While waiting for the Phight, I present this to you. A long chapter of scenarios of what a Date with the cast be. 

Contents:

Lost Temple
Blackrock
Playground
Theives Den
Neutrals and Idols
OCs

enjoy.

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Part 1 - Lost Temple 

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[ Medkit ]

- Neither of you truly knew what a date was. Well, Medkit did—at least in theory—and you had some understanding, but neither of you had ever actually planned one. As a matter of fact, Sword, with some assistance from Rocket, had orchestrated this entire setup. Rocket kept Medkit occupied under the pretense of needing help—something about not being able to find Sword, insisting that Medkit, of all people, should know where he was. Meanwhile, Sword guided you toward the designated location: a quiet, nearly empty park, bathed in the dim glow of the evening sun.

- By the time Rocket and Sword had successfully lured you both into place, they fled before Medkit could realize what had happened. The sudden silence between you was strange but not entirely unwelcome. Medkit, arms crossed, exhaled sharply, glancing at you before looking away again. It seemed the weight of conversation had fallen onto his shoulders.

- "...So. They set us up," he muttered, his tone flat, but there was no real irritation behind it. More like reluctant acceptance.

- You turned your gaze toward him, studying the way he shifted his weight slightly from one foot to the other. The golden light of the sunset brushed against his features, illuminating the tired edge to his expression.

- "It appears so," you replied, your tone quiet, measured.

- Neither of you moved to leave. The air was crisp, the rustling leaves the only interruption to the stillness between you. Medkit sighed again but didn't protest. After a beat, he tilted his head toward the nearby benches.

- "Might as well sit down," he murmured, as if the idea of standing awkwardly forever was more exhausting than simply giving in.

- You followed, settling onto the bench beside him. Silence stretched again, but it was not heavy. If anything, it felt... peaceful. A quiet moment neither of you had expected but didn't seem to mind.

- After a while, Medkit shifted, resting his elbows on his knees. He didn't meet your gaze, but his voice was quieter when he spoke again.

- "You don't mind, do you?"

- You blinked, tilting your head slightly. "Mind what?"

- "That we're here. That they—" He exhaled through his nose. "Set this up. It's stupid."

- There was no hostility in his tone, only uncertainty.

- You regarded him carefully, hands folded in your lap. "It is not unpleasant," you admitted, which was, in your own way, an affirmation.

- His brow furrowed slightly, but there was the faintest trace of amusement at the edge of his expression.

- "Huh." He leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky. "Guess that makes two of us."

============

[ Scythe ]

- THE WOMAN.

- It wasn't really a date. You wouldn't call it that, even if she had jokingly insisted. It was more an act of necessity—her necessity, your reluctant compliance. The authorities were on her heels again, and somehow, you had found yourself shielding her from their gaze. She appreciated it, much to your unamused dismay.

- In return for your so-called "kindness," she dragged you to her hideout—an abandoned apartment building that was more intact than it had any right to be. The walls were weathered but standing, and it provided just enough cover for her and The Broker to continue their dealings undisturbed.

- You were invited—coerced, more like—into a game of poker. You quickly realized it was a mistake. Scythe and Broker played against you, their grins too sharp, their hands too quick. Cheaters, both of them.

- Your losses stacked, and irritation brewed beneath your composed exterior. A few gold coins slipped from your fingers onto the table. A bribe. "Play fair," you said simply, tone even but expectant.

- They obliged—barely. Fair lasted until they turned your coins into actual banknotes. That alone should have been harmless, but the idiot running the pawnshop had called the authorities on them again.

- You helped Scythe. Broker wasn't so lucky. He was dragged away in cuffs while Scythe merely dusted off her coat, unfazed.

- "You know," she mused, amused despite the circumstances, "if you're feeling particularly generous, you could always help me break him out. It'd be one hell of a second date."

- You exhaled through your nose. "It wasn't a first date."

- She only laughed, spinning a stolen poker chip between her fingers. "Then what do you call all this?"

- You did not answer. The truth would only be wasted on her. Instead, you turned your eyes to the sky, listening to the distant sirens. You had done your duty for the night.

- And yet, you already knew you would not refuse her next request.

============

[ Sword ]

- You had agreed to this date without knowing what you were in for. Sword seemed confident in his plans, casual yet exciting. You had assumed it would be something simple—perhaps a walk through the market, a quiet meal, nothing too extravagant.

- That illusion shattered when he casually pointed out that wearing a cloak to the location would look "kinda weird." You didn't question it, merely adjusted your approach. Instead of your usual attire, you opted for a long poncho—enough to drape over your wings without drawing suspicion. It was functional. Practical.

- Then you arrived at the destination. A trampoline park.

- You stood at the entrance, staring at the strange, stretched material people were bouncing on as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sword was already laughing. You turned your head, expression unreadable.

- "Is this a test?" You asked, voice steady.

- He doubled over, wheezing. "No—oh my god—just—" He tugged your wrist and pulled you in before you could rethink your existence.

- You were stiff at first. The movement was unnatural—unpredictable. The ground was meant to be stable, yet this one fought against you. Your balance wavered, steps uneven, your wings twitching instinctively beneath your poncho. Sword, of course, was thriving.

