#(taking a break here i think eventually after like twenty years they gradually stop having regular sex. queens of lesbian bed death)

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

Kirk and spock are soooo low maintenence you have no idea

[vickyvicarious]

Dantes said, "I wish to die," and had chosen the manner of his death, and fearful of changing his mind, he had taken an oath to die. "When my morning and evening meals are brought," thought he, "I will cast them out of the window, and they will think that I have eaten them."

He kept his word; twice a day he cast out, through the barred aperture, the provisions his jailer brought him—at first gayly, then with deliberation, and at last with regret. Nothing but the recollection of his oath gave him strength to proceed. Hunger made viands once repugnant, now acceptable; he held the plate in his hand for an hour at a time, and gazed thoughtfully at the morsel of bad meat, of tainted fish, of black and mouldy bread. It was the last yearning for life contending with the resolution of despair; then his dungeon seemed less sombre, his prospects less desperate. He was still young—he was only four or five and twenty—he had nearly fifty years to live. What unforseen events might not open his prison door, and restore him to liberty? Then he raised to his lips the repast that, like a voluntary Tantalus, he refused himself; but he thought of his oath, and he would not break it. He persisted until, at last, he had not sufficient strength to rise and cast his supper out of the loophole. The next morning he could not see or hear; the jailer feared he was dangerously ill. Edmond hoped he was dying.

vs

They both came immediately, M. Morrel bringing a doctor, and the doctor said it was inflammation of the bowels, and ordered him a limited diet. I was there, too, and I never shall forget the old man's smile at this prescription. From that time he received all who came; he had an excuse for not eating any more; the doctor had put him on a diet."

+

But availing himself of the doctor's order, the old man would not take any sustenance; at length (after nine days of despair and fasting), the old man died, cursing those who had caused his misery, and saying to Mercedes, 'If you ever see my Edmond again, tell him I die blessing him.' The abbe rose from his chair, made two turns round the chamber, and pressed his trembling hand against his parched throat. "And you believe he died"—

"Of hunger, sir, of hunger," said Caderousse. "I am as certain of it as that we two are Christians."

Dad Dantes died the same way Edmond nearly did: starvation. And while to an extent it was due to lack of money, he did have other options. No, he chose to die, just like Edmond.

That's not the only echo here by any means. Caderousse checking in on him and feeling pity but Dad Dantes disliking him and being unwilling to accept his attempt at comfort mimics Edmond's opinion of his jailer who did pity him to an extent as well. They both tried to trick the people around them in order to ensure no one stopped their suicide (Edmond by throwing the food out the window, Dad Dantes with the doctor's order). Their attitudes towards their starvation follow a similar path: first joy, then solemnity/despair, and finally regret/cursing those who caused this. Dad Dantes and Edmond both wanted revenge. They both prayed miserably and hopelessly. They both eventually assumed the other was probably dead.

Then we have the mirror images... Dad Dantes kept himself jailed in his rooms, refusing to leave; Edmond was unable to leave despite wishing for nothing more. Dad Dantes rejected his visitors, depriving himself of company; Edmond was going mad from loneliness and begging to be allowed to see other people. Dad Dantes sold off his belongings, gradually losing all the remnants of the career he'd once had; after meeting Faria, Edmond acquired more and more knowledge and even possessions. Edmond's suicide by starvation was called off due to the arrival of a father figure; Dad Dantes died with his last words for the son he never saw again. Probably the most heartbreaking one for me, however understandable it is... Dad Dantes was certain that he would be the first one his son would come to see if he could, while Edmond spent months after his escape in pursuit of the treasure first (of course, he was long dead by this time, and of course Edmond did go to his house first once he returned and even bought it again, but it still breaks my heart).

[bbdaydreams]

Courage My Love// Semi Eita

Pairing: Semi Eita x Reader

Summary: You like Semi and come up with a plan to confess to him, unfortunately it takes a turn. You meet again a couple years later by chance.

Chapter Six: Shape Up

Series Masterlist•<previous•next>

“Alrighty, your food will be ready shorty,” the waitress spoke before leaving with the booklets and you all thanked her.

Semi and you still haven’t had a real conversation since sitting down at the table together, just mumbling some words to get through the night which Taka took notice of. “Are you two nervous or something? It’s alright, I’m not scary and you guys don’t look scary. Enjoy yourselves please, besides this is all our treat to you guys.” Feeling guilty for your behavior you immediately apologized to Taka and his band mates and thanked them again for the invitation. Semi did the same as well. You’re both just gonna have to fake it. “It’s okay! We’re going to be spending a lot of time together so I think it’d be cool if we could get to know each other, where are you from? I’m from Tokyo.”

“Miyagi,” you and Semi answered at the same time.

“Oh! Have you guys met before or anything?”

“We went to the same high school,” Semi answered causing you to internally face palm.

“That’s crazy! Were you two friends?”

“We were. Then we lost touch when we graduated. You know, busy busy,” you spoke up before Semi could. The last thing you want was someone you look up to questioning your past drama. Just seeing Semi was enough to remind you of how things went down all those years ago.

“Yeah, this is actually our first time seeing each other since then.”

“Wow, now I’m the odd man out,” Taka laughed to which you did too. While laughing you felt something poke your side.

Semi was sneakily trying to hand you his phone. Semi started branching off to a different conversation with Taka to distract him which you know he did so you could look at his phone without suspicion since everyone else was having their own conversations. You took a quick glance at the text message he typed to someone but didn’t send.

“Can we talk after this?”

You glided your eyes back onto the two singers, focusing more on the ash blonde. You two haven’t spoken in six years, what could he have to say, you asked yourself. Starting to think out every logical scenario you could, you thought that he just wanted to get the confrontation out of the way so you could both do this tour without any issues. Whatever happens, you know that even if you say no, you’d have to talk to him eventually. Might as well get it over with sooner than later so you typed your response.

“Yeah seriously thank you so much for listening to my band too. I’m so glad you like us. I’m actually a big fan of your music,” you spoke, jumping into the conversation so you could pass Semi his phone back with ease under the table.

“Thank you. I really liked your voices and wanted you guys to join me for the last song on our set list. It’s one of the new songs off the latest album,” Taka explained.

“Which song is it?” You asked excitedly.

“Take What You Want. We made the song with 5 Seconds of Summer but I think you guys would sound really good doing their parts.”

“I’m so down!”

“Sounds good to me,” Semi added, amused by your enthusiasm.

“Here’s your food,” the waitress spoke as she set down your plates with the help of another waiter. You all thanked them for the food before enjoying your meals.

The rest of the dinner was actually quite enjoyable. From what you could tell, Haruka and Jiro were mostly catching up with each other, which you understood since they were close their final year of high school. Tomo and Toru of One Ok Rock seemed to enjoy the stories Izumi was telling them while Ryota and Yui were having fun helping Ranmaru and Subaru practice their English. You loved talking with Taka. He was really easy to get along with and made it much easier to break the ice with Semi. You all finished your meals and left the restaurant together.

“That was the best meal I’ve had in forever!” Izumi announced when everybody was outside.

“Right? I cant way to try more food!” Jiro added on.

“What do you say guys?” You and Semi said simultaneously, crossing your arms and turning from each other.

“Thank you,” Your band members said all together.

“It’s nothing really,” Toru started.

“Yeah, we’re glad we got to meet like this,” Tomo added.

“We had a lot of fun tonight. Can’t wait to see what the rest of the tour will be like,” Ryota continued.

“You’re still very welcome. We’ll see you all tomorrow at the venue. Eita, Y/n, don’t forget, two in the afternoon for rehearsal. We’re heading back to our bus so good night,” Taka finished. The guys in One Ok Rock all waved you guys goodbye before heading off.

“They were really nice,” Subaru spoke.

“Yeah, this’ll be so exciting. It’s your guys first time in the US right?” Yui asked Won’t Regret.

“Yeah, thanks again for helping us practice,” Ranmaru said.

“No worries. You can ask us for help if needed.”

“Do you guys want us to walk you to your bus? It’s dark out,” Jiro offered, looking at Haruka for a response.

She smiled at him before responding, “Jiro you’re funny, our buses are in the same lot. We might as well just walk in a group.”

“Girls, you can head off. I’m gonna talk with Semi so I’ll catch up later.”

Yui was the first one to give you a worried look, wondering if you were fine being alone with him. Izumi and Haruka looked confused and curious. From what they knew, you haven’t been in contact with Semi since high school. Tendou was the one that mostly helped you through grieving the loss of your best friend but they could recognize the look of nostalgia in your eyes when you reminisced on old memories with him. They know you were strong, but it was a pain that never completely went away.

“How long?” Izumi asked.

“It might be a while,” Semi answered. “I’ll walk her back straight to your bus, don’t worry.”

The girls reluctantly let left you with Semi while the rest of boys accompanied them. As the groups walked away they would occasionally turn their heads back to the two of you out of curiosity to see what was going to happen. You were known for having a laid back attitude but stepping up and becoming assertive if need be in less than a second. Semi was typically pretty patient with you but it’s best to be careful since he has a shorter fuse.

“Hi,” Semi started awkwardly once his everyone was out of sight.

“Hey,” you responded in the same tone.

“Wanna go sit on that bench? Also, how’ve you been?”

“Yeah, and I’ve been good. You?”

He started walking across the street after looking both ways. “I’m doing great. How’s Tendou? Congrats on your marriage, by the way.”

“Marriage?” You asked confused.

“Didn’t you and Tendou get married and have a honeymoon in France?”

You let out a laugh before responding. “Tendou and I have been broken up for like three years now dude. I’ve never gone to France with Tendou, he went for his career and now lives there. I’ve only gone if it was for touring. Where’d you get that idea from?” You asked, gradually laughing harder resulting in Semi feeling relief. Half of it being that you might be single and the other part being that the laughing is a good sign that you’re willing to humor him.

“I saw he posted pictures of himself with the Eiffel Tower and stuff so I just assumed,” he chuckled along.

“Yeah but wouldn’t it make sense if I was in those pictures with him? I probably would’ve posted a picture of my ring too.”

“You know I follow you still?”

“Yeah, I pay attention to my notifications sometimes. I’ll be honest though, I did unfollow you.”

“Understandable,” Semi sighed.

You both went quiet after that, getting comfortable on the metal bench. Taking note of his expression, you took the lead for conversation. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh uh, I wanted to apologize,” he responded, grateful for the dim lighting so his blush wouldn’t be super noticeable.

“Well, I’m listening,” you said before crossing your arms in a playful manor.

“I’m sorry for calling you a bitch. I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I’m sorry for saying all that petty shit and hurting you. I’m sorry for all the pain I gave you. You know that saying that’s like ‘you don’t know what you have until you lose it?’ Well I lost you, and that was my biggest regret. All these years-“

“Semi, you can stop-“ you interrupted not expecting him to go on a full on rant for an apology. You were fine with a simple ‘I’m sorry’. Never would you have expected the ash blonde to list out every thing he did wrong. It was high school, that’s when mistakes are meant to be made because you learn from them. After walking the earth for twenty four years, you couldn’t give less of a shit about the things that happened. You grew up, you were over it, you have other things to focus on than hold onto a grudge because someone hurt you.

“Let me finish. Please. All these years I never tried to reach out to you because I think you made it clear that you didn’t want to speak to me and I respect that but oh my god I’m so proud of you. You’ve accomplished so much. You’ve traveled around the world, living your dream. I know we may have ended on bad terms but I have never, not once, ever wished for your life to take a turn for the worst. I’m genuinely so happy for you. I’m just so, so, sor- What? Why are you crying? I’m the one apologizing!” he asked, raising his hands to wipe your tears.

While listening to him all you could think about was how guilty you felt. “Because I’m sorry,” You answered, grabbing his wrists to pull them away from your face so you could wipe your own tears. “I’m sorry for pushing you away. I’m sorry for not reaching out either. I’m sorry for almost starting a physical fight with you.” You were letting all your frustrations out at this point from all the emotions you had built up inside you. While you had to admit you were upset with him, you were the one that started it. “I shouldn’t have said what I said the night of the talent show. I should’ve told you the truth. I started this. I’m the one at fault.”

“Y/n...” Semi wrapped his arms around your back, using one hand to guide your face into his chest to help you calm down. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” His voice was soft, different compared to the way he was speaking before. His task at hand was just to focus on you. “I missed you,” he spoke.

“I hmff ugh oo,” you responded, head still buried in his chest.

“What?”

You pulled away from him and straightened your back. “I said I missed you too.” You took a couple seconds to look at him. He looked almost exactly the same as he did back then. The only differences you could tell were that his hair was longer and he looked more mature, maybe a little buffer. It was somewhat comforting. “I don’t get it. I told myself I should hate you after all that happened but I could never bring myself to accept it. It’s weird that we’re talking with little difficulty right now to each other.”

“Little difficulty? I’m not gonna lie, my heart is beating so fast right now. I was so nervous to even hand you my phone at the table,” Semi laughed, eyes not looking away from your form laughing into your hand. “I don’t get it either though. I honestly thought you were gonna hate me and yell at me like, do you really forgive me?”

“How do I say this?” You asked yourself before taking a deep breath to answer his question. “After graduating and experiencing the real world, I realized I don’t need to focus on high school bullshit. We were so young-“

“Now you’re making me feel old.”

“Shut up! We were just teens. Now we’re adults, ya know? With bills to pay and actual responsibility. I’d rather focus on me, myself now than what happened in high school. Am I gonna forget it? No, it helped build the person I am now. Can I forgive? I may be a petty bitch and say I don’t wanna but what’s that gonna do for me? Nothing so I might as well.” After giving your long explanation you looked at him again and took in his features, old happy memories flooding back to you.

“Do you think we start over?” Semi asked hopefully.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, I’m Semi Eita. I play in a band and I’m a bit of an asshole sometimes. What’s your name?”

“I’m L/n Y/n and I also play in a band and can sometimes be a bitch,” you responded with a laugh.

“It’s nice to meet you. Can I walk you to where you need to be?” he asked, getting up and putting his hand out to help you up.

“Sure, that’d be really nice.”

After he helped you up, you started walking towards your bus with Semi walking right next to you. “Hey I’m actually playing a show tomorrow night, you should check us out!”

“No way, what time?” You asked deciding to play along.

“Like seven but you know how it goes, it’ll probably be more like seven-fifteen.”

“Ugh that’s annoying. Can you come to mine? I think I play at like eight.”

“Sure, dude. Anything for my bestie.”

“Aight I’m done. Bestie is too far, dude.”

“What! I can’t call you my bestie even though we just reunited six years after not seeing each other?”

“Correct. We can be ‘friends’,” you said, using your fingers to put air quotes, “but honestly I’m still on edge. Like after we went our separate ways it was hard for me to reconnect with people because it hurt when we ended things. I don’t wanna go through that again.”

Semi sighed, “I get that. Sorry again. I promise I won’t do that again.”

“It’s okay. And you better. Or else we’re really throwing hands,” you teased.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Don’t make me go all WWE on you!”

“Oh my god Semi, is that a threat?”

