he was sitting in.

"You're so stupid," Shigaraki laughed as Dabi smothered him with kisses. He also laughed as he pulled away from him to sit up on the booth. He was alright with out the kid now. Who knows maybe he'll see him so other times.

Just hopefully not during he was in a killing spree.

#shigadabiweek #shigadabi #shigaraki tomura #dabi #bnha #mha #fluff? #established relationship