- "You look like a newborn deer," he choked out between breaths.

- You glared. He grinned.

- It took time, but eventually, you adjusted. It was... almost exhilarating. Your steps became lighter, your movements sharper. When you leapt, it wasn't just a simple jump—it was effortless height. A fraction of what you were used to, but a taste of something familiar.

- Sword gawked.

- "Dude. What."

- You landed with a controlled stance. "I have adapted."

Rocket had been watching from the sidelines, phone in hand, capturing every moment. For moral support, he had claimed. In reality, he was documenting Sword's expressions, sending them to him in real time.

- Eventually, nausea won. After one too many jumps post-pizza and ice cream, Sword turned a shade paler than usual, groaning about his "regrets." You weren't faring much better.

"Okay, note to self," he groaned. "Maybe we don't do that next time."

- You nodded once. "Noted."

- The night could have ended there, but conversation carried on. You sat together outside, the air crisp against your skin as Sword casually mentioned his mentor slash adoptive father, Venomshank.

- "He's kinda a big deal," Sword mused, stretching. "A deity, you know?"

- You had heard that name before. Inpherno. The contrast between his world and the sky above was... staggering. You listened carefully, absorbing each detail. The weight of the knowledge was heavy, but you remained composed.

- "The Inpherno is much different from the sky," you murmured at last.

- Sword tilted his head, curious. "You say that like you've been to both."

- You met his gaze, unreadable as ever. "Perhaps."

- He narrowed his eyes, but whatever thought crossed his mind, he let it go. For now.

==============

Part 2- Blackrock

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[ Subspace ]

- How did this even happen.

- He approaches you after a phight, grinning, practically radiating self-satisfaction. His praise is half-hearted towards you, but excessive towards himself—something about how "you did well, but I was exceptional." You don't argue.

- Even when you take your leave, he sticks by your side, trailing after you as if it were only natural. You let him.

- He rambles as you walk, something about his latest experiments, a so-called "superior" crystal formula. He speaks with fervor, eyes gleaming as he details its applications, his words tripping over each other in his eagerness. You listen in silence. At some point, you buy milktea and cheesesticks, one for yourself and—begrudgingly—for him.

- He cannot taste the milktea. He tells you this plainly, but he enjoys the texture, the weight of it in his mouth. You watch as he chews on a cheesestick, seemingly pleased with its warmth.

- You should ask him, one day, why he is so sadistic. You haven't yet. You don't think he'd give you a real answer.

- Heaven does not approve.

- He makes an offer, as casually as one might offer a cup of tea. "I could make you your own Biograft assistant, you know." His tone is smug, as if he expects you to leap at the opportunity.

You refuse. His disappointment is immediate, visible in the sharp downturn of his masked expression, the way his fingers twitch with barely restrained irritation.

- However, you do not refuse entirely. "I can assist you when I am free." The words slip from your mouth before you can stop them.

- His expression shifts in an instant—smug again, victorious. "That's good enough."

- And that is how you find yourself in his workspace, surrounded by half-finished machinery, glowing crystals suspended in fluid, tools meticulously arranged and yet scattered at the same time. You do not belong here, yet he looks at you as if you do.

- "Here," he tosses something your way—small, metal, cold against your palm. You turn it over, inspecting the delicate engravings, the fine craftsmanship.

- "What is this?"

- "A prototype," he says, far too pleased with himself. "Try it out."

- You hesitate. This is dangerous. All of this is dangerous.

- But you curl your fingers around the device anyway.

==============

[ Hyperlaser ]

- You hadn't meant to end up here. The cold bit through your coat, seeping into your skin as you - stepped into the bar—only seeking temporary warmth. The wrong train had led you deep into Blackrock territory, a mistake you'd rather correct sooner rather than later.

- The atmosphere inside was dimly lit, thick with smoke and the low murmur of voices. You didn't belong here. The patrons knew it, too. You could feel their eyes on you as you lingered near the entrance, hesitating.

- And then you noticed him—Hyperlaser. He leaned against the bar, a drink in hand, his gaze finding yours through the haze. He recognized you immediately. Maybe that was why he bothered.

- "You drink?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

- "No." Your voice was calm, unwavering. Few among your kind indulged, save for the disciples who walked a different path.

- He hummed, as if considering something, but before another word could be exchanged, you felt a gaze settle too long on you. A man near the back, watching.

- Hyperlaser noticed, too. Without hesitation, he reached for your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. "Come on."

- You let him lead you away from the bar, his pace steady, purposeful. The weight of those lingering stares disappeared behind you as the door swung shut.

- "I'll get you back to Crossroads," he said, his voice lighter now, as though this were nothing more than a small inconvenience.

- You should refuse. You are capable of navigating the city alone, despite the unfamiliar streets and the human dangers that lurked within them. Yet, something about the way he held your hand—like he was anchoring you to this world—made you stay quiet.

- "Fine," you finally said.

- "Atta angel."

- You stiffened. He couldn't possibly know. It was a joke. A meaningless phrase.

- But still, you lowered your gaze, letting him guide you into the night.

=================

Part 3 - Playground 

[ Boombox ]

He told you it was just a simple hangout. Nothing special. Just two people exploring the city together.