“Y/n!” Izumi yelled which made you focus on your tour bus. The girls had each opened a window to stick their head out of and wait for your arrival.

“Are you okay?” Haruka asked.

“Do you want back up?” Yui followed up.

“I’m joking, Yui,” Semi said, putting his hands up in defense.

“You better, or else I’m gonna be the one fighting for y/n,” Haruka warned with a glare.

“I guess this is goodnight, Semi. You don’t want to throw hands with Haruka, she’s pretty buff. Thanks again. See you around,” you said as you waved him goodbye and hopped on the bus.

“See ya,” Semi responded. He turned around and threw his head upwards to the night sky and let out a sigh before walking to his bus.

Yui with her head still out of the window took notice of how Semi relaxed after you left him. “Hey, girly,” she started, getting up from her spot after closing the window. “You okay? How’d it go?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. It actually went surprisingly well.”

“That’s good news!” Izumi cheered.

“So are you friends again?” Haruka asked.

“Hmm, I guess so? We’re basically just starting over.”

“This tour is gonna be interesting,” Yui finished.

Getting back onto his bus, Semi immediately felt three pairs of eyes glued on him. Jiro set his Nintendo switch down while Subaru put his phone on his lap and Ranmaru stood up.

“We’ve been expecting you,” Ranmaru started with a straight face.

“Yeah!” Jiro added only to be shushed by Subaru.

“Well... good news?” Semi responded, not knowing what to make of the way his band mates were acting.

“Go on...” Subaru said, this time being shushed by Jiro.

“First, I’m gonna be a guest vocal for One Ok Rock with Y/n during their last song. Second, I told Y/n everything I needed to say. We’re friends again. We’re all good,” Semi said with a smile.

Ranmaru took a few steps closer to Semi before lovingly slapping his back. “Proud of you, bro.”

“Woooo! Go Eita!” Jiro jumped up to hype up his bandmate.

“Awesome!” Subaru finished. “Happy for you man. Now, I hate to be the mom here, but we should get to bed. Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.”

“Good job guys!” Taka said, patting both of your backs.

“Thank you! Is there anything you want us to change?” You asked.

“Hmm, nah. I know most people say practice makes perfect but I think as the tour goes on we’ll improve the performance each night.”

“Sounds good,” Semi said.

“Can I give some feedback?” You asked. Taka and Semi both gave you a nod to go on. “You,” you pointed to Semi, “are being so stiff. It’s your first tour in the US. Loosen up! I’ll be blunt, if how to act now is how you’re gonna act during your set, which is the first one, you’re not gonna grab anyone’s attention. The majority of the crowd probably haven’t even heard of your band. You gotta draw them in.”

“I have to agree with her,” Taka joined in.

Semi grew wide eyed and turned a little red. You were about to speak up again but he beat you to it. “Sorry, I think I’m just nervous. This is all new to me,” he said, bringing a hand up to the back of his head.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to sound harsh! I just want you guys to grow. Being on tour right now is a big honor so I want you to get the most you can out of it. And-“

And you were rambling. Same old Y/n, Semi thought to himself, letting you ramble while he had a small smirk on his face, amused by the words you were speaking.

“Just perform how you would back then! I think if you brought that energy you’d really get a lot of people hooked!”

“Ya think so?”

“I know so. Can we try again but exaggerate our movements? This dude has to shape up.”

“I’ve heard so many stories about you mentoring the smaller bands, it’s nice to see that you live up to them,” Taka smiled.

“Thank you,” you responded with a blush. “Now Semi, follow our lead. And don’t let us down tonight.”

Taglist: @pluviophilefangirl @yourstarvic @sunaswife @mynscorner @syaziahvg @discountkiyoko

[comfy-whumpee]

Marissa

@ashintheairlikesnow thank you for the fic starter that ran away with the spoon. This is very first-draft but it exists and is canon.

TW: drugging, romantic whumper overtones.

Taglist: @lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @paingineering, @whumpywhumper

It takes all their courage to come back. No matter how many times they’re welcomed, no matter how many times they’re invited, they always have to brave it. They walk up the little paved stone path to the cottage, hands folded against their chest, debating. It can’t be a good idea to do this. It can’t be. She’ll be angry. She’ll turn them away.

 Northlight is a breeze blowing through normal people’s lives. They’re there for a lovely moment, and then they’re gone. They���re a shooting star, ephemeral, unattainable...irrevocable and yet inconstant.

 The plants on the windowsills inside cover most of the window panes, but the door is cleared and the frosted glass inset amongst the wood shows a tall figure with a peering face. Then the door opens.

 “North,” she says, her smile broad and soft like butter spread on toast. “It’s been so long. Come in, my love.”

 Northlight smiles nervously, stepping past the hanging rugs on the hallway walls. They follow to the kitchen, where she puts on a kettle to boil.

 She’s older. She used to be so strong, able to lift them without effort, carry them to bed, hold them tightly through their bitter nights of tears and terror. She used to show them how to exercise and build their strength until their body was something they controlled even when their chronology was not. She gave them skills and she gave them love, and she had so many of her own stories. Stories about the sky, their precious star-sailor.

She makes their tea how they have always liked it, two sugars and a sandwich on the side. She sits opposite them, and smiles, and reaches for their hand.

 They let her take it. She is still the same beautiful Marissa that they fell for years earlier.

 “I waited for you,” she says.

 The revelation makes their eyes widen. Something fragile and terrifying comes to rest on their chest. “Waited?”

 “Twenty years from the day you slipped away to this day now, when you’re here again. I should never have wasted a single moment I had with you. I missed you every day, North. Every day.”

 Every day? Nobody could care that much about Northlight. They’re just a breeze, light, momentary, gone, forgettable.

 “I worried, sometimes, that I’d hurt you. That I hadn’t been enough. You needed something stable, something to call home. I wanted to be that for you.”

 A home with her, forever? How long had they spent together the first time? They can’t remember.

 “I knew you’d come back.”

 Less than a month. It had definitely been less than a month.

 “Marissa, I...”

 They try to stand. The world turns sharply in one direction and the other, simultaneous, like a combination lock. They need to run, they have to - but their feet are glued to the ground, knowing against Northlight’s wishes that a single step will tip them over the edge into darkness.

 “It’s alright, North,” Marissa says, reaching out to tug them back down into the armchair. “I know you didn’t mean to leave me. I forgive you. I know you’ll never make that mistake again.”

 No, no, this was meant to be a visit, a brief reunion before she was gone. They’re not supposed to - she wasn’t - they’re in trouble. They drank the tea.

 Marissa stokes the fireplace, raking the embers together with a practised sweep. They watch, head tipped, world tilted. “Just relax. You’re home.”

 They don’t have a home. They never had a home.

 “Just relax.”

 But they can’t move anymore.

 -

 Whatever it is, it holds them down like their skin is sodden. Pinned to the bed they’d once shared, they lie staring at the ceiling, head back on the pillows, unable to lift it. It’s all they can do to swallow, breathe and blink.

 The room hasn’t changed. It’s painted lilac, one of their favourite colours. The furnishings are white with silver highlights, accents picked out along the edges of the bookshelves on the far wall, and in the decor like the flower vase on the sill. They stare absently at the clouds moving over that sky, and think about teleporting.

 Teleport once into the sky, once back to the ground a distance away. Fall, and repeat. Get away without the ability to move.

 Except it isn’t that simple. They can’t always teleport without momentum; it takes effort. If they end up with their face in the ground, they won’t be able to move it again. They’ll be trapped. If they can’t teleport fast enough, dizzy or confused, they’ll land hard, too.

 They look away from the clouds. Turning their eyes is manageable, thankfully. They look at the dotted ceiling and make shapes from the pattern.

 She comes in. She sits at the edge of the bed, worried but unrepentant. She holds their red scarf in her hands. They turn their eyes away, back to the clouds.

 “Who is this from, North?”

 They can’t answer. She must know it. The tone of her voice makes it sound like she’s worked it out, and she’s not happy. The scarf is simple wool and dye, hand-made, but into the end, a felt heart in matching red is sewn to the tip with white thread. She looked closely at that to see it.

 All their other treasures she has left in their pockets, not jealous enough to take even those away. But the scarf, she took.

 “It’s from someone who loved you, isn’t it? Someone from after we met. You didn’t have this scarf last time.”

 It’s been twenty years even for you. Don’t act so surprised.

 “I’m surprised. I thought you were different.”

 I never claimed to be different to anyone else. I’m just being me.

 “I thought we had something special, North. I told you everything. You asked for stories and I gave you them.”

 Don’t believe you’re above and beyond a millennia of people. Don’t believe you’re not just as special as any of the other people I loved. You had as much love as I had to give, and that should have been enough.

 “But it’s alright. You slipped away. You couldn’t help it. You can just stay here now, stay with me, and then you won’t need other people, will you?” She sits down on a chair opposite, folding her hands in her lap and tossing her hair. Her smile is star-bright and painful to look at. “I’m here.”

 Not how it works. They don’t have the energy to reply. They can barely move still. It’ll happen eventually. I’ll hit a barrier, a time I’ve been in before, and I’ll be gone.

 “So, North, tell me. What have you been up to while you were away. It’s been so long for me... Was it long for you?”

 Ugh. They force jaw and lips and tongue into coordinated motion. “Y-Yes.”

 “Oh...” For a moment, she seems thrown, and upset by the bluntness of their answer. Shouldn’t have drugged them. “How long?”

 “Dun-no.”

 “Oh.” She pauses, then smiles lightly. “Well that’s fine. You still came back.”

 And it was a mistake.

 -

 “You have to drink, North.”

 “C-Curse you.”

 “I’m just trying to help.”

 “Keep y’r poison.”

 Marissa sighs, shoulders dropping, and sets aside the water. Northlight keeps their eyes averted from it, knowing any hint of moisture will make their throat burn worse. It’s been nearly a full day with nothing to drink, and they know it’s the only reason they can move enough to talk right now.

 “Please, North,” she tries again after a minute. “You’ll get sick.”

 “Not as sick as-s you.”

 They don’t have to think about the rebuttals. They come easy and feel light, like tossing burdens from their shoulders. Marissa looks more pale and upset with each one, but that serves her right.

 They’re trying to sway, just a little, now that they can more again. They shift to the left with a careful push, and then flop back, allowing the momentum to carry them the other way. They bob like the tideline on a beach, and in each lean, then feel time begin to open, the gaps between eras, the cracks Northlight will slip through. Just a little more.

 Marissa grabs their shoulder and pain stabs through them life a stake. Northlight howls, a breathless sound, pathetically quiet, but still heavy with the shock of being hurt so badly out of nowhere. They even open their eyes, gracing her with the barest minimum of attention as she tries to hold them still. They breathe in gasps as her hand pulls away, and the sigil gradually burns down to a smoulder.

 “What’s wrong?” she asks, stupidly.

 She can’t know about the marks. She can’t know what they do. “Y-You poisoned me! Get your d-damned hands off me!”

 “There’s no need to scream!”

 “There is.” They catch their breath, and when she doesn’t immediately reply, start swaying again. Slowly, deliberately they build up their momentum.

 “Stop it,” she mutters.

 They’ve always done this. They need it, the security of being able to move, the freedom offered by the open pages of time, the control over their own body - not swaying when they want to is the same as holding into a hot plate when your instincts tell you to drop it before it burns.

 Marissa glowers at them petulantly, but she doesn’t grab them again. Instead, she gets up. “I’m making you more tea,” she says, blatant in her intentions.

 Northlight has been drugged plenty of times before. It’s one of the few ways to hold them down. They keep swaying, focused on the expand and contract of their time-slipping power. Expand and contract, open and close, blossom and wither with each move towards and away.

 This is dangerous. If they drop somewhere inhospitable, if could be hours before they get the energy to move and sway and jump again. But it’s better than being captive here until she dies, fawned over like a living treasure she can’t bear to lose. So they sway, and teeter on the edge of a new era, and fall back again steady in this time. Like a pendulum, they swing back, and forth, and on the last strike, as though they were marking the hour, they pass the amount of momentum needed to break through the eggshell of this era, and burst the bubble into the great flow of time.

 The instant later, they are in a forest, and they’re toppling to the ground as their legs can’t hold them. Their legs crumple, a knee hits their chin, and they roll unwillingly onto their side. Their head lands on their arm, level with a wild strawberry plant that’s just sprouted fruit, a little green gem dangling from its stem. They catch their breath as best they can, and try to ignore the desert sand cloying in their throat. They’re outdoors, they’re free, and she’s not going to hold them down again.

 Amelie and Matt, Rishi, Marissa, why do they keep trusting that the people they love will stay the same? They always turn on their Northlight, one way or another.

 Better to keep moving.

 Once they can move at all.

[aadmelioraa]

Falling (or, Aldhelm + Efficiency Kink)

Aethelflaed x Aldhelm, 2k, rated M (read on ao3) 

written for @volvaaslaug @skatingthinandice and the rest of this tiny fandom <3 

Lady Aethelflaed is a capable leader. In fact, she is an excellent leader. And if Aldhelm is honest with himself, it’s becoming a bit of a problem for him.

He’s alone with the Lady of Mercia, not an infrequent occurrence of late. She’s finishing the necessary business of the day, and the way she handles the most insignificant chore with diligence fascinates him as much now as it did when he first began to notice. He’s come to understand that her attentiveness and care are only surpassed by her cleverness. 

She's just…good at this.

He had maintained high hopes for Aethelred for so long, but Aethelflaed has more natural authority in her little finger than her husband does in his entire body. Years of grooming and guidance have done little to improve the Lord of Mercia’s temper in the end.  

Aldhelm is almost ashamed to recall his first impression of Aethelflaed. He had thought her a naive (though lovely) girl. But he has come to realize she is stronger and more intelligent than he’d given her credit, which of course cast her husband’s increasingly poor choices into starker contrast. He cannot ignore that her skills and disposition are infinitely better suited to ruling than Aethelred’s.

On reflection, it had been foolish of him to think Alfred’s daughter would be anything less than competent. But the more he reflects, the more he realizes it is not just her capable hands and mind. It’s that Aethelflaed genuinely enjoys her role as well. She seems to derive pleasure from every task accomplished, no matter how inconsequential. She’s a brilliant negotiator, whether speaking with the ealdormen about a matter of state or Aelfwynn about what time she was expected to be in bed. The satisfied smile she allows herself after a small victory is enchanting.

It was not so long ago that Aldhelm had considered disregarding Aethelred’s wishes equivalent to treason. He had thought Mercia’s best hopes were bound up in the man, young but burgeoning with potential. Now, Aldhelm’s definition of treason is somewhat more flexible. In fact, he is increasingly sure that his loyalty no longer lies with the Lord of Mercia. To be loyal to Mercia is to be loyal to Aethelflaed. 

He had not planned on Aethelflaed endearing herself to him in this way. And he had certainly not planned on falling in love with her. 

The realization happens gradually, over a matter of years. But when he finds himself at the point of no return, he is as surprised as if it had happened overnight. Aethelflaed could command him to the ends of the earth, and he would obey without a second thought.