In his mind, it was a date. He never said it aloud, but the way he carefully picked every location, the way he stuck close to you, the way he took his time in the places with the best views—it was all intentional.

"We're just checking out spots," he had said. Yet somehow, every place had an oddly romantic atmosphere. A quiet bridge overlooking the lantern-lit streets, a small park where fireflies flickered in the dark, a cozy café tucked in the corner of a narrow alleyway.

You thought nothing of it until a vendor approached, holding out a rose. "For the happy couple," they said with a smile.

Boombox, for once, was speechless. You weren't sure if it was embarrassment or satisfaction that crossed his face, but he still took the rose and handed it to you with an easy grin.

"Might as well take it, right?" he shrugged.

It was... odd. But you accepted it. It was just a flower, after all.

He dragged you to the street market next, where the air was thick with the scent of grilled meats, fried dough, and simmering spices.

"Alright, we're trying everything," he declared, already leading you toward a stall selling skewers dripping in sauce.

You weren't sure what half of the food was, but he made sure you both sampled a little of everything. Spicy dumplings, crispy pastries, steaming noodles in fragrant broth. By the end of it, your hands were sticky from sauce, and Boombox was leaning back against a bench, laughing at nothing in particular.

"Told you it was a good idea."

By the time you returned home, exhaustion weighed on both of you. You barely made it to the couch before sleep pulled you down.

He sat next to you at first, arms crossed, head tilted back. But at some point, his head found your shoulder. His breathing slowed, evening out.

You stayed still, listening to the soft hum of the city outside, watching the way his chest rose and fell in the dim light.

This was fine. A moment of rest. Nothing more.

And yet, you did not move.

================

[ Skateboard ]

Oh dear.

This was reckless.

No, this was utter foolishness.

His idea of a "date" was bringing you to a crowded skatepark, intent on teaching you how to skate.

A flawed plan, to begin with.

The execution, however, was far worse.

His friend, Derby( An Oc, don't ask.)—an energetic sort, far too lively—had joked that they could outspeed him on rollerblades.

Skateboard, ever the prideful one, took this as a challenge.

And so, in his brilliance, he had you stand twenty meters away, holding a makeshift flag, tasked with starting their race.

It should have been simple.

It was not.

He won, naturally—his stubbornness would allow no less—but in his victory, his balance faltered.

In one swift, inevitable moment, he crashed straight into you.

The impact was not painful. You had known far worse.

But it was... undignified.

You, an angel, reduced to an ungraceful heap beneath him.

Derby's laughter rang through the air, sharp and amused. The unmistakable sound of a camera shutter followed.

Skateboard groaned, attempting to lift himself. He failed.

"You're heavy," you stated, voice flat.

"You're, uh—" He glanced away, realizing just how little distance remained between your faces. "—really sturdy. That's cool."

A pause.

"You are not moving."

"I—yeah, okay, okay." He scrambled off of you, sheepish. "You good?"

You sat up, brushing dust from your clothes. "I am unharmed."

"Pfft—dude, you say that like you're some kind of knight." Derby spun in circles on their rollerblades, shaking their phone. "Oh man, these are hilarious. Gonna send 'em to the group chat."

Skateboard groaned. "You suck."

"Hey, at least you didn't crush me," Derby shot back.

You exhaled. "If this is a common occurrence, I question your competence."

"It's not! I—I swear it's not." He quickly spoke, flustered. "Ugh. Okay. You're definitely not getting on a board today."

"A wise decision," you agreed.

He frowned, but you caught the flicker of amusement in his gaze.

"Guess I owe you a real date, huh?"

The thought had not occurred to you. But it was... not unappealing.

"That would be acceptable."

His expression brightened. "Cool. Somewhere not as—uh—dangerous. Or humiliating."

"Preferably."

Derby groaned, flipping through their phone. "I swear, if you two keep flirting, I'm gonna start charging for my third-wheel services."

"We are not—"

"This is not—"

You and Skateboard spoke at the same time.

Derby snorted. "Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourselves that."

==================

[ Coil ]

After a grueling boxing match, you arrived at the gym with a small bag of snacks and a cold can of Cola, your presence unexpected but not unwelcome. Skateboard had been busy, and Boombox—tasked with the errand—had slept in, leaving you to take matters into your own hands.

Coil blinked in surprise when he saw you standing there, back straight, expression unreadable as you extended the offering. He took it, cracking the can open with a hiss, his eyes never leaving you.

"Didn't think you were the delivery type," he remarked, lips curling slightly.

You didn't dignify that with a response.

Instead of leaving, you lingered. He noticed.

"You fight?" he asked, gaze appraising.

You gave a small nod. That was all it took.

The suggestion turned into a challenge, and the challenge turned into a lesson. For him.

It wasn't much of a fight. Coil was skilled, but you were disciplined, honed through years of relentless training under the watchful eyes of your guardians. Every strike he threw, you countered. Every opening he tried to take, you anticipated. He hit the mat three times.

He groaned, sprawled out, staring at the ceiling. "You cheated."

"You are predictable," you corrected.

He huffed, but there was no real frustration in his voice. Just disbelief. And a tinge of admiration.