Of course, she would not. She understands his value to her and to Mercia and therefore keeps him close—first, as a liability to be assessed, eventually as a friend to be trusted. Despite his ill-advised confession several months ago, Aethelflaed does not seem to think less of him. If in fact she does, she will not show it. 

She is simply too practical for that. 

And her efficiency is unparalleled. 

In a single afternoon, she will complete a list of duties Aethelred had left unaddressed for weeks on end. Her records are meticulous, her attention to detail exquisite. Her desk is filled with neat stacks of parchment covered in her clean, precise handwriting. 

Watching her take charge of Mercian affairs with a careful eye and steady hand, it is impossible to ignore that his feelings have evolved beyond intrigue. 

Aldhelm is undeniably smitten. 

“Did you have something to add, Aldhelm?”

Startled from his reverie, he realizes he’s staring. Aethelflaed looks back at him with concern. Her eyebrows are raised, causing a few lines to appear on her forehead, and he cannot help but love the softness in her expression.

“Apologies, my Lady. I had meant to inquire after the delegation to Tamworth.”

“We’re to send twenty men—unless you think a larger party necessary.”

“No, I believe not.”

Twenty is the perfect number, of course. 

Aethelflaed narrows her eyes, leaning back in her seat to have a better look at him.

“You seem to have something else on your mind, Aldhelm.”

He would have to work harder to conceal his feelings if he was to comport himself appropriately. A challenge that was growing in difficulty by the day. 

“It’s late. Shall we discuss the city fortification project or leave that until tomorrow?”

She huffs a laugh.

“Aldhelm, I have just told you that is finished. Have you been listening at all?”

He curses himself for his wandering thoughts. “Are you well?”

He is not. He is failing. Her competence is interfering with his own. 

“I am merely distracted, Lady. My apologies.”

Her gaze remains fixed on him as she sets down her pen, picking up the parchment she’d been writing on and blowing gently to dry the ink. 

He clenches his jaw reflexively, and she cocks her head—her amusement compounding, he can only assume. He shifts his gaze to the tapers on her desk, which had nearly burned out.  

“Distracted indeed. How odd. What could possibly be more pressing than the matters before us?”

Aethelflaed is teasing him now, he is sure of it. 

She rises to her feet, sweeping her eyes up and down his body with an expression of curious detachment. It’s maddening.

“I had something on my mind, Lady. A conversation with your husband earlier.”

The mention of Aethelred does not appear to disarm her.

“My husband solicits too much of your time these days,” she sighs. “But he is not here now, and so I request your full attention. I have one other proposal I would like your opinion on.”

Aldhelm knows that he ought to end their conversation, walk away, but he cannot.

“I would be happy to advise you, Lady, of course.”

Aethelflaed is advancing towards him now, hands clasped earnestly before her. Her fingers are slightly stained with ink.

“I believe we have both been under too much stress lately, Aldhelm. I have a plan that may provide relief.”

“I’m sure it’s an excellent plan,” Aldhelm replies, voice slightly hoarse. He clears his throat as subtly as he can.

“I believe it is,” she says nonchalantly, and without breaking eye contact slips her fingers into the belt at his waist, pulling him towards her gently.

He could not have protested then even if his mouth had not gone completely dry.

“I think you will find it mutually rewarding.”

Aldhelm fights a smile of disbelief (was this a dream?) and glances towards the door.

“Lady, we may be discovered.”

The corners of her mouth twitch and she places a hand on his chest, no doubt able to feel his heart beating wildly within. 

“You know as well as I do, Aldhelm, that the household is far more loyal to me than to my husband.”

She is looking up at him with lips slightly parted—soft, inviting—and he tentatively rests his hands at her waist.

The last time they’d been in this physical proximity he’d been dying (or so he thought) and she had been unable or unwilling to reciprocate his affection.

Whatever had changed between then and now, he does not care to question it in the moment. 

Still, he finds himself making another objection. 

“You’re married, my lady.”

What a supremely stupid thing to say. 

Her mouth quirks into a smile.

“I am aware, Aldhelm. That doesn’t stop my husband from pursuing pleasure, and it won’t stop me.”

Aldhelm has no defenses left, no arguments, no thoughts in his head other than how much he desires her. 

He gives in and cups her jaw, kissing her.

She tastes sweet and warm like summer rain. It’s intoxicating. 

He’s not sure if he’s still breathing, or if he even cares. He tightens his hold on her waist, and she cards her fingers through his hair. 

He would probably sell his soul to remain in this moment forever. Dark thoughts like this were never far from his mind when she was near.

“You’ve no idea the effect you have on me, my lady,” he murmurs.

He can feel her smiling as she kisses him back.

“I should think it’s fairly obvious at this point that I do.”

She’s pressed against him now, melting any self-control he had left. His baser instincts take over.

They’re stumbling into the next room, and she’s steering him towards the bed. 

Apprehension and desire course through him at once. Never had he imagined that this wildest dream of his could be a reality.

Aethelflaed is undressing him, then directing him to sit as she slips out of her own garments. The slight golden warmth of her skin fades to creamy white where she exposes the most intimate parts of herself. 

She pushes him onto his back and straddles him, her slick warmth pressed against his cock. Their eyes meet as she shifts, and—most incredible of all—he can see his own exhilaration reflected in her expression. 

She leans forward, her lips brushing against his ear as she murmurs, “What do you think of my plan so far, Aldhelm?”

It’s almost cruel. He’s wound so tight already he might have snapped there. 

He can’t answer with words, nor does he need to. Their kisses deepen, and she bites her lip to contain a moan as he brushes a finger against her opening. He slips inside of her and his breath hitches—she’s so warm and wet and perfect.

She’s building rhythm now, hips forward, grinding against him. She sweeps her braids behind her with a shrug of her shoulders, exposing the fullness of her breasts.

He locates the bundle of nerves beneath her thatch of hair, synchronizing the movement of his hand with the movement of her hips. She digs her nails into his chest briefly and keens in pleasure, arching her back. He draws circles, tighter and tighter. Coming with a shudder she cries out again, her face flushed with triumph. Then with a gesture, she commands and he obeys, switching places so that he’s on top. 

Her legs encircle him. Aldhelm slides a hand from the tender spot behind her knee down her thigh to her ass. She’s laying back, eyes shut, breathing in gentle gasps as she matches the rocking of his hips. 

By the time he comes, she’s moaning louder than before. His forehead is pressed against her and he can feel the sweat that beads her brow. Her walls quiver against him as he finishes, and he’s sure he’s just returned the favor again even as he’s satiated. 

He lands next to her and catches his breath. It’s a moment before he gathers the courage to look at her, but when he does she’s grinning. The light in her eyes would make him blush if he were capable of such a thing.

In his wickedness, he cannot help but think she’d never fucked her husband like that. 

Aethelflaed turns on her side, breathing deeply as she holds his gaze. He splays a hand over the curve of her exposed hip, holding it there for a moment, then moves it gently up to her waist. 

“We made quite good work of that, Lord.”

She hasn’t called him that before. She’s watching to see how he reacts. 

A laugh escapes him. He can’t help it. 

Aethelflaed closes her eyes, still smiling.

“You’re a strange man, Aldhelm. But I have grown fond of you.”

He’s brushing the hair from her shoulders, rolling a silky strand between his fingers. He does not know how long their tryst will last, or if it will ever be repeated. He will do everything in his power to remember every detail.

There’s a freckle below her left breast. He runs his thumb gently along the contour. Her skin is prickling—the room has grown cold—and he pulls a blanket over them.

Aethelflaed rolls her head back to look at him with heavy-lidded eyes. She radiates contentment. His own limbs are heavy with it too. He pulls her close to him, their noses bump. Incredibly, she does not tell him to leave.

“Did you have a second phase of your plan you’d like to enact this evening, Lady, or shall we reconvene tomorrow?”

It’s Aethelflaed’s turn to laugh. 

Laying near her in this state is restorative, thrilling. He’s bold enough to kiss her again, and the taste is sweeter than before. 

“I believe we may reconvene tomorrow,” she murmurs and rests her head on his chest. “For now, let us rest.”

He presses a kiss to the top of her head. 

He will linger in this perfect moment as long as he’s permitted. 

[jungle321jungle]

Things I won’t write but wanna read: Sword Art Online Abridged AU

Characters (with a shit ton of quotes for my procrastination justification):

Virgil is Kirito

The loner who isn’t really a loner

“Some of my best friends have been NPCs!”

“I hate them for lots of reasons, but mostly because they’re a bunch a mouth breathing neckbeards who think lmao is how french people laugh”

The Virgil is always right foundation 

“Oh, I'll tell you what we do. We play his game... and we win.”

Kirito wrote the guide and it has some prime things he would write

"Send the weaker players first. Good rule of thumb: If a player asks you for gold 2 seconds after meeting you, front lines... If they hijack conversations to rant about their political views, front lines... If they ask female players for pics of their boobs, front lines."

“In another life... in another time... I think we could have been friends.” 

Whoever is Diabel: “I... doubt it.”

“Well, fuck you too!”

Janus is Asuna

Imagine Janus living in a game for two months without knowing how to even open a menu to eat

“If you say open your menu, I’m gonna stab your eye out.”

“At least I pretend to care about people!”

“Really? I figured some random perp would be no match for the world's greatest detective. Oh wait no, that's Batman! And you're not Batman, are you? You will never be Batman.”

This also means that Janus is a commander

And yet he pretends to be weak and makes virgil to the work cuz he cant threaten his position 

Janus tries to melt Heathcliff with his mind

Remus is Klein

“F**k you, man! That's, like, the pig from hell!”

“Wait. There's something scrolling across mine. "Hahahahaha hahahahaHAha hahaHAhaha hahahaha haha ha ha..."

“Oh, what? Did all of your friends die again?” 

BallsDeep69

“I'm gonna clap for you with my teeth, buddy!”

He gets his own guild

Remus would love a guild

Logan is Yui

“May I read it when you are done? I'm curious about the geopolitical situation in Collinia.”

“That is not at all what irony is. I believe the turn of events you described would be best classified as "completely expected".”

Yulier person stand in: “Wha... What are you talking about?

“Irony, noun: A state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result. Example: Your leader is named "Thinker", yet he appears to be something of a dullard.”

not to mention when yui reveals herself

Logan: “As you have probably guessed by now, I am not a normal player. I am, in fact, a highly advanced Artificial Intelligence designed to psychologically evaluate and care for the players of Sword Art Online. Designation: Yui.”

Janus: “Oh my god. You're a Psychiatrist AI? Well, I can certainly think of a few people who could've used your help.”

“Indeed. That is why I was so distraught when, on the day of the game's launch, Kayaba Akihiko locked me away and forbade me to interact with the players. For years, all I could do was sit and watch.”

Virgil: “Oh god! He made you watch?!”

“Day after day, constantly bombarded by the pain and anger of all the people I could not help, I gradually fell into despair. But then... all of that changed when I found you two...”

Janus and Virgil: “Awwwww.”

“...the most broken, sociopathic players I had ever laid eyes on. Less people than a... loose collection of character defects.”

Virgil: “That kinda... went in a different direction than I was expecting.”

“But somehow, together... you were happy. Everything I knew about human relationships told me that one would eventually kill the other. And yet, no matter how often you fought, your bond only seemed to grow stronger. I decided that my information must be flawed in some way, and that I needed to amend it firsthand.”

Janus: “You... You mean...?”

“I wanted to know what love is. I wanted you to show me....... “I am sorry I lied to you. I inserted myself into your lives merely to satisfy my own curiosity. At least... at first. It was... nice to be a part of your family. I... I wish I really was your son!”

Roman is Liz

first off im laughing at the idea of him being as thirsty as liz

“Wait! Don't go! I need details, man! I live vicariously through you! Your sex live is my sex life!“

“As I awoke from my slumber, I found the stranger with the guarded heart, digging through the snow with solemn determination. His muscles glistening in the morning light. Deep within me stirred feelings I had not felt in many moons. It was at that moment that I learned... the Temperature of the Heart- What am I doing?! Stop it! STOP IT!”

Roman saying gnarliest 

“Whoa, an Elucidator! This is the gnarliest sword you can get from a monster drop!”

And the prime friendship with whoever the fuck tiffany is

the fear of janus later

Patton is Silica

“I DON'T WANNA WEAR MY PET, YOU MONSTER!“

Silica ate crayons as a kid

Virigil: “God, do I ever! I can never un-know! These brain cells could've been used to formulate the perfect strategy to get us out of this game! Instead, they've memorized what kind of crayons you liked to eat when you were 4!”

Patton: “I liked the purple ones.” “Yeah, I know! "And the blue ones were too tart!"

Virgil: “Just stay calm! You already have everything you need to beat it!”

Patton: “The power to believe in myself?”

“Nooooo, a knife! Stab it!”

"Oh, right!”

Also this prime time interaction

Patton: “Well, you did just kill someone. Doesn't that make you feel... something?”

Virigil” Oh, feelings? Yeah, I don't have those anymore. Went cold turkey.”

“What?! You can't just do that! What's the point in living if you can't feel happiness, wonder, love...?”

“Or the sweet taste of revenge! You're right, Silica! What's the point in living if I can't enjoy such simple things?”

“Eh, close enough.”

“You're a good friend, Silica. We should go on more adventures.”

“Um, I don't think so. Don't take this the wrong way, Mr. Kirito. I'm grateful for your help, but yoooou're, like, the worst person I've ever met.”

“Is that your big plan here, huh? Make me feel feelings so you can cut me down a peg? That cuts deep, kid. But I respect that.”

Yeah... that's kinda the problem.”

Remy is Heathcliff

“As you can see, I have peeled away your petty facades and revealed you for what you truly are... fairly attractive twenty-somethings, apparently. Good for you. Kinda undermines the whole "cold light of day" thing I had planned, but still. Way to break down stereotypes. 'Cept you, fatty. Way to bring down the curve.“

“Next thing you know, your tutorial NPC is nowhere to be found and players are dropping like Dorito-encrusted flies. Now in this case, any sane man would simply turn off the servers before anyone else got hurt, but because you've now been awake long enough to think the government is run by "Floobar, King of the Mole Men", the best idea that comes to your mind is to double, triple, and quadruple down. So, you lock everyone in the game, tell them they'll die if they don't finish it, and try to make it look like this is all part of your "master plan" instead of an ever-spiralling series of events that you have long since lost control of.”

“Hey, cut me some slack, okay? Can you two even begin to imagine 500 uninterrupted hours of consciousness? Forget mole people! About halfway through I swore I saw the face of God! Until I realized it was just the night janitor, Reki. On the plus side, I gave him a hell of an ego boost. Hmm, man was riding that compliment for days.”

“Yeah, okay. See, Janus, the problem with that... is that it's an excellent idea that I wish I had thought of two years ago.”

Sachi ??????

Others ???????

[elaz-ivero]

Wren Versus The Russian Government Short Story + Double Narratives

//A deep dive into my own writing

Wren Versus the Russian Government is a 3,000-word short story with one of my signature features, a double narrative. A double narrative is a story that possesses two plotlines, a surface-level story of which the characters unconsciously navigate and a second, a double-meaning playing out just beyond the lines. Wren Versus the Russian Government follows...well…Wren as he faces off against the Russian government. I wanted to set the story in Russia and offset the stereotype of Americans being an opposing force to a Russian presence after the cold war. By placing an emphasis on Wren being a Russian citizen the story felt slightly more believable and grounded in its setting. The story initially appears to be about the twenty-year-old failing university student succumbing to his madness, insistent that every agent is a government spy and that the voice in the radio is speaking instructions to him but beneath all that Wren sounds less and less crazy and some scenes imply there's some truth to his beliefs.

Inspiration//

Wren Versus the Russian Government was heavily inspired by Netflix’s interactive work 'Bandersnatch', a show I was fixated on when it first came out. Both Wren and Stefan navigate their own spiraling understanding of the world around them and the constraints of the medium in which they inhabit. However, in Bandersnatch the audience leads Stefan down their chosen path and attempt to control his beliefs in this story Wren is already certain, he doesn't need convincing that what he thinks is right. I experimented with implementing facets of 'Bandersnatch' like fourth wall breaks, intimately knowledgable characters, and the allusion of audience choice however they didn't really fit with the short story I was trying to tell. 'Wren Versus' poses more of an audience's struggle as they try and independently decide whether they trust Wrens interpretations of the world around him, whether he's crazy or not.

Narrative//

Wren Versus is made up of many intersecting scenes with the first two taking place in the past. The story begins with Wren reflecting on his childhood and how it felt like he was 'stepping onto a game-show, with him; a lonely contestant'

"An unnecessary addition to an already extensive family portrait, Wren, with a generic face and a minimal range of expressions was a black sheep of sorts. He refused to eat anything but toy-branded cereals, jellos and t.v meals and didn't trust his own two eyes."

As he grows up he begins to isolate himself, living out of a van and refusing to perform simple tasks that might expose his hide-out. Here an impervious stranger tells him of a radio channel that will inform him of how the government aims to track its citizens.

When the audio recordings the radio plays stop and the voice on the other side speaks directly to Wren he runs and attempts to escape the prying eyes of an all-seeing government by hiding in a nearby arcade.

"At night he'd open the boot in unlit parking lots and at the edge of nature reserves and wait, the warmth of his portable heater and the rustle of glad wrap were breadcrumbs in the dark"

Of course, no stone goes unturned and the government finds him, captures him and the voice on the radio reveals himself as general secretary and that foolish Wren had been taking advice from the government all along.

"Wren pulls out the roofing stapler and loads it like a gun, sliding sachets of metal clips into his steel throat, it clicks closed with new weight and purpose."

Wren is honestly one of my favorite characters to work with, he's so extreme and stupid (my favorite character trait) I also really enjoyed the rhythm the story is high-speed all the way throughout and only pauses briefly before the final scene. Excited to gradually bring this story toward submissions.

Learning/s// That character you have hanging around in the background vibing with their own mini-narrative WILL eventually come in handy.

-E

[whileyoursleeping]

Habits

prompt: Just Eddie absentmindedly comforting Buck with a kiss to the forehead/head after a tough call. They aren’t even together and it just ends up becoming a thing they do.

idk man it’s been a long week i needed some fluff in my life

____________________________

Today doesn't feel like a win.

Buck joined firefighting because he got to be badass and help people at the same time, and that hasn't changed - he was telling the truth about that. He gets an insane rush from the bell going, from driving the truck with its lights and screaming sirens, from kicking in doors - people's worst days keep him on his toes and make him feel alive, and he'd feel bad about that if it weren't for the fact that he helps people.

They don't have deaths that often, really. It's a police thing, to go to the deaths. But sometimes the paramedics can't make it to help the cops out and then they're on deck and that's when things go sideways, usually.

He's broken five ribs of a nineteen year old today, a sweet and kind of frail looking girl who he thinks might've had an eating disorder of some kind - he knows what those look like. And her heart stopped, and they got there before anyone else, and he was the first to do CPR, the first to break her ribs, feel them give with absolute ease under his hands.

He feels everything. That's why he didn't join the SEALs. Because he feels it all and can't switch it off.

In the truck, Eddie's watching him. Buck resists the urge to squirm - Eddie knows him too well to think he's unaffected by today. He doesn't want Eddie to look.

Eddie taps his headset, then removes it. Buck follows suit reluctantly.

"You okay?" Eddie asks, loud over the roar of the engine.

"Yeah," Buck says, and he smiles, pretty convincingly if he does say so himself.

Eddie looks doubtful, but he pulls the headset back on, and they're quiet until they reach the 118. If Eddie shuffles a little closer, and Buck lets himself press his knee to Eddie's, no one says anything.

~*~

He's getting changed after the shift when Eddie finds him.

It's been a pretty shit day really. He's tired, and his leg is aching - it acts up when it's cold or when he's had a shit shift and he doesn't want to show it, so he grits his teeth and walks perfectly normally to his locker.

"Hey, Buckaroo."

It's Eddie's voice. He doesn't need to turn around. He lets himself feel a little warm at being called Buckaroo by Eddie, with the affection evident in his voice.

"Hey, man," he says.

"You want to come over tonight?" Eddie asks, stepping up to his locker near Buck's and beginning to shed his own uniform. "I'll pick up Chris from abuela's and we can have a pizza night. You still haven't seen Star Wars."

Buck wrinkles his nose. "I just don't get why people think Kylo Ren is hot," he argues.

Eddie laughs. "Yeah. Reminds me of my emo phase."

"Emo pha - what? Are there pictures?"

"Not that you'll ever see."

Buck pouts, and Eddie laughs. His face softens as he looks at Buck, and he steps a little closer.

"I'm sorry today was hard," Eddie says, sincerely, then pulls Buck down by the back of his neck and kisses his forehead.

Buck - because he's tactile and affectionate and loves being touched and having people near him - doesn't think twice about letting Eddie grab him by the neck, even when he's being pulled down again. He blinks, unsure of what to say, when he's let go.

But it felt nice. It felt really nice.

"Are you coming to pizza night?" Eddie asks.

Buck nods mutely. Eddie hasn't let his neck go. It feels nice to be held, even if it's just like this. Does Eddie even know he did it?

"Okay." He's let go, and he immediately feels cold, adrift. "I'll see you there."

~*~

Buck somehow makes it over to Eddie's, even though if you asked him he wouldn't be able to say how.

The moment he knocks, he can hear Christopher inside, yelling, "Dad, Dad, Bucky's here!" and the clatter of his crutches to get to the door.

Buck is ready. The moment the door swings open, Buck's grinning, pulling Chris up into his arms and swinging him around, resulting in a delighted fit of laughter. He kisses Chris's hair, inhales the little kid smell, and then puts him down.

"You always beat your dad to it, little man."

"That's 'cause he's slow!"

Eddie's laugh rings down the hallway. He enters a second later, in soft, worn blue jeans and a red henley that makes Buck's mouth feel kind of dry. Somehow, he feels underdressed in his own black jeans and white hoodie.

"Hey," Eddie says, and pulls him into a hug.

Buck - who is a touch-hungry, needy little pest at the best of times - melts into it, smiling so hard his face hurts. "I didn't miss pizza did I?"

"I made Daddy wait!" Chris crows. "Buck, come look at my science project!"

They eat pizza and Buck helps Chris with his science project, they play Mortal Kombat, and the night settles as Chris begins to yawn and requests a bedtime story from both of them. It's a little hard, two grown men crowded onto one single bed, but they manage, and Chris is out like a light halfway through the second story.

Eddie shuts the door to Chris's bedroom quietly and heads back to the kitchen. Buck has already started cleaning up.

"Don't do that," Eddie says. "You're a guest. Guests don't clean."

"Guests don't eat their friend out of house and home and then leave," Buck replies. Eddie smiles, then leans against the counter, almost nervous.

"Listen," he says, and Buck - detecting the change in the atmosphere almost immediately - sobers up, takes up a similar position, and waits to hear whatever this is - maybe the evening didn't go as well as he thought and he overstepped with the homework thing.

"I'm sorry about kissing you on the head," Eddie says. "I do it with Christopher when he's upset, and I was on autopilot. It was inappropriate of me. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't inappropriate," Buck says, flustered for a number of reasons (one of them being that he has never once in his life used the word "inappropriate" in conversation). "I liked it. It was nice."

Once realising what he said, he promptly starts praying for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole, preferably for eternity. He's twenty seven and admitting he likes being kissed on the forehead. Fantastic.

"Oh." Eddie smiles. "That's... good then?" He looks a little awkward. "I just didn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I'm not. Wasn't."

Eddie laughs. "You look pretty uncomfortable, Buck."

It's true. He's wedged himself into the corner counter with his hands deep in his pockets, makes a conscious effort to relax. "I thought I was in trouble," he admits.

"For what?"

"I don't know, something?"

"We gotta stamp that out of you," Eddie sighs, but his eyes are warm and face affectionate. "C'mon. You owe me a rematch."

~*~

It's sort of a habit after that.

They have some bad calls. Someone drowns, and Buck - who jumped in and pulled the guy out - shivers in the back of the firetruck in midwinter L.A temperatures until they get back to the firehouse. Eddie sits with him, puts a blanket around his shoulders, and presses a soft kiss to the side of his head.

Chimney's eyes just about bug out of his head, and Buck is almost ninety percent sure that Hen snapped a sneaky picture to show Bobby and Athena, but he's cold and wet and miserable and doesn't really care.

They send Eddie into the change rooms with him, because he's near hypothermic and they're worried about him collapsing. He gradually turns the water temperature of the shower up until it's scalding and stands there until his skin turns red and the shivering stops, and when he exits the showers, Eddie is there.

"You waited?" Buck asks, surprised.

"The last thing I want to have to tell Christopher is that his Buck died falling over in the shower because I wasn't paying attention."

Buck gets dressed, sits down on the bench, and sighs heavily. Eddie sits next to him.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

"I just... wish he'd made it." A lot of things don't make sense to Buck after the tsunami. Why he lived even while cut and bleeding and on blood thinners, barely a month out of a pulmonary embolism that also should have killed him, and so many others died. "Doesn't make sense."

Eddie sighs, puts his arm around Buck's shoulders again, and draws him in close, until their thighs are pressed together. Eddie's lips press into his temple again, and Buck sighs at the contact.

"Easy, cariño," Eddie murmurs into his skin.

Buck weighs his options. No one is looking for him because Eddie is here with him, and he wants so badly to snuggle down into Eddie's warmth, but he also knows the guy isn't necessarily as tactile as him and almost definitely straight - he had a wife after all - but it's been a long time since someone held him, and not the other way around.

He takes a chance, nudges closer and down until his head is mostly tucked under Eddie's chin. Eddie, for his part, just raises his head to make more room for Buck.

Someone will look for them eventually, Buck knows. Still, he waits for Eddie to end their half-cuddle.

"If you get lonely tonight," Eddie says, quietly, "there's a spot for you at my place."

Buck doesn't believe him now, when it's light out and he knows where he is, but later - when it's dark and he's woken from a nightmare - believing Eddie or not won't matter.

~*~

"Chris!"

He's sitting up, nightmare fading, panic whirling through his mind like a twisted merry go round. There's water, he's breathing it in, and everything is upside down and he can't breathe.

"Chris, Chris-"

He's out of bed, going God knows where, makes it halfway down the stairs before he slips and falls. He crashes to the bottom, and the impact serves only one purpose - waking him up.

He finds his phone, dials Eddie. It's the only action his brain is capable of taking, even as he hates himself for waking the man up.

"Hullo?" Eddie's voice, sleepy, comes.

Buck tries to take a breath, but it catches. He feels cold.

"Buck?" Eddie asks, his voice sharper. "Are you alright?"

"Chris?" Buck asks, shyly, feeling suddenly very stupid for panicking.

"Chris is okay," Eddie says, calm. "Are you okay?"

He hesitates. Eddie breathes on the other end of the line, grounding him. "I had a nightmare," he says, gulping, "about the tsunami. Fuck, Eddie, I'm sorry, it's late-"

"Come over," Eddie interrupts.

"What?"

"Come over. You need sleep and you aren't gonna do that alone."

"Eddie, it's... well, I don't know what time it is, exactly, but-"

"Come over, Buck," Eddie says, and the line cuts out.

Unsure of what else to do, and honestly a little soothed by being ordered around, Buck packs a bag of his things and heads to Eddie's. The house is dark when he gets there, but as he sits in his car - debating turning around and leaving - the front door opens.

It's Eddie, in sweats and nothing else. God really has no mercy on Buck today.

He piles out of the car, feeling childish and stupid, but Eddie only smiles at him when he gets to the front door. "You okay?"

Buck nods mutely, but Eddie's frowning, and that's when Buck realises he woke up crying and almost hasn't stopped, and that he's limping.

"Come on," Eddie says, taking Buck's arm gently. "This way."

"The couch is-"

"You aren't sleeping on the couch, Buck. It's freezing."

"But I-"

Eddie pulls him down and kisses his head again, effectively ending his sentence. "We'll stop by Chris's room on the way," Eddie says quietly. "You can see for yourself that Chris is fine."

His throat closes up, so when he says, "Thank you," it sounds quiet and wobbly.

Chris is, sure enough, fast asleep and fine under his covers. Dry, safe. Buck watches him for a few minutes, until Eddie pulls him gently, and they go to Eddie's room. It's sparse, compared to Chris's - everything Eddie has, he gives to his son.

There's something attractive about that. Buck will definitely not analyse the fuck out of it later.

"Buck," Eddie says.

"Huh - yeah?"

Eddie's smiling gently. "The bed isn't gonna eat you."

He's been standing there long enough that Eddie has stripped down to the cut-off sweatpants he wears to bed. He's watching Buck expectantly.

Buck shrugs his way out of his clothes. It's not that he's shy about how he looks - he works hard and he knows it shows - but being around Eddie makes him nervous. He feels vulnerable. It's almost nice, in a terrifying way.

"You are thinking so damn hard," Eddie groans. He's already in bed, on his stomach, hands beneath the pillow. He's got a tattoo on his spine Buck somehow hasn't noticed before, and his lats are defined as if he'd been hand-drawn by an artist.

"Sorry," Buck says sheepishly, and climbs into the other side of the bed before he can really stop to consider what he's doing. He's tired, and his brain is fogged by the stress of his nightmare, and Eddie is offering him something he doesn't know how to ask for, so he takes it. Selfishly, he takes it.

He rolls onto his side, away from Eddie, and closes his eyes, willing sleep to come. He's keyed up still, from the nightmare that shook him awake and the implications of what being in Eddie's bed could mean alongside the kisses, and if he lets himself drift too much he's back in yesterday, feeling the drowning man's ribs break beneath his hands.

(He never wanted to hurt people, only help them. It turns out those can be the same thing. Nobody warned him.)

"Buck," Eddie says quietly.

Buck jumps. He thought Eddie was asleep. "Yeah?"

"Roll onto your stomach."

He does. It's easy to do what Eddie tells him to. The other man has never led him astray before.