Three fights later, he was spent, sweat dripping from his brow, breaths labored. You, untouched, merely extended an offer.

"Lunch. My treat."

He blinked at you, then grinned. "Who says no to free food?"

He didn't walk to lunch—he ran. And you found yourself being pulled along before you could protest.

Then you realized why.

Biografts. Chasing.

Of course, you helped him. Why wouldn't you?

The chase was a blur of rooftops and sharp turns through alleyways, Coil's grip tight as he dragged you through the city. You could have carried him and been gone in an instant, but that would have raised too many questions.

So you played along, leading him instead when it became clear his energy was waning.

The two of you camped out on a rooftop, high above the streets. The sun had shifted by the time the pursuit ceased. The Biografts lost interest.

Coil leaned back, arms behind his head, exhaling sharply. "That was fun."

You merely arched a brow.

He chuckled. "Alright, maybe not 'fun,' but still. Not bad."

Silence stretched between you two, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

Then he turned to you, something unreadable in his expression.

"We should hang out more."

You looked at him, considering. He didn't know who—what—you were. But you had been sent here to watch over them.

Perhaps this wasn't the worst way to do so.

You nodded once.

He grinned.

=====================

Part 4 - Thieves' Den

[ Vine Staff. ]

Unlike many, she does not demand nor assume. She asks—kindly, politely—if you would assist her in tending to the garden.

You accept. Gardening is peaceful, and you have heard of the fabled Garden of Eden.

Yet, even with such stories, you find yourself preferring hers.

Thieves' Den is known for its overgrowth, for vines reclaiming what was lost, for nature weaving itself into the bones of the old world. But until she led you through its paths, until she showed you the life flourishing in forgotten places, you never truly saw its beauty.

She moves with quiet purpose, hands deft and careful. You mirror her, tending to the earth in measured silence.

The air is thick with the scent of greenery, damp soil, and blooming petals.

Every action feels deliberate. Every moment lingers.

She brews her own iced tea, a personal blend of herbs and flowers from her garden. She hands you a glass without expectation.

The first sip is a revelation. Cool, fragrant, subtly sweet. It tastes like sunlight through leaves, like the fleeting warmth of companionship.

You do not often indulge in such things. Yet, with her, it feels natural.

A part of you wishes you spent more time like this. More time with her.

But you are bound by duty. By purpose.

And she does not know what you are.

When the sun begins its descent, she lingers, watching the sky shift to amber and rose.

"You're quiet today," she remarks, though there is no accusation in her tone. Only observation.

You glance at her. The golden light catches in her hair, in the green of her eyes.

"I am always quiet," you say.

She huffs a quiet laugh, brushing a stray leaf from her sleeve. "That's true."

Silence settles again, comfortable.

Fireflies begin to flicker in the undergrowth.

She looks at you, a question unspoken but understood.

You should leave.

And yet, you do not.

[ Shuriken ]

He practically begged you to spend time with him.

You declined, as you always did.

Yet he persisted—again and again—until you relented, if only to silence his incessant requests.

The moment you agreed, he had the audacity to grin, as if he had won some great battle.

And then, just as you should have expected, the little thief stole one of your fans. Again.

His so-called "date" was nothing more than a chase, a string of cryptic clues leading you across town in pursuit of your stolen tessen.

Irritation simmered beneath your composed exterior, but there was nothing to do except play along.

...Perhaps you hated to admit it, but a part of you was intrigued.

This bastard.

The final clue did not lead to your fan.

Instead, it guided you to a secluded cliffside, bathed in the dying light of the sun, where the wind whispered through the trees in soft, reverent tones.

He was waiting there, your fan in hand, grinning as if he hadn't just forced you into a wild chase.

You should have strangled him.

Instead, you stood there, gaze lingering on the serene beauty of the place he had led you to.

It was infuriating. It was endearing.

"You went through all this effort," you finally said, voice steady as ever, "for what purpose?"

He shrugged, tossing your fan back to you with a casual ease. "Wanted to spend time with you."

You caught it effortlessly, fingers brushing over the familiar weight of the metal. "...And you thought stealing from me would be the best approach."

He grinned. "It got you here, didn't it?"

You exhaled slowly. He was insufferable. Yet, as the wind stirred through your hair and the sun dipped lower on the horizon, you could not find it in yourself to be truly angry.

Not this time.

==================

[ Katana ]

— The phight had been difficult. A challenge, but not an impossible one. And yet, as you stood over him.

— "Well done," Katana murmured, pushing himself up from the ground, seemingly unfazed by the loss. "You're strong."

— You blinked, uncertain how to respond. Praise from an opponent was rare, and yet he delivered it without bitterness, as if he'd enjoyed the exchange.

— "Why do you act like that?" The words left your lips before you could stop them.

— Katana tilted his head slightly. "Like what?"

— You did not know what to say to that. He only watched you for a moment longer before he spoke again.

— "You drink coffee?"

— The question was abrupt, though not unwelcome. You considered it. Declining would be easy, but...

— "I do," you answered.

— "Then let me treat you."

— You had little reason to refuse, so you didn't.