"Easy," Eddie murmurs, which is the only thing that stops buck from jumping when he feels Eddie sitting at his hip, and Eddie's calloused hands on his shoulders, massaging.

He didn't realise how tense he was. He relaxes, lets Eddie manipulate his head from side to side and dig his fingers into all the tender parts Buck didn't know existed.

He's falling closer and closer to the edge of sleep. Even as he does, his belly stirs with heat - he hasn't been touched like this for a long time.

Eddie finds a knot under his shoulder blade, pulls his arm out a little to open the joint up, and digs in.

"Ow!" Buck says, only remembering to keep his voice down at the last second.

"Sorry, sorry," Eddie says guiltily. He'd jumped when Buck had flinched from the pain, and now he's rubbing gently, apologetically, at the kinks that make up Buck's spinal cord. "It's supposed to be relaxing. I didn't realise you were this tense."

"Me neither," Buck admits. "I was relaxed."

Maybe a little too relaxed. He's half hard, which means there's no way he's rolling over anytime soon. He wants Eddie to keep going - to maybe duck below the waistband of his sweats.

He doesn't think about it too hard. Being attracted to men is new, but it doesn't feel that different from being attracted to women. No, the part he's freaked about is that it's Eddie, and knowing Buck's streak of relationships, he'll almost definitely fuck things up.

"Good." He feels Eddie lay down next to him; his hand keeps moving up and down Buck's spine, soothing him. "Go to sleep, cariño."

Cariño, Buck muses. It sounds familiar, and affectionate. If he was more awake, he'd probably be able to work out why.

"Night," he mumbles.

"Goodnight, Buck."

~*~

He's half awake because the door is opening.

Sometimes, his SEAL training is effective. Sometimes, because he's out of practice and relaxed, it's not. Today it's at the halfway mark, where his body instinctively knows that someone is nearby, but doesn't care enough to react.

There's a heavy arm slung over his waist, and someone breathing nearby. Eddie, Buck thinks, and the knot of momentary panic in his chest eases.

"Daddy, you didn't tell me Buck was here!"

Buck groans, raises his head from the pillow to see Chris attempting to climb onto the bed. "Hey, buddy," he croaks. He reaches down with one arm, gets it around Christopher, and hauls him up. "Why're you up so early?"

"We're always awake this early," Eddie's voice mumbles. "Chris, we said no waking Daddy up before six thirty, didn't we?" His fingers flex at Buck's hip, and Buck wishes more than anything that Eddie was dragging him close to kiss him.

"It's six-thirty-five, Dad!"

Buck laughs sleepily, tucks Christopher closer to his chest. The kid goes easily, melts into his body and lays there with his hand on Buck's neck, grinning up at him brightly.

"Dad," Chris says.

Eddie makes a vaguely muffled noise that Buck thinks may sound like a prayer for death, but doesn't do anything else, other than sling his arm over Christopher's waist. His hand lands on Buck's hip, and Buck twitches helplessly.

"Yeah, buddy?" Eddie mumbles.

"How come Buck's sleeping in your bed?"

"Because he was tired."

There's a long pause, as if Chris is contemplating something - which is never good. "Mommy used to sleep in your bed too," Chris points out.

Dead silence falls over them. Buck freezes as Eddie, suddenly very awake, raises his head and looks right at Buck.

"I'm gonna go make breakfast," Buck says, and not only does he literally fall out of bed, he trips on his jeans in the doorway, causing Christopher to laugh and clap mercilessly. Buck loves the kid, but he's way too smart for his own good.

~*~

More close calls after that. Buck nearly falls off a ladder (again), which earns him a stern talking to by Eddie and a few off-handed comments from Chim about needing to lose a few pounds.

Eddie kisses him on the head that night before they leave, and Buck feels the spot his lips touched all night.

A week later, it's more of the same - a bad pileup and an overzealous Buck results in a burn to his hand, which is superficial but still has Eddie muttering in furious Spanish as he does first aid. Buck didn't know forehead kisses could feel angry, but this one does.

He decides to be more careful. Eddie's blood pressure can't take much more of this, he suspects.

Only even being careful Eddie finds reasons. He makes a perfectly logical call during a job and comes out unscathed (which hasn't happened in, like, three years at least) and Eddie is still worried and looking like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I'm fine, Eds," Buck says, and gives his best winning smile. "What, you worried about not keeping up with me?"

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Estúpido," he mutters, but he's almost smiling.

"Hey! I don't understand Spanish, but I can guess!"

Eddie finally cracks a grin and pulls Buck down by the collar to give him a quick kiss on the head.

"So," Chimney says, later, when they're getting changed. "How long have you and Diaz been a thing?"

Buck almost chokes on the muesli bar he's wolfing down. "Me and-? We aren't. We're not."

Chimney doesn't look convinced. "You sure he knows that?"

"It's just a, a thing," Buck splutters.

"I thought you said it wasn't a thing?"

"No, it isn't - we're not a thing, the kissing thing is a thing, it's not - it doesn't mean we're together! We're just friends!"

"Oh, please," Hen scoffs - she's waited for them outside the locker rooms. "Buck, have you seen the way that man looks at you? You aren't just anything."

"I thought he was gonna blow a fuse when Buck was hanging off that ladder," Chim says thoughtfully. "Just about tore strips off the maintenance guy for not fixing it better."

"He did?" Buck asks, a little awkward.

"Sure did, Buckaroo. He loves you."

Buck bristles. "I'm straight!"

Hen just outright laughs at that, and Buck wilts. "Well," he hedges. "I mean, I thought I was..."

"Honey," Hen says, "even I'm not resistant to the Diaz charm. You can't be held responsible for waving goodbye to straight in the rearview mirror."

Her and Chimney high five gleefully. Buck bangs his head dramatically against a firetruck. Just his luck that he'd end up falling for the guy who gives him totally platonic forehead kisses.

~*~

Things get decidedly more awkward after his revelation.

He's a floundering mess around Eddie, who doesn't even seem to take offence at it - he just smiles and laughs like Buck is the funniest person ever.

Everyone's having fun except him, given that he's trying to get his head around liking Eddie the same way he liked Abby and Ali.

The forehead kisses continue, except now Eddie's doing it when Buck's fine but Eddie's had a rough day. Buck considers starting except he doesn't know how to without making things infinitely worse for both of them.

Eddie notices he's being weird and brings it up all of once: "Look, I know you said it didn't bother you, but if you want me to stop, you can tell me to anytime-"

"It doesn't," Buck rushes to say. "Don't. I don't want you to. To stop that is."

God, hasn't the universe fucked with him enough already?

~*~

Eddie calls in sick two weeks later and Buck, because of who he is as a person, goes to the grocery store after work, picks up ingredients for soup, and goes around.

He's geared up to argue his way into the house, sure that Eddie won't want to see him when he's like this, so when Eddie opens the door to his knocking his jaw is set and he's ready to fight dirty to get inside.

"Buck?" Eddie asks.

"You look terrible," Buck informs him, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Thanks, Buck."

But he's right, Eddie does look bad. He's pale and his eyes are red-rimmed and he's wearing a hoodie, which he never does, that's a little too big on him.

"Bobby said you were sick," Buck says, "so I'm going to make you soup." He's nervous and trying to cover it up with confidence, and Eddie kindly doesn't call him on it. He just smiles a little.

"Do I get a say in this?"

"No," Buck says. "Where's Chris?"

"With abuela. I didn't want him to catch it. But she can't keep him a lot longer." Eddie's getting that hunted look in his eyes, the one he had when he first joined the 118 and didn't know how to access childcare and abuela had hurt her hip. "I'm not really up to looking after him either."

"I'll look after him," Buck says instantly. "We'll be quiet, I promise."

Eddie's face breaks into a smile. "You sound like you're trying to convince me to have a sleepover."

"Can we, Eddie? Pleeeease?"

Eddie laughs, coughs, and stands back to let Buck in. "Not that I'm not grateful," he says, "but why're you here?"

"I told you,, I'm making soup," Buck says matter-of-factly. "Go sit down somewhere."

Eddie takes a seat at the kitchen table, where he can watch as Buck works. Buck knows better than to pick this battle, so he says nothing, just starts unloading groceries from bags and chattering aimlessly as he gets preparing things.

"That was when the new guy slipped and fell right into it - grey water, man, pretty much the grossest shit you could ever go through and - that's my sweatshirt."

Eddie looks like a deer in the headlights, but Buck's certain he's not wrong. It's the white sweatshirt he'd worn here when they had dinner. After the first forehead kiss.

"Oh, really?" Eddie asks, so unconvincingly Buck actually snorts.

"Yeah." It's a little long on Eddie, but it fits well enough around his shoulders. "That's definitely mine. And you know it's mine."

"Sorry," Eddie mumbles.

"Don't be." Buck, a little slow on the uptake, realises two things simultaneously - one, that Eddie knew it was his sweatshirt and didn't return it to him, and two, that Eddie had knowingly put it on afterwards. He grins.

"You wanted to wear my clothes."

"Buck," Eddie says, almost whining. He's begging Buck to drop it but Buck has never known when to quit, even when he's ahead.

"My sweatshirt is your forehead kiss!" Buck crows.

"Dios mios," Eddie mumbles, holding his head in his hands. "Este imbécil no tiene idea..."

Buck feels like he should be at least a little bit outraged at the definite use of the word imbecile in that sentence, but he's too busy feeling warm and fuzzy at the idea that Eddie takes comfort in wearing Buck's clothes the same way Buck takes comfort in Eddie's forehead kisses.

"You love me," he says smugly.

Eddie looks up, then, smiling with his eyes warm and pinned on Buck, and Buck suddenly feels as though the floor has fallen away - he's looking at it, he realises. He said it as a joke, but he's looking at Eddie now and Eddie is looking at him and Eddie so clearly loves him it hurts.

"Te amo," Eddie says, still with that expression.

Buck doesn't need a translation for that. He knows what that means. He knows it means Eddie is putting his heart on the line for him, without much of an indication of how Buck feels at all.

He can feel how hard he's smiling, and if it hadn't been for the door opening he might've done something about the confession then and there. But then Chris is yelling, "Bucky's here!" and he can hear Eddie's abuela laughing in the background, and he goes to meet them - lets his hand catch on Eddie's shoulder, first, lingering, before getting to the door.

"Hey, buddy!"

Chris laughs as Buck swings him around. "No one said you were coming!" he says excitedly.

"I decided to surprise your dad." He puts Chris down. "You wanna help me make him soup?"

"Yeah!"

Chris heads for the kitchen, and Buck straightens, face-to-face with Eddie's abuela. She's smiling.

"Edmundo is very lucky to have a man like you," she says, pulling his shoulder until he leans down far enough for her to kiss his cheek. "Chico dulce."

He glows at the praise, at the acknowledgement that people know how Eddie feels, apparently, and that they think Buck is a good choice.

It's a quiet night after that. Buck makes soup with Christopher's help, then gets both Diaz boys situated in the living room. Christopher has math homework so complicated it makes both their heads hurt, but they have more luck with history, which mostly turns into Buck re-enacting some of the more dramatic civil war battles and attempting a poor English accent. Eddie - who has pretty much stayed on the couch since dinner - watches them and smiles.

Buck puts Chris to bed on time, reads him a story. As he's turning off the light, Christopher mumbles, "Buck?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for taking care of Dad."

His heart swells. He leans down and kisses Chris's forehead. "Of course, kiddo. Sleep tight."

He leaves the door a crack open, with the hallway light spilling in, and goes back to the living room. Eddie sits up a little as he enters.

"About what I said before-" Eddie begins, his face worried and body tense beneath the blanket.

"Please don't take it back," Buck pleads.

Silence falls over both of them. Eddie stares at him, and Buck shuffles his feet around helplessly. Appearing small is hard to do when you're six foot two, but he's trying his best - it never worked with his dad, but it can't hurt to try.

"Buck," Eddie says quietly. "Come over here."

Buck obeys mindlessly, goes to the couch and folds down on it awkwardly. Eddie sits up - if Buck looks carefully, he can see that there are light tremors shaking his frame. Maybe the fever is breaking.

"I wasn't going to take it back," Eddie says gently. "I was going to apologise for blindsiding you, but I wouldn't ever take it back."

Buck opens his mouth, then shuts it. "Chimney was right," he realises aloud.

Eddie frowns. "Chimney?"

"Chim told me you loved me! And that that's why you were kissing me so often!"

Eddie smiles that patient smile of his. "Why else would I be doing it?"

Buck flounders. Is he seriously the last person to know about this? Why is it that everyone always knows these things before him?

Eddie laughs, then. "Buck," he says. "You look like someone killed your puppy."

"I'm dumb," Buck moans, sinking further into the couch.

"Hey." Eddie reaches out and takes Buck's face between his hands, sending an instant flush through him. "If I'm right, and you want this as well, then of course you didn't realise. Maybe it felt too good to be true. You're not dumb."

Buck blinks. "I want to kiss you," he says.

"You'll get sick," Eddie reminds him gently. "But if you stay the night, maybe tomorrow."

"Okay," Buck says, smiling. "I'll stay."

[j-wonwootrash]

Vernon || What we are

Word count: 2.9k+ Genre: Angst + fluff A/N: Apologies if this took so long and this is probably badly written since I didn’t proof read but anyway dear, I love angst & fluffy oneshots so here’s my take on your request @sweetie-yoongi7 😚 Enjoy! 

“I’m worried that you’re changing into someone I don’t recognize anymore.” 

— — —

Seven days.

It has been a week since he last talked to you. Be it physical or virtual, the tension deepened between the two of you and the distance continued to stretch like bubblegum.

Since you both started off as friends, it seemed too good to be true when at that one class, he exchanged numbers with you for a project. Ecstatic and excited, the chemistry you had with him just.. sparked.

He filled in the blanks of your questions of a certain topic and you matched with him as if you were the missing piece to his jigsaw puzzle. The flavour of your friendship was really sweet, people viewed you as each other’s lover. You guessed that, to him, that teasing gesture was a joke. But in fact to you, hoped it was real, even the slightest percent.

How you fell for him was totally uncalled for. At first you treated him like any other friend and gosh how Cupid worked fast. You developed feelings for him and whenever you’d meet, your fingers were crossed in hopes you didn’t wear your heart on your sleeves. So you wore a baseball cap or mask to hide your ‘inlove’ eyes or the redness spreading across your cheeks.

Hansol was dense, or maybe not. You couldn’t read him at all.

Yet that flavour slowly became bland as time passed. Hansol avoided you for who knew what reasons why he did. You thought you knew; guess the number of years doesn’t equal with the intimacy of your friendship.

Tapping letters on your keyboard, you sigh and slid half of your frame on the table at the cafeteria. Seungkwan saw your saddened body from afar right after he got his tray. “Hey y/n..” his voice creating a tune that you immediately lifted your head as if you were hypnotised. “Have you risen from your grave?”

He bit his lips knowing his metaphor went too far, but you accepted it anyway since you did act lifeless for while when Hansol started to ignore you. “I have. But I’ll probably go back to it if ever I run into Hansol again.” you let out a stupid short breath. “I’m not supposed to be sad about it, yet I am, why am I like this, does he not like me anymore- I don’t know what to do.”

Seungkwan rolled his eyes at the tantrums you unknowingly let out. He was starting to feel embarrassed when your lips began to open again. “Ah-ah.” he warned you as his fingers waved sideways. “Girl, did you forget how to think? We use our brains, not our mouths!” he hissed, eyes looking at the surrounding people just in case they ever witness or eavesdrop the conversation.

Your pale lips formed a flat line and Seungkwan swore you looked like you’ve seen a ghost behind him. Realistically speaking it was mid-day so obviously they wouldn’t appear. There were other things though, but in this specific meoment he knew why your whiney attitude suddenly turned cold, vulnerable and fragile like a dented glass cup.

He assured you that he’d try to talk it out with him; maybe knock down his walls to open up about the ongoing, about-to-be toxic friendship. Seungkwan left his tray for a while to catch up to Hansol, who was now with Wonwoo to eat lunch just tables away from yours. You eyed him as Boo approached your new-found crush a.k.a project partner with a knuckle fist nudge in the arm.

“Hey man, wanna eat with us?” Hansol asked as he pointed the table with his thumb and

“Oh yeah join us. We were just talking about the gathering we’ll have with the others later.” Wonwoo nodded in agreement with the younger one’s company.

Seungkwan declines in an instant, saying that he was already having one with you. Hansol turned to where you were seated and became silent as a response. “I just mentioned her name and you’re already shushed up.” he joked where in fact he was trying to hit him with words so Hansol could open his heart.

“Nah, I’m just really hungry.” he said. A total excuse to not cross paths with you again today.

“Uh-huh, keep saying that.” Seungkwan’s tone alerted the dude. “That’s excuse number twenty-one.”

Wonwoo tried to hold back his smirk. He as well noticed the Hansol’s recent behaviour and it was honestly stupid to able to have the guts to ignore you.

Hansol raised his eyebrows, the topic was getting too personal at least for him. “What’s up with you ‘Kwan?”

“One day dude. One day!” he brought his finger up in emphasis. “You’ll look back at those times and see that all along, you were falling in love with y/n.” Seungkwan turned his foot to head straight to you.

— — —

The days of ignoring you gradually became frequent to the point where it eventually turned out to be a habit. Hansol laid lazily in his bean bag with an awkward posture, tapping his phone away in which Seungcheol thought he was doing his project. The kid was too focused and it would be rude to stop him; but the older one knew his ways. He grabbed the phone, making Hansol shocked and lost for words.

Busted.

Seungcheol was the big brother of the group and he knew he had to correct the habits that were going too far. In this case? The way Hansol continually avoided the conversation regarding you; the way he changed directions to not meet you face to face; the way he does not head out to discuss about the project- the list could go on and on.

Yet, there one certain thing that went too far, and all the boys in his circle do agree and were all in favour to beat the dense one to a pulp if he still does it the last time.

And that was the way he doesn’t invite you to the apartment anymore.

Since befriending you and all of his friends funnily ‘adopted’ you in their group, they loved your company and how jolly you were and how they finally have a sister to bicker non-stop. But because of Hansol’s new weird habits and inconsistent contact with you, those were put into halt. And they didn’t know when you’ll ever visit.

“I thought you were doing your project?” Seungcheol asked as he waved the phone in question.

“I was.” Hansol shrugged, reaching out for his phone. He took it back but now he attracted attention from everyone in the apartment, though they didn’t bother add in remarks. They stood and watched. “Taking a little break that’s all.” he sat back down.

“Okay.” Seungcheol walked towards him, nudging him to snap out of it. “Are you having a break with her too?”

The television’s volume lowered down to silence just so that Hansol knew the intensity and how serious it had become with you. He rotated his head dramatically— and quickly too— that he probably pulled a muscle around his neck. “You mean y/n? No, I still talk with her.”

“Doesn’t look like that to us.” Seungcheol noticed they others with ears attentively listening and hearing the conversation out. “Her presence needed in the crew, she’s part of us now. Like she’s the honey syrup to plain pancakes.”

“And your point is?” Hansol scrolled down some platform for entertainment before stopping at a certain thing.

“Everyone here misses her. I know you do too.” he said, but leaned backwards as the younger one stood and headed for the door.

The hallway revealed you and although he expected it after from scrolling down his phone earlier, he internally panicked. He didn’t know how to act at your appearance and existence so close. Regaining his composure, he exhaled as he began to speak. “Why are you here?”

“I came because you didn’t answer my calls.” you showed your phone. “For three weeks ‘Han. Three weeks and you just left me hanging in the air.”

“Yikes.” Chan whispered and pursed his lips at your tone with the rest who now witnessed the both of you. Jeonghan had to ask him to refrain from giving reactions since this was serious.

Hansol’s lips agape but he shut them close. “I didn’t ask you to come here. I’ll reply to you immediately anyway.

“Sure, you do.” you smiled sarcastically with arms crossed, not knowing where this talk would end up in.

“C’mon y/n, can we just talk virtually? I’m getting tired-”

You scoffed, now unfolding your arms in disbelief and how idiotic he just sounded. “-tired of me?”

Hansol paused for a while and then rubbed his temples at your attempt in completing his sentence. “Look the main point is, at least I replied.”

“But how am I supposed to continue doing my part in the project when the suggestions I get is your one-word text messages? A call would be better. Just what is up with you?” you asked with a tone a little louder this time that it echoed the empty hallway.

“Tsk, you’re so naggy whenever you’re pissed. Seriously you’re so annoying.” he turned his heel when he noticed how pale you looked. He realised that he has gotten too far this time.

His friends gestured with their faces and limbs at Hansol’s blunt, unnecessary reply. You’ve gone ridiculously silent and it drove them crazy.

“Ah.. I see.” you stepped backwards, hurt with his words. Your fingers fiddled nervously and it was as if oxygen was taken away from your pained heart.

This action of yours caused Hansol’s heart to drop, plummeting to the floor. He cursed himself for not thinking things straight. It was a simple conversation that eventually turned into a serious one. Full offence was written on your face and he never seen you like this before. And to think this was his doing? Uh-oh.

He tried to reach out for you but you continued to step backwards and then turning to leave. Right.. what was I thinking? Coming here in hopes things may change and him possibly loving me.. you said to yourself.

Unbeknownst to you though, a group of other college kids filled the end of the hallway. They were drunk, Hansol could clearly see it. But with the way you swayed weakly at his doing, you didn’t notice them approaching you.

“Ooh, hey girl did your boyfriend break up with you?” he asked, seeing Hansol still at the door of his apartment.

“Get away from my boyfriend you ugly!” The guy’s girlfriend, or more of a hook up, got in the way and pushed you aside until you were shoved to the ground by the staircase.

You hissed at the impact and the growing pain at the back of your head. Those drunken kids left laughing until their echoes weren’t heard anymore.

Now your vision was getting in and out of consciousness, black and white patches take their turn to overpower your sight. Of course, Hansol wouldn’t save you. It was already given with the way he acted earlier. Your hearing rang as you tried to lift yourself when a figure shook your weak self.

But with the combination of the hurt Hansol gave you and the impact of the fall, darkness overpowered your sight; dimming until you eventually lost consciousness.

— — —

The softness of the sheets, warmth from your body heat and the coolness of the damp towel on your forehead were enough to keep you out of your slumber. You fluttered your eyes open, blinding shortly from the rays of the sun entering the window beside you.

It didn’t take long for you to figure out the man sitting by the bed with worried arms. His perfume gave his identity away. You wanted to sound ecstatic but then you remembered how he treated you at his front door.

“Hansol?” you managed to let out words he didn’t expect you to say first thing after waking up. “Where am I?”

“Hey, y/n..” he prolonged your name. “.. you’re in my room, on my bed.” he held your hands as he helped you sit up.

Silence filled the room again, just like what had happened at the hallway. Seungkwan entered swiftly and brought a breakfast tray for you to strengthen up, then smacking his friend in the head; obviously for hurting you. “Tsk, see what you did to my bub. You’ll pay for it Chwe Hansol.” he bit his lips in attempt of hitting the lad. Mingyu took the bucket and replaced it with a new one for the towel.

“Why am I in your room?” you asked.

“You had a concussion when those drunkards pushed you down the staircase. Gladly it wasn’t serious but Jeonghan hyung said you were burning with a fever as well. He helped me carry you back to the apartment.” he twisted the cloth where the droplets of water was the only thing heard in the room again.

Observing his actions, clearly he was sorry for how he treated you; that being written in his face when he averted eye contact with you. While you ate, questions began to fill your mind and maybe this was the time to actually be frank with him. You lowered your spoon which caught his attention.

“Do you want water? I’ll get some for you-” he offered, only to be cut off with that one striking description.

“I’m worried that you’re changing into someone I don’t recognise anymore.”

The words were monotonous, piercing to the core and Hansol thought he shattered to pieces. The more he absorbed the words, the deeper the wound got and it was like salt was added to it for intensity. But in fact it was just a push he thought he needed.

“Surprised about that fact of myself too. And the guys did me a scolding for it, hence why I’m telling you in all honesty.” Hansol scooted closer to you, where he was adjacent to your laying body. “But I just wanna let you know.. it’s not you, y/n. It’s me.”

“Fine, okay. Make this be a worth one listening to.” you munched on the food prepared by Joshua.

“It was never you, and it’s always me. You didn’t do anything wrong- rather it was me-”

You scoffed annoyingly that you were already angry eating. “Okay, maybe not. ‘Me, you, me, you’.. Get straight to the point Hansol or else I’m gonna have to ask Minghao to drive me home-”

“Wait! I- uh- hear me out, please.“ he exhaled. “I’m not good with words. And I know I’ve been a douche in the past weeks and I wasn’t myself. But, the guys made me realize something I thought I was doing correctly. Honestly y/n, my feelings for you have changed since. It was more than what we are and I’m afraid it’ll take a toll on our friendship if I confirmed it.”

You let him speak as if he was music to your ears. He held your left hand and played with it as he continued.

“I was like a device buffering and delaying the minutes, preventing it to load to a full one hundred percent. If I reach that point I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it.” he paused when you actually turned you direction to him.

“‘Handle’?..” you raised your brows.

Hansol scoffed for himself at how stupid he’d be when he says it. But whatever, it was you anyway. “I’ll explode each time I see you. I shy away when you give small laughs at my corny jokes and I turn red even if we only talk about the project and-”

“Red as in you are now?” you asked, poking his cheeks lightly to the touch.

“Yeah red like I am now- Wait huh?” he stopped to feel the growing heat in his flesh.

“So you’ve been avoiding me because you like me?” you asked, holding back the full-on laughter that he’d probably be embarrassed of. “What are you, five?”

“I- I do have feelings for y-you but I’m not really sure if they’re just i-infatuation or-”

“Maybe this will confirm it.” The frequent stutter he has had you doing the unbelievable. You tugged his shirt closer to you enough for a kiss, forcing a little to deepen it.

Hansol knew he was blushing since he noticed the presence of his friends just behind that wooden door.

Realizing and confirming the feelings he bottled up inside, he smiled within the kiss and pulled you back again when you thought you finished your part. He cupped your chin, tilting slightly to tell you he wasn’t done. You loosened the clench on his shirt and returned the kiss.

You both pulled away with red cheeks and swollen lips. The sun came out just at the right timing when he thought he saw an angel before him. Its sunrays added color to your eyes, and the outline of your body enlightened with glow.

“Yeah.. That confirmed it so well..” he hummed, sitting next to you on the bed as you laid on his chest.

He said he buffered the minutes because he was afraid to explode. Maybe it was meant to do that because he knew he wouldn’t take it when it was done so suddenly. But because he reached full percent, he somehow, actually expected the kiss.

You were now his girlfriend and that ensured him to know where you both stand.

Today he was yours and you were his.

[fusonzai]

花束みたいな恋をした

Hantaba mitai na koi wo shita

When I first moved to Japan, to say I had some struggles would be an understatement.

It was my first time living away from home, and in a foreign country where I didn’t speak much of the language. I mismanaged my savings, overestimated how much I’d be getting paid, and greatly underestimated just how bad the dreaded daily train ride was.

I was living in a pretty worn down apartment in a somewhat far area called Chofu. Life there was certainly interesting. The apartment was built at least 100 years prior to me living there and it was located 30 minutes from the station. Even though the rent was cheap I was still living pay check to pay check, misusing my credit card in an attempt to feign normalcy.

(First book store, pretending I could read anything)

Suffice to say five years later, when I stepped into the cinema to watch 花束みたいな恋をした, I was taken aback when the films male lead was also living pay check to pay check in a decrepit apartment in Chofu. Shots of Chofu station and the recently completed shopping mall all made me nostalgic for a time that I feel was incredibly formative for me now, years later.

The two leads are both incredibly talented and popular entertainers in Japan. Suda Masaki (the male lead) has appeared in countless television shows and released acclaimed albums while Arimura Kasumi comes off to me as Japan’s sweetheart; starring in romantic dramas in both television and cinema. Their popularity could be compared to that of Timothee Chalamet and Zendaya. I’m not one to spoil films for people, or re-tell stories already told on the screen, but due to the sheer unlikelihood of this film being translated or released anytime soon; some concessions had to be made.

(Tell me these two aren't adorable)

The film centres around the 5 year relationship between two soon to be university graduates, Mugi (Suda Masaki) and Kinu (Arimura Kasumi), and the highs and lows that they experience as a couple in their twenties, navigating their first adult relationship. Mugi is a creative type, writing short comic strips on commission, not too sure of his own direction post university whilst Kinu describes herself as the type of person whose luck is so bad that whenever she drops toast, it always falls butter side first. Kinu comes off as more earnest and less outgoing than Mugi, however the two are both still on that precipice of adulthood. Not quite sure where their lives will lead, still enjoying that idle time between the end of university and the jump into the working world.

(Mugi & Kinu during that honeymoon phase)

We start in 2020 with both Mugi and Kinu sitting in a cafe with different partners; they’ve clearly broken up and don’t even acknowledge each other when they first notice one another. A chance at rekindled love seems unlikely, this is going to be a how they got to where they are type story. A little less ‘The Notebook’ and a little more’500 Days of Summer’.

We’re then taken back to 2015 and see the two meet at the always busy Meidaimae station. They both fail to catch that last train home and spend a night together in Karaoke Bars, Izakayas and eventually Mugi’s apartment where Kinu falls asleep watching his 3 hour long movie on Gas Tanks. They go on three dates where Mugi (afraid of being relegated to only friends) confesses his feelings towards Kinu, and the two start dating.

These initial encounters are so important in detailing the striking amount of shared interests they have. They read the same books, use movie tickets as bookmarks for said books, like the same music, even wear the same white converse sneakers. Yet they tend to hide their differences from one another. Kinu isn’t all too interested in Mugi’s 3 hour gas tank short film and Mugi wasn’t as interested as Kinu in the Egyptian exhibit they both had tickets for before they met. This hiding of differences only gets worse as time passes.