— The café was quiet, and so was he. He didn't feel the need to fill the silence, and neither did you. The company was... pleasant. Settling.

— His eyes lingered on you at times. Not in a way that made you wary, but thoughtful. As if you reminded him of something. Or someone.

— Eventually, he spoke. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

— You said nothing at first. Let the words hang. Then, softly, "Who?"

— "Someone long gone," he said, voice unreadable. And that was all.

— The topic faded. Neither of you forced it back.

— There would be another matter to speak of, eventually.

— The True Eye Church.

— If things continued as they were, he suspected you might find your way to them. And if you did... you would not come back the same.

— Perhaps he should warn you. Before it was too late.

— But not now.

— For now, the coffee was warm, and the silence was good.

===============

[ Slingshot ]

This prankster.

This little shit.

This CATBOY BITCH.

He said you'd be helping him at his café.

What he didn't mention was that you weren't going to be paid by the end of the day—and that he had roped you into working one of the busiest shifts the café had ever seen.

The moment you realized this deception, you turned your gaze on him, expression unreadable yet carrying the weight of divine judgment. Slingshot only grinned back, completely unrepentant.

"C'mon, it's not that bad! Look, you're getting real-world experience!" he chirped, tail flicking behind him.

You didn't respond. Instead, you took the next customer's order with the same cold, meticulous efficiency as before. The way you stared down those who tested your patience was almost eerie. If looks could smite, half the customers would've been reduced to ash.

Slingshot watched with barely contained amusement. He wished he could do that when dealing with difficult customers instead of forcing a smile.

As compensation for your "selfless sacrifice," he crafted a custom batch of baked treats, tailored precisely to your preferences. The aroma alone was tempting, but you remained composed, as always.

He slid the tray toward you, ears flicking forward expectantly. "There. My way of saying thanks~!"

You regarded the offering before picking up a delicately frosted pastry. "Next time," you said, voice smooth and quiet, "you will compensate me with proper wages."

Slingshot chuckled. "Nah, I think I'll just keep paying you in sweets. You don't seem to hate it, y'know."

You said nothing, but as you took a bite, his grin widened. He took that as a victory.

...Next time, you would not be working for free.

================================================================================

Part 5 - Neutrals and Idols 

[ Rocket ]

— Rocket took full advantage of his youth, one might say.

— He had suggested urban exploration, leading you both to the remains of an abandoned school.

— It was entertaining—until it was not.

— He had been grateful that your horn jewelry emitted a steady glow in the dark. (In reality, it was your halo.)

— The two of you had idly toyed with an old chalkboard, only to discover a concealed passage behind it.

— The overwhelming presence of black mold was... quite the deterrent.

— Nevertheless, you both lingered for another thirty minutes before finally deciding to leave.

— Rocket, convinced that something was pursuing you both, had made the unfortunate realization that he had neglected to bring his gear.

— In hindsight, the experience had been enjoyable.

— Oddly enough, Zuka did not reprimand him for unlawfully entering the building.

— You supposed Rocket had always been this way, even before Zuka adopted him. Sword had vaguely alluded to his past—something about being quite the explosionist? You failed to recall the exact term.

— Rocket, however, seemed unfazed, recounting the night's events with an enthusiasm undampened by the risk involved.

— You observed him in silence, hands clasped neatly before you as you listened.

— "Would you do it again?" you finally inquired, your tone even.

— Rocket blinked at you, then grinned. "What, break into creepy places? Hell yeah."

— You considered this. "A questionable decision."

— "C'mon, admit it, you had fun."

— "I do not experience 'fun' in the way you do."

— "Okay, sure," he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Bet you were totally unfazed the whole time, huh?"

— You refrained from informing him that you had been aware of a presence in the abandoned school—something unseen, lingering just beyond mortal perception.

— Whatever it was, it had remained at a distance. Watching.

— "Perhaps," you replied instead, the soft glow of your 'jewelry' flickering ever so slightly.

— Rocket nudged you with his elbow. "See? You're already getting used to my kind of fun."

— You did not correct him.

===================================

[ Ban Hammer ]

His idea of a date was unconventional, to say the least.

By 'unconventional,' you mean him teaching you how to play golf.

The only problem was that the two of you were in the Banlands, and most of the golf balls rolled off into the abyss.

He didn't blame you. If anything, he seemed amused.

You could tell that beneath his blindfold, his gaze lingered elsewhere.

An empty cage.

You wondered who had escaped.

Probably someone Ban Hammer truly despised.

You said nothing. It was not your place to question.

"Well, that's annoying," he muttered, tapping the end of his club against the cracked ground. "Guess I'll have to get that fixed."

The wind whistled through the Banlands, carrying the distant echoes of voices—some trapped, some long gone.

You did not flinch when a shadow darted past the rocks. You had already sensed them.

Ban Hammer, however, turned his head slightly. "Tch. Rats."

You observed him as he sighed and stretched, as if this was nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Want to help me hunt them down?" he asked, only half-serious.

You shook your head. "I was sent to observe, not interfere."

"Yeah, yeah. You're no fun."

He said that, yet he never pressed you further.

Another golf ball rolled off into the abyss. Ban Hammer let it go, exhaling slowly.