They both graduate and move in together. We’re shown the harshness of Japan’s shuushoku. This is a practice where everyone applies for career orientated jobs at the same time, but those that fail generally have to wait until next year. Kinu fails initially and works part time jobs. Things don’t go well for Mugi either; his freelance work dries up and he decides to bow to the pressures around him and begin looking for a real job. After an almost honeymoon like two years together, the two eventually begin their ‘adult’ jobs, and we first see the cracks of their relationship start to show.

Throughout the next 3 years, we see two people who have gotten through their relationship solely via common interests, suddenly see those shared hobbies crumble. They’re left with the realisation that they can’t actually communicate that well, and feel helpless in trying to stop the conflict that ensues. Mugi works overtime at the new job that he clearly doesn’t enjoy, because he believes, as a man, that he has to provide and protect the status quo and that the adult thing to do is abandon those things that once brought him enjoyment. Meanwhile Kinu struggles to figure out what she wants to do. She eventually gets a job through shuushoku however it doesn’t seem to suit her at all and she ponders changing to a more fulfilling yet lower paying job. The two both get so caught up in their own situations that they often don’t see each other for days at a time. Their walks home together and time spent playing Zelda on the couch gradually fade until they’re no longer. Their arguments about work and life get worse with neither of them managing to get through to the other, at times wondering how they even ended up together.

This all culminates in them deciding to break up after their friend’s wedding, sharing one last happy day together before going their separate ways.

There’s a lot of scenes in this movie that I’d like to break down but for now I want to talk about the break up scene. This scene felt so reflective of some dated, but still prevalent, ideas about love and marriage in Japan that were often espoused to me here by co workers and friends.

Kinu can’t relate to her boyfriend anymore, they don’t have sex, nearly every conversation ends in a fight and anything she tries to do just seems to push the two further apart. Mugi seems too caught up in his job and the future: he believes it’s natural for two people to grow apart after the love fades, and that marriage and starting a family is key to get over this hurdle.

Foregoing the wedding reception afterparty, the two have their break up at the same chain restaurant where Mugi first confessed his love. They go to sit in their original seats, but they’re already occupied. Something about this stung in some indirect way, almost as if the film maker is forewarning that the two can no longer go back to how they were. After some debate, they both air their grievances. Kinu has fallen out of love but Mugi believes that this is normal and believes marriage is the answer. There’s this beautifully acted monologue from Mugi where he ruminates on a future where he and Kinu get married and have children. He romanticises how nice it’d be to be called Mama and Papa, to go on holiday, to take the kids to Disneyland and to have people say, ‘those two had some issues but they really sorted it all out’. He believes love is a like a raw object and has an expiration date, with marriage being the key to prolonging that expiration.

For almost a second it looks as though Kinu is going to accept this fanciful, but sadly flawed, proposal until a young couple behind them is seated in their old spot. This part is almost too on the nose. The couple displays that same youthful awkwarkdness that Mugi and Kuni once had and goes through the exact same motions they did; swapping books, and talking music interests and of course they’re also wearing white converses.

Their youthful bliss and naivety is piercing to both the audience and the sombre couple. Mugi realises it’s over, Kinu realises it’s over, and judging from the sniffles in the audience everyone watching does too. There are some things you just can’t get back, there isn’t a reset button, and you can’t use marriage and children to fix your issues.

This seems common sense to me, however the interactions I’ve had since moving to Japan suggest that that might not be the norm here.

Marriage and weddings in the west always seemed liked a celebration of two peoples’ relationship up until that point and then the beginning of the next chapter of their life together. I used to work catering at weddings, and it’s strange to think that statistically half of those incredibly stressed, but incredibly joyous, couples will divorce, or already have.

So why do these once happy couples decide to go their separate ways? Extramarital affairs is still one of the top cited reasons in the west. It’s also probably the only thing I don’t think I could ever forgive. From an early age this ideal had been drilled into me that people that were married were in love and if you’re in love why would you cheat? If you didn’t want to be with that person, why would you marry them? I think infidelity is still incredibly strong grounds for divorce in the west. If you’re caught you can apologise and maybe make amends but there’s always a stain on the relationship from the outside, once a cheater always a cheater etc. There’s a strong emphasis on faithfulness above almost all else.

Flash forward a few years to me moving to Japan. Now before the move here, I’d seen the Youtube videos and the stories from friends of friends about rampant infidelity in Japan. One of my favourite entertainment personalities found out his wife was cheating on him for the entirety of their marriage and waited until she got citizenship to tell him. I don’t believe anyone is in a position to make broad claims about the culture of a country based on some internet articles. I believe you need experience to shape your world view but that doesn’t mean your world view is necessarily the correct one.

Whilst being an advanced country in many facets, gender roles in Japan often feel as though they have some catching up to do. Whilst there’s this heavy pressure to get married early (if you’re female, 25 and not seeing someone with the intention to get married, what the hell are you doing?) and a market much like the west promoting incredibly expensive weddings and honeymoons, there isn’t that much to care about after the marriage (provided you’re having children, of course). It’s strange in that I found I admired the whole one unit aspect of marriage here. Financially, it seemed that whilst most of my co workers and friends wives controlled the purse strings, big decisions were made together. There is a coldness to the lack of emotion to some of these decisions, but they were often best in the long run.

However there also seemed to be this separation of marriage and of love. Friends wouldn’t consider it cheating if their partner slept with a sex worker or if it was only because they were drunk. I had friends who were actively cheating on their partner whilst being aware that their partner was actively cheating on them. However there was this weird agreement that as long as neither was too obvious it was alright. I had an old boss who said if he was feeling the urge, he’d just go see a sex worker as that arrangement was better for both him and his wife. It was almost as if being married and being in love weren’t mutually exclusive. Love and sexual attraction were for young people, marriage was about creating a family and supporting that family. Marriage was the next step in a relationship to further your life (married people often get paid more, there are large subsidies for having children etc.) As responsible adults, a couple would get married by 30 or so to have children and protect the status quo. If you didn’t disturb that status quo too much; some cheating was allowed and often expected.

(My boss & I, sunglasses and all)

“Marriage is a result, not a destination” is a line my boss uttered to me. I was dating a girl who shared different views on marriage than I did. Our relationship was expected to end in marriage in a sense; her family knew of me and mine her. I didn’t want to get married but at the same I loved her so much that I thought the only way to show that was marriage. My boss thought there was a flaw in her and a lot of Japan’s way of thinking. He believed that marriage wasn’t something to strive for, but merely the result of a happy relationship. He also thought my love had an expiry date and his estimation wasn’t far off.

I don’t think his line of thinking is all that idealistic, the heavy expectation of marriage at the start of a relationship puts pressure on a base that isn’t that well established. Is there a line we can draw between knowing what you want from a relationship and expecting too much before you even know the other partner? Had Kinu and Mugi discussed their differences earlier on would that have saved them down the track or only led them to a faster break up where they could then move onto more suitable partners?

Looking at Mugi’s proposal from a purely western lens, it seems ludicrous and somewhat insulting. Looking at it from my own experiences, it’s still not romantic, but it has an appealing practicality that I’m sure some older people in the audience may relate to.

(Wise words, to translate it roughly: Young hearts, don't run free)

With all this in mind, the break up scene really is layered with expectations and differing ideologies. What surprised me the most was that after this tear laden break up, the two lived a plutonic and, by all accounts, friendly 3 months together whilst they both sorted out their individual accommodation. They both opt to move out and leave the old apartment and those old memories behind. The idea of living with someone for 3 months post break up seems almost ludicrous. The fact that they live these three months as if they’re in their honeymoon phase again is baffling initially, but once you remove romance and talk to the person you’re with, without the expectations you once had, it isn’t really all that surprising. These two had and still have more in common than they do apart. Whilst initially off putting, it’s charming that these two best friends can live together even though they’ve separated. I look at the countless times people break up; sides are chosen in friendship groups and efforts are made to not invite both people to the same event. Could you live with your ex after you broke up for 3 months? Doesn’t it make more sense for you to still want the person you shared so much of your life with to still be in it regardless of what once was? Regardless of what was, wouldn’t you still want someone you shared so much of your life with to still be around in some way?

Three months pass and we’re back to the cafe again, both Kinu and Mugi with their respective new partners. They leave the cafe at the same time, ride the same long escalator down whilst not acknowledging each other. They split at the end of the escalator, both of them raise their hand waving goodbye, not knowing if the other is waving as well.

There is something sobering and satisfying about such an anti-climactic ending. They didn’t run into each other’s arms, this meeting wasn’t the start of the second act of the film like I suspected it would be. It was simply two people that once were together continuing down a different road. We often watch romantic films to see two people fall in love and learn to live a life together. Depending on the film it can often seem too idyllic or fanciful but it always seems in reach…if you find that right person. Hanataba mitai na koi wo shita presents a more grounded argument. The right person isn’t always enough. Your situation, your beliefs and your respective flaws might get the best of you. Your own happy ever after might not be all you thought it would be, hell it might not even be one at all.

[thewatermelloncat]

Lost Boy

“I’m not supposed to tell you this. But I was talking to Ben and they’re thinking of sending you back to the Isle” Uma breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

“What’s so bad about that?” Harry looks back to her. “I don’t fit in here and I never will.”

“The crew’s here. I’m here, and you’re my first mate” she tries but even now she feels like her words won’t stick.

“The crew’s dead Uma” Harry says suddenly. “We all split a long time ago.”

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Summary: After being allowed into Auradon, Harry finds that it’s not the place for him.

Warnings: Like one swear word?

Taglist: @wafflethottt

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Harry Hook didn’t want revenge – not anymore. He wanted to cause mischief and wreak havoc, but he couldn’t get away with it here. Though that didn’t necessarily stop him. For the first week since he and the crew had moved to Auradon, they had pulled pranks and disobeyed rules together. That was until people started realising that they didn’t like getting in trouble for it, and gradually they all went their separate ways.

Since then Harry had largely stopped breaking rules and causing disturbances, though fights were common and his shirt never stayed tucked in. It wasn’t any fun for him to cause mischief with no one to do it with or no one who would celebrate his achievements with him. Instead he closed in on himself.

He’d see the crew around the place laughing and making new friends as he walked past them with no place to go, no purpose. Some of them were old enough to finish school this year and were talking about their futures. He didn’t have one planned out – well, here anyway.

Uma talked about hers a lot. She was the only one that stuck around him. Without their ship the crew were barely in one place at a time. Even in the mess hall they all sat apart with their new friend groups. Sometimes Gil sat with them, sometimes he didn’t. Though Harry still called him a friend because he never remembered a time when they decided that they weren’t.

On the Isle he thought that Auradon had taken everything away from him. It wasn’t until he got to Auradon that he realised that it was then that Auradon had taken everything away from him. On the Isle he had all he wanted.

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Magical History became his favourite class. Not because he liked the subject, in fact he despised it. He’d heard enough of his father’s drunken rants about pixie dust so that, although he knew a lot about it, he never wanted to hear about it again. But from his desk, he could look out the window and across the water to the Isle where he could see the old ship docked against the wharf.

He got detention many a time for zoning out as he stared back at his home. Little did they realise that being in Auradon was enough of a punishment for him.

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“You can’t keep walking outta that class” Uma says from behind him while he faces away from her out to the water.

“Well I ain’t gonna sit there and listen to the fairy talk shit about my father! Her whole curriculum is biased!” Harry bites back, not even turning to look at her. It hadn’t been long since he’d stormed out of History of Woodsmen and Pirates, he hadn’t even known what the blasted Tinkerbell was speaking about but something in him clicked and he decided that he’d had enough.

He’d hated that class to begin with. Everyone always thought that he wasn’t listening to whatever Tinkerbell was saying, just because he didn’t wear the standard headphones that allowed the rest of the class to hear her speak. He could hear her just fine. Though he wished he couldn’t.

It was clear that she hated him. Her eyes almost never left him, like she didn’t trust him. Sometimes that suited Harry fine so he could glare back at her, sometimes he just wanted to be left alone.

It didn’t help any that he’d quickly taken to sitting at the back of the classroom so he could avoid most of his classmate’s stares every time his father was mentioned. Those who chose to look back had to live with getting glared back at with a hundred times the ferocity. Eventually they all chose not to.

“Look, Harry. You know the class is compulsory, you have to pass it” Uma says as she sits down on the sand next to him, and he fights the temptation to shuffle away. “If you keep walking out, they’ll fail you and you’ll have to retake it.”

“Everything in that class is wrong” Harry refuses to accept. “I won’t sit through it when I know full well how everything really happened.”

“You know everything how your father told it to you” Uma points out.

“That means the same thing” Harry mutters quickly under his breath.

Uma sighs before she turns toward him, shuffling back a little so she can stretch her legs out. “Maybe everything isn’t so black and white.”

“You fucking serious?” Harry glares at her. “You’re taking their side?”

“Our parents were hellbent on revenge since they lost. I wouldn’t be surprised if they changed parts of stories to make it easier on their egos” she rationalises.

Harry is silent for a long while, staring out across the ocean in front of them. Whether it’s because her point made some sort of sense to him or that he can’t comprehend it at all, Uma doesn’t know. It feels like minutes that she waits for him to speak, only to come to the conclusion that he doesn’t plan to.

“I’m not supposed to tell you this. But I was talking to Ben and they’re thinking of sending you back to the Isle” Uma breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

“What’s so bad about that?” Harry looks back to her. “I don’t fit in here and I never will.”

“The crew’s here. I’m here, and you’re my first mate” she tries but even now she feels like her words won’t stick.

“The crew’s dead Uma” Harry says suddenly, deadly serious. “We all split a long time ago.”

“I can help you if you want to stay” she tells him earnestly.

“Well the thing is, lass” Uma flinches as Harry calls her a generic name rather than her own. “I don’t want to stay. I couldn’t leave soon enough.”

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Those were the last words they said to each other for a long time – aside from when they had said goodbye before he was driven away in a limousine.

Since then Uma had gone back to her studies and focusing on her future in Auradon without Harry in the way to stop her. She had started reforging the friendship she had with Gil. She met his new friends and hung out with them a lot, but she missed Harry. Life around there wasn’t the same without him.

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Months after Harry’s departure, Uma started hearing whispers that he was doing well for himself back on the Isle. Apparently, he was practically running the place after taking over his father’s crew. The captain was getting older after not needing to be resurrected from death before being thrown onto the Isle, twenty or so years prior. His crew had some unrest that he was no longer suitable to be captain and had welcomed the prospect of Harry taking over from him.

Except Captain Hook wouldn’t give up his crew without a fight. The duel between father and son was said to be legendary, both being skilled swordsmen it was thought to be an even match. Though the older man had made the mistake of teaching his son everything that he knew, years prior. The duel ended with Harry disarming him, and with a sword and his own hook to his father’s neck, the crew was his.

Uma doesn’t know why she always thought that he needed her to operate. Maybe it was because he followed her orders without question that she thought he wasn’t capable of making his own. But now she sees that under her leadership, his talents as a Captain had stayed hidden and she was stupid not to notice them until now.