"Well," he said at last, his voice laced with something unreadable, "I hope they know they won't get far."

You did not doubt him.

=================================

[ Valk ]

Awh. He's a sweetheart. A little too much sometimes, but you suppose there are worse things to tolerate.

He rented out an entire venue just so the two of you could enjoy yourselves in peace. "Figured you wouldn't like all the noise," he had said with a cheeky grin, knowing well that large crowds made you uneasy. You weren't sure how to feel about the extravagance, but the thoughtfulness behind it made you pause. Guess being an idol had its perks.

"Are you an angel? 'Cause I think I just ascended lookin' at you." A pause. Then a mischievous laugh as he leans in slightly. "Wait. Wait. That was actually smooth, right?"

It wasn't.

"If I had a halo," you say, voice even, "it would dim after hearing that."

He groans in defeat, but you catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.

Valk often told you he'd bring you a Lovedove when he had the time to visit Playground. You always declined, reminding him it wasn't necessary. "Oh, c'mon," he'd insist, "it's the ultimate symbol of love 'n' devotion. You can't say no to that."

And yet, you knew him well enough—he was going to get you one anyway.

He paid for everything despite your insistence that you could handle it yourself. "Nah, nah, I got it," he'd say with a wave of his hand, like it wasn't up for debate. "What kinda guy would I be if I let my angel pay?"

You stiffened slightly at the word. He had no idea how close to the truth he was.

"Unnecessary," you murmured, but he was already handing over his card.

"Too bad," he said, flashing a wink.

Overall, he was silly and wholesome. A complete contrast to your quiet, formal nature.

"You don't laugh much, do you?" he noted once, tapping a rhythm against the table.

"No."

"Not even a chuckle?"

"Not often."

He hummed, thoughtful. "Guess that just means I gotta work harder."

You didn't doubt that he would.

==============

[ Dom ]

No, because he is the perfect date.

Politely asks you out to a romantic dinner, voice calm but expectant, eyes watching for the slightest shift in your expression.

Actually brings you roses—deep crimson, the petals still dewy, as if freshly plucked from a garden bathed in moonlight. He doesn't just hand them to you; he holds them out carefully, as if afraid you might not take them.

Offers to help you choose an outfit, but surprisingly, he's not overbearing about it. "Something comfortable, but elegant. Dark colors would suit you." He pauses, hesitating. "Or... something light. Celestial, maybe." He doesn't know why he says that. You do.

Takes some actually helpful advice from his brother, Valk. "Don't be too quiet Don't be too stiff either. Just—be normal." Dom tries. He really does.

Pays for the entire dinner despite your insistence otherwise. "Don't argue," he says, smirking but firm. "Let me be a gentleman, just this once." As if it's something rare, but you know better.

If you're quieter than he expected, more reserved than he prepared for, he apologizes—not with words, but with action. The next day, he finds you again, a small box of chocolates in hand. "You like these, right?" He asks, though he's not sure. A lucky guess. One that hits its mark.

Instead of another outing filled with crowds and noise, he leads you through a park lined with rosebushes, their scent carried by the wind. The lamplight is soft, the air cool. He walks beside you, hands in his pockets, gaze flickering between you and the sky. "You like quiet places, don't you?"

He doesn't know why he feels the need to be careful with you. He doesn't know why your presence stills something restless in his chest. But he knows, for reasons beyond him, that he wants to understand you more.

================================================================================

Part 6 - OCs 

[ Palette ]

They had some help from Boombox dragging you out of the apartment you and Boombox shared. You hadn't been particularly resistant, but your unreadable expression had made them antsy the entire time.

They painted you a fucking mural. An entire wall covered in colors that melted into one another, abstract shapes forming wings, halos, stars—things that made your stomach twist in a way you didn't quite understand. It was loud, chaotic, and entirely them. They had tried to play it off like it wasn't a big deal, but their shifting gaze betrayed their nerves.

They wanted to be casual about asking you out, but they had the terrible misfortune of taking Paintball's advice to "go all out"—which led to the grand reveal of the mural and a stammered, "so, uh... wanna go out sometime?"

Despite their sheer fear of being called corny or getting rejected, you agreed. Their shoulders sagged in visible relief, and they covered their face with their hands before exhaling a muffled, "Holy shit, okay."

Their idea of a date was a private yet simple art class.

Half of the class was structured, with them attempting to actually teach you something. The other half was a mess—midway through a brushstroke, their mind would wander, and suddenly, they were explaining an entirely different technique. You had to reach out, tap their wrist, and murmur, "Focus, Palette." They would blink at you, flustered, before laughing and returning to the original lesson.

The two of you painted each other. They were all exaggerated color and emotion, making you look something like a celestial being dipped in neon. Your rendition of them was softer, more refined. When they saw it, they turned red and muttered something about how you were too good at this.

They treated you to a candy store afterward, practically vibrating with excitement as they shoved different sweets into your hands. "Try this—no, wait, this one—actually, hold on, this one is my favorite—" You indulged them, trying each one with quiet amusement.

They also dragged you down Artist Alley, where the two of you collaborated on a chaotic mural. They were all instinct and splattered paint, while you approached it with quiet precision, adding deliberate strokes that somehow balanced out their reckless creativity. The end result was a perfect storm of both of you—something wild but strangely harmonious.