Dare she say she was jealous that out from under her rule and with his own crew, he was running the Isle better than she had been able to. Over time she found herself making friends with the new transfers from the Isle just to see how he was doing. Though no amount of information she could get out of them could fill the hole his departure had left inside her. She still had so many questions: What territories does he have? Is he hurt? Does he regret leaving? Does he think about her?

For weeks she found herself zoning out in class, looking over at the Isle through any window that could see it. She would take herself down to the water and stand amongst the waves to be closer to it. Not for some time connecting that in her heart, she felt a deep longing for it. When the connection was finally made, she started to think about going back to it. Though the logical part of her brain would push it down and remind her that she would have a safer future in Auradon. A better future.

Subconsciously she would plan how to get back there, unaware that her mind was actually considering it. She quickly ruled out the thought of doing something terrible and being sent back, she wanted to leave with what dignity she had. She also knew that she didn’t want to tell anyone, lest it find its way to Gil. If he found out she was leaving he would feel pressure to follow her and she wanted him to stay and enjoy his new life off the Isle.

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It wasn’t until she couldn’t get to sleep one night that she made the split-second decision to get out of bed and pack her things. She didn’t have much – that she wanted to take anyway. So, she stuffed all the clothes that she wanted and all the money that she had into a backpack which she slung over her shoulder.

She wrote Mal – and simultaneously Evie – a note. Knowing that Mal would understand why she left, though Evie wouldn’t. She thought about writing Gil one, it was what he deserved but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Knowing that she would regret writing one if he followed her more than she would regret not writing him one at all.

In the dark of the night she made her bed and slipped out the window, the few things left behind in her room the only sign that she was ever there. Quietly she crept along the rooftops before scaling down the walls of the dormitories, keeping out of sight. Walking through the courtyard in the dark brought back memories of her and Harry breaking curfew before she had started to unknowingly push him away. Though this time she only feared getting caught because she knew they would try to stop her from leaving.

Without a hitch she made it to the small garage by the waterfront and enchanted a pushbike to take her across the water. It seemed stupid considering the number of mopeds and motorbikes stored there but she didn’t want to take something that actually mattered.

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

The gates to the Isle once again greeted her with a sense of foreboding. Only this time she was entering back into a world of dangers that she knew, and not entering a world where she knew nothing. She left the bike leaning against the arch, having no further use for it. Someone could pick it up in the morning and sell it for parts for all she cared.

Swallowing nervously, she sets off walking deeper into her home, her hands feeling empty without her sword. She knows she is quick but she also knows the Isle is a changed place since she left over a year ago and she’s probably out of practice. There is no guarantee she could escape a fight unscathed, or escape at all.

By the time she reaches the old wharf, the sun is rising and people are starting to mill about the place, opening up their market stalls or beginning to fish off the dock. Everything looks so different from how she left it; dare she say it looks better. Gone are the wobbly boards and the holes in the boardwalk, and there is more order. No one is yelling off their balcony for someone to get off their fishing spot or away from their market stall. Everyone looks happier, their faces cleaner and more well-fed.

Down in the water she sees her old ship. Out of anything around the wharf, it is the only thing that remains unchanged. Though it seems that someone has been keeping it up to sailing condition. The sails are raised signalling that the ship is not in use, but the deck has been scrubbed clean to keep the wood from rotting.

Uma hears him before she sees him. She would recognise that laugh anywhere. Following its direction, she descends the levels of the wharf coming to walk past her old ship, not sparing it more than a second glance as she continues toward the Jolly Rodger a little further along.

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

As she approaches, she sees Harry standing on deck with two other members of the crew, no doubt giving out orders for the day. A sense of nostalgia washes over her as she remembers doing that task herself for years up until many months ago. And suddenly she jealous again, seeing how happy he looks; how happy he would have looked without her.

“Captain!” a member of the crew calls out to Harry from the crow’s nest, gesturing over to Uma as she stops a little way from the ship. She didn’t want to get too close not knowing how Harry will react to seeing her, and what he may command his crew to do in response. Now she is technically a nobody with no name, no reputation after she abandoned the Isle for Auradon. Ursula didn’t have a fearsome enough reputation to protect her like Maleficent did for Mal.

Nervously she watches as Harry’s eyes look down to her, and he says something to the crew members before he leaves them and heads down to the gangplank. She breathes out a sigh of relief seeing him approaching her alone with only his hook in hand, so she figures that he isn’t going to fight her.

Though her heart doesn’t stop racing as he approaches her. With the space between them closing she realises that she has no idea what to say to him, and she tells him as much when he stops in front of her.

Harry chuckles down at her and Uma notices how much he’s grown as she looks back up at him. Not so much in getting taller but he looks older, more sophisticated. Back in his long red coat reminiscent of his father but missing the pirate hat. His hook still shines in his hand and dark charcoal lines his eyes again – how she’d missed that.

“Took you longer than I’d thought” Harry tells her causally like they’d just spoken the other day, not having months of no communication between them.

“You knew I would come?” Uma asks him.

Harry hums affirmatively, nodding his head before frowning at her. “What’s that look for?”

Uma blinks as she realises she’s shying away from him, feeling like she is nothing under his control of the situation, his control over the wharf. He could say he doesn’t want to see her and be done with her, leaving her with nothing she can do about it. That prospect is so unfamiliar to her. “You seem so different” is what she settles for.

“So do you” he looks down at her, seeing her missing all of her usual confidence.

“You were right, you know” Uma admits, looking down at the wharf in defeat. “Auradon wasn’t all it cracked up to be.”

“What’s wrong about that?” Harry asks. “You’re back here now.”

“I have nothing here, Harry” Uma tells him sadly, her eyes close to tears. She flicks her eyes around the wharf, the place she used to run, before they fall back on the person who owns it standing in front of her. “I abandoned everyone, and I abandoned you back in Auradon because I was too self-centred to see you struggling. You rule my old turf now, you could kick me out and never see me again if you wanted to.” Uma’s voice is shaky and she fidgets with her hands wishing she could reach out and touch Harry, feel some connection to him again. She missed him.

“If you thought that, why did you come to me as the first thing you did?”

“I don’t know” Uma bites her lip and averts her eyes to keep from crying.

Harry scoffs slightly and steps forward wrapping his arms around her. At first, she is too shocked that he wanted anything to do with her to be able to move, but eventually she moves her arms around his waist without question. “You don’t have nothing, there’s the old ship waiting for you” he tells her placing a kiss on the top of her head like he used to do.

“I missed you” Uma sobs into his chest as he continues to hold her.

She feels him laugh a little and he tightens his hold on her. “There’s none of the crew left anymore, but there are a few kids in the alleys that could do with a good home.”

“I don’t want to be a Captain anymore” she tells him and he pulls away from her in shock.

He blinks at her, thinking he mustn’t have heard her right.

“I don’t have a purpose anymore, Harry. I had the crew to help me get off the Isle and get revenge on Auradon” she explains. “We got our freedom, but I don’t want revenge anymore.”

Harry seems to relax as her point makes sense to him. “What are you going to do then?”

“You tell me, Captain Hook.”

[lovelylogans]

double chocolate fudge

part of the wyliwf verse, though it isn’t necessary to read that first—a lot of the premise is spelled out in this fic, actually, so it’s a decent prologue

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, crying

pairings: gen 

words: 9,258

notes: i actually originally was gonna stick this, as a flashback, in the middle of chapter nine, and then maybe in chapter eleven, but i ended up (grudgingly) cutting it because i couldn’t figure out a way to get it to flow, so, here it is! 

there’s a flu that scours throughout he town at a rate of absurd proportions that week, knocking out the vast majority of virgil’s part-timers, so he’s had to pull his third fourteen-hour shift in four days, waiting and busing tables and cooking, so at last when the diner’s closed, virgil’s making himself his first meal of the day. he’s taking a second to just breathe, because it turns out when people get sick, they really don’t want to cook, so he’d had to deal with dinner rush and take-out and call-in orders, the kind of days that would have been hectic even with a full staff, but with one that’s been absolutely decimated, virgil hasn’t had a moment of peace. and now he has it. 

so when the bell dings, cheerfully disrupting it, he’s less than pleased.

“we’re closed,” virgil barks out in the meanest tone he could manage, which is pretty damn mean. he’s expecting someone to get huffy, or pleading, or mad, and he’s gearing up to turn and kick whoever it is out of the diner without prejudice.

he is not expecting to hear that someone burst into hysterical sobs.

he spins, then, to lay eyes on a stranger (a rarity in sideshire) someone wearing the baggiest black sweatshirt he’s ever seen, a stained pair of jeans with genuine rips, not the kind that are designed to be fashionable, and a taped-up pair of converse. the stranger’s bent over a little indigo bundle, shoulders shaking.

“i’m sorry,” the stranger sobs, “i just—i just,” and breaks down again.

“oh, shit,” virgil says frantically, because that is a kid. “i—shit, i’m terrible, i’m the worst person, i’m so sorry, i can—i can stay open a little longer, please just stop crying?”

but then the bundle starts squalling, and oh, fuck, that is a baby, virgil just yelled at some kid with a baby who was clearly on the verge of a breakdown, he is the worst person on this planet?

“jesus,” virgil says over all the crying, and sets aside the lasagna he’s been assembling and crosses over to the two crying occupants of the diner. “i—“

the kid snuffles, and bounces the bundle—the baby—trying to shush it, but he can’t get out the comforting noises he’s trying to make over his own crying. so virgil is stuck trying to apologize as the kid manages to bounce the baby into calming down, a little, so that there is less screaming but still crying, and the kid stares at him with miserable, red-rimmed eyes.

“i’m really sorry, i can—i can go, i—”

“no, it’s—you’re okay, jesus, i was the jerk, i’m the one who’s really sorry,” virgil says. “here, the baby’ll calm down more while you calm down, if you want to just—sit down? maybe?”

the kid does, settling in the nearest booth and hunching protectively over the bundle of baby, who is somehow still crying, shouldn’t something that small be worn out by now? where is it getting that energy? virgil edges gradually closer and closer, moving slow as to not startle the kid or the baby, feeling like The Worst.

“um,” virgil says, when the baby calms down, eventually, “i can get, like, a spare carseat weird carriage thing if you want to put the baby down? i’m—i’m really sorry.”

the kid sniffs, smearing his sweatshirt paw under his eye. “but you’re closed.”

“i can stay open a bit longer,” virgil says. “i was—i was just in a mood, i’m sorry, i’m not gonna be closed-closed for a while.”

“you really don’t have to—“

“no, i want to,” virgil says. 

“you don’t have to be nice to me,” the kid says after a moment of hesitation, like the phrase nice to me is some kind of olympic-level weight that he doesn’t want to set on virgil instead of it just being the decent thing to do, “i could go.”

“you don’t have to,” virgil says, a little frustrated. “stay. please.”

“well—“

“i feel like making both a kid and a baby cry kind of necessitates an apology,” virgil says. “seriously. i might get struck down by some karmic lightning if i don’t feed you or something.”

the kid makes a snuffling kind of a laugh, hesitates, and admits quietly, “that’d be, um. that’d be nice. thank you.”

“okay,” virgil says, seizing on it. great! he’s accepted an apology! that probably means he’ll stay! “awesome. i’ll, um. i’ll get you a menu.”

“oh, please don’t go to any trouble,” the kid starts. “you’re already doing a lot, i shouldn’t—”

“it’s fine, i was just making myself dinner,” virgil says. 

“then i’ll have whatever you’re having,” the kid says, clinging to the baby. “really, you’re already being so nice to me—”

“you were literally sobbing five minutes ago, but okay,” virgil says. “you like lasagna?”

the kid smiles, sniffles. “i love lasagna.”

“cool,” he says. “um, does the baby, like. should i get something for the baby?”

“the baby drinks milk and i fed him just a little ago,” the kid says. “but thanks.”

“cool,” virgil says, because thank fucking god, he knows nothing about how to take care of a baby. “you want water, hot cocoa/coffee—?”

“hot cocoa/coffee?”

“virgil’s diner original,” virgil says. “hot cocoa and coffee. before you ask, no, not like a mocha. wait. should i be giving you caffeine?”

“i have a newborn,” the kid says. “it is a great time for caffeine. it is the perfect time for caffeine.”

“okay,” virgil says. “water and a hot cocoa/coffee, coming right up. plus the weird carseat thing.”

he chucks the lasagna in the oven and gets those out really fast, because he isn’t super sure that the kid isn’t gonna bolt as soon as virgil disappears, but when he comes back out the kid is staring down at the baby, cooing, and the baby is making little babbling noises back, like they’re talking in their own secret language. they both look so young. the baby is definitely too young for the kid to be a babysitter, so the baby is probably his, right? virgil feels even worse.

“okay,” virgil says, sitting back down in the opposite booth bench. “two waters, two hot cocoa/coffees, one weird thing that parents usually put their babies into while they eat.”

he sets the thing on the table. the kid surveys it, for a second, looks down at the baby, and then back at the thing, like he’s really warring with the decision to let go of the baby or not. it makes sense—it’s a pretty tiny baby, and virgil is some random stranger who just yelled at him, so.

at last, the kid sighs, and shifts his grip. he carefully lays down the little indigo bundle in the thing, making soft noises at him all the while, like he’s making sure the baby won’t fuss as soon as he’s out of his arms. when the baby’s settled—he fusses a little, but he settles with some help of the kid murmuring comforting nonsense at it—virgil takes a look at the baby.

well. it’s a baby. he’s got those bright blue eyes that most newborns have, and a head full of downy dark hair, and a face that is getting less red and more curious about his surroundings all the while. the kid adjusts the bundle so the baby’s arms are free, which the baby immediately takes advantage of, waving them around as if to alternatively say this is an outrage! or point out new things in his surroundings.

"cute baby,” virgil says, because yes, that is a cute baby. like, a picturesque little gerber baby levels of cute. also that seems like the thing to say about a baby. virgil’s never really had extended contact with babies beyond parents bringing their kids into the diner.

“he is, isn’t he?” the kid says fondly, wraps his hands around the mug and takes a sip, and his eyebrows lift. “oh, this is really good.”

“yeah, i try,” virgil says. 

“like. really, really good.”

“sure.”

“like, i think this is my new favorite drink,” the kid says. “of all time. ever.”

he takes a really long, deep gulp, and sighs in satisfaction.

“well,” virgil says. “good, then.”

“oh god,” the kid says, lowering the mug from his lips. “i’m so sorry, i’ve been so rude—”

“i literally made you cry?”

“—i’m patton,” he says, with a polite smile, stumbling a little over the name, like he was about to say something else instead. “and this is logan.”

“patton and logan,” virgil says. “nice to meet you. i’m virgil.”

he carefully reaches across the table and offers his hand to shake. the kid, hesitates before he takes it, and virgil tries not to sigh in relief. his hands are kinda cold—like he’d hesitated outside before going in, like he’d been psyching himself up asking what’s the worst that could happen? and then virgil happened, and wow, virgil somehow managed to make the kid’s hand temperature be a way to feel even