As the night wound down, they insisted on walking you home. The silence between you was comfortable, the city lights casting long shadows on the pavement. They kept sneaking glances at you, as if still unsure if this had really happened.

At your door, they hesitated. Then, with uncharacteristic shyness, they murmured, "This was fun. We should... do this again, yeah?"

You inclined your head, offering them the smallest of smiles. "Yes. We should."

They left looking like they had just won the lottery.

====================

[ Paintball ]

SHOPPING!

Paintball is the kind of guy who'll take you out on short notice. No planning, no warnings—just a text saying, "Hey, meet me in ten, we're going out," followed by a rapid-fire of emojis that make little sense together.

He's got a good stash of cash from Phights and costume designing, and he spends it recklessly. On you, mostly. It's never even a question—if you so much as glance at something for too long, he's already dragging you over with a grin, throwing his card down like it's nothing. Clothes? Got it. Fabrics that catch your eye? He's already thinking of what he can make for you. Horn jewelry? He picks out pieces that match your whole mysterious and untouchable vibe, grinning as he hooks them onto your fingers with a little flourish.

"Gotta make sure my favorite person's dressed their best," he says, nudging you with his elbow.

He taught you how to stitch up tears in case your cloak ever gets ruined. You don't speak much, just listen carefully, hands steady as you mimic the movements he shows you. The way your fingers move with precision makes him whistle, impressed.

"Damn, you pick up fast. You sure you don't got some secret past life as a tailor or somethin'?"

Despite being chaotic and carefree, he goes all out trying to be on his best behavior around you. It's almost funny, the way he tries to rein himself in—no shouting, no running through aisles like a whirlwind, no reckless spending (okay, maybe just a little). It's like watching a storm try to stay contained in a teacup.

"I'm behaving," he insists when you give him a look after he nearly knocks over a display. "This is me behaving."

The two of you stop by a small tailor's shop, and Paintball insists on getting your measurements for something special. He doesn't tell you what, just grins like he's up to something. You let him do as he pleases, standing still as he flits around, measuring fabric against your shoulders, adjusting lengths, and scribbling notes with surprising focus.

"You trust me, right?" he asks, holding a deep midnight blue fabric against your arm.

"...Should I?"

"Ouch. That's cold, Tessen. But yeah, you totally should."

You glance at the mirror, your reflection a composed figure amidst Paintball's buzzing energy. A quiet guardian. An angel among mortals, though no one knows the truth.

And yet, as he turns back to you, grinning and excited, you find yourself indulging in this moment of normalcy. Even angels deserve that, don't they?

===========================

[ Archer ]

Birdwatching!!!

He had invited you out early, just as the sun broke past the horizon, the air still cool and crisp. You had no objections. You enjoyed the quiet, and so did he.

Lovedoves were his favorite—small, soft-colored birds native to Playground.

Even after birdwatching, he invited you back to his place for dinner. It was a habit by now. You never refused.

His twin sister, Launchpad, was gone for the day, leaving him to make do with whatever ingredients he had left. You helped—silent, efficient. He worked around you with quiet ease.

The food was good. It always was.

He wasn't the kind of quiet that left space empty. He was the kind of quiet that filled a room with warmth. You found it agreeable.

Conversations rarely started with him. It was you who spoke first, always. He never minded. If you asked, he answered.

He had, on occasion, asked why your Phinisher resembled Medkit's. You merely shrugged, the answer locked behind a gaze unreadable. You knew. He wouldn't press.

He had an African Grey parrot. A clever bird, perceptive. It tilted its head when you entered, as if sensing something unseen. He let you hold it, and the weight in your hands felt heavier than it should.

When you asked about birds, he told you everything he knew. His voice, steady and soft, carried the knowledge like a lullaby. You listened, unmoving, absorbing.

In moments like these, when he spoke and you listened, when the world outside was distant, you wondered.

If he ever knew what you were—would he look at you differently?

======================

[ Launchpad ]

She did not know what to do.

Truthfully, she had almost given up—until an idea struck her. If nothing else, she could share one of her favorite pastimes with you.

And so, she extended the invitation.

Spelunking. A bioluminescent cave, hidden somewhere off the beaten path, its location known only to a few. She asked if you would explore it with her.

You accepted.

The descent was uncertain at first. The uneven terrain, the cool dampness of the cave air, the weight of silence pressing against you—it required patience, adjustment. But soon enough, you found your rhythm, mirroring her careful steps.

And then, the world opened up.

The cavern was breathtaking. The walls shimmered with faint, ethereal light, the glow of unseen life forms casting a dreamlike hue over the rocky formations. Pools of still water reflected the glow above, as if the stars themselves had taken refuge underground.

She glanced at you, as if gauging your reaction. You offered only a quiet nod of approval. It was... serene. You could appreciate that.

Afterward, she insisted on ice cream. It seemed an odd reward after such an excursion, but you did not protest. She seemed pleased, and that was enough.

Night had long since fallen, and neither of you had eaten properly. The solution? A convenience store dinner.

It was a peculiar experience—fluorescent lights buzzing above, the hum of a refrigerator case as she deliberated over her choices. You simply selected something practical, while she, after far too much consideration, made an excited noise and held up an instant meal like it was a treasure.

"This is gonna suck," she said, laughing as she set it in the microwave.

You watched her, then looked down at your own selection. "Perhaps," you mused. "But sustenance is sustenance."

She snickered. "You talk funny."

You did not respond to that.

Sitting on the curb outside, sharing a meal under the glow of streetlights, there was something almost... peaceful about the moment. Uncomplicated.

She leaned back, looking up at the sky. "Y'know, this was fun. You should do stuff like this with me more often."

You took a measured bite of your food, considering. "I suppose there is no harm in it."

She grinned. "I'll hold you to that, then."

The night stretched on, quiet and calm. You let it.

==================

[ Sparkplug ]

You spent the entire day in her shop, the scent of oil and metal thick in the air, settling into the corners like dust.

She taught you the basics of machinery, how to take apart an engine without breaking it, how to listen to the quiet murmurs of a machine and tell what was wrong. You handed her tools without needing to be asked, your movements precise, your gaze steady. She spoke in a stream of thoughts—sometimes meaningless, sometimes profound. You listened, answering only when necessary, your voice calm and measured.

Lunch and dinner were both takeout delivered to her place. She paid for lunch; you paid for dinner. A quiet balance, unspoken but understood.

More often than not, before she could so much as take a sip of water, you reached out with a clean rag, wiping away the smudges of oil and grime from her cheek. She never flinched, only grinned up at you, her eyes bright with something unspoken.

She's sweet, really. Brash, a little chaotic, but warm in a way that made even a celestial being pause.

At some point in the evening, she sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back on her hands, exhausted but content. "Y'know," she mused, staring up at the ceiling fan creaking above, "you're kinda weird."

You tilted your head. "How so?"

"You're real quiet. Real put-together. Feels like you ain't ever tired, either." She rolled onto her side, resting her cheek against her palm. "Like you're not from here."

Your fingers stilled around the tool you were holding. It was a near miss. Not an accusation, but an observation. You looked at her, and she met your gaze, unafraid, curious.

"I'm just me," you replied evenly.

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, yeah. Mysterious and all that. But hey—" she nudged your knee with her boot, "—whatever. You can be an alien or a ghost or somethin' for all I care. You're good company."

The words settled between you like something solid, something real. An acknowledgment. You had been sent to watch over her, and yet, despite the difference in your existence, she had chosen to accept you without question.

"And you are... interesting," you admitted, watching as she grinned at you, the grease still smeared across her knuckles, her hair a mess.

She laughed. "I'll take it."

======================================

[ Anchor ]

Fishing!

He takes you out on his boat, the wooden deck worn smooth by time and salt. The gentle rocking of the waves makes it feel unsteady beneath your feet, but he moves with ease, guiding you to where the fishing rods are kept.

"You ever fished before?" he asks, flashing a grin.

You shake your head. "I have observed it before," you say, voice as composed as ever.

He chuckles. "Observing ain't the same as doing." With practiced ease, he shows you how to cast the line, how to feel for the tug of a fish. You mimic his movements, hands steady, expression unreadable.

The wait is long, the air filled only with the sound of waves and the occasional cry of a seagull. You don't mind the silence. You find it comforting.

When you finally catch something, he cheers. "Look at that! Not bad for your first time."

You merely nod, examining the fish with quiet curiosity. It struggles weakly in your grasp before he helps you unhook it and set it aside for later.

After a while, with the sun now high overhead, he leans back and stretches. "Hot day, huh? You should come for a swim."

You shake your head. "I will stay here."

"Not a fan of water?" he teases.

"Something like that."

He shrugs, not pressing further, and moves to the side of the boat. Before he can so much as dip a toe in, his foot slips against the damp wood, and he topples overboard with a surprised yelp.

There's a loud splash, water spraying up onto the deck. You blink, watching as he resurfaces, sputtering.

"Well," he breathes, "that wasn't planned."

You extend a hand to help him back onto the boat. "Are you injured?"

He laughs. "Nah, just my pride."

You remain still as he hauls himself up, water dripping from his clothes. The sun glistens off his skin, droplets sliding down in rivulets. He exhales, shaking his head. "You sure you don't wanna jump in? Feels real nice."

"I am certain."

He grins, "Suit yourself."

Once he's dried off and the fish are cleaned, he starts up a small grill on the boat, cooking your catch. The smell of sizzling fish fills the salty air, and you eat together in companionable silence.

As the sun begins its descent, he steers the boat back toward the shore. The waves lap gently against the hull, the sky painted in soft shades of pink and gold.

"Y'know," he muses, leaning on the side of the boat, "you should go diving with me sometime."

You glance at him, unreadable as always. "I would prefer to remain above the water."

"You say that now," he says, nudging you lightly with his elbow. "But I bet I could change your mind."

You say nothing, only watching as the shore draws near. The ocean stretches endlessly behind you, dark and deep—like a world you do not belong to.

==============================

Anyway other OCs I'll do next time or never

Imma go back to writing the Phight
yall can wait till april yea

cool

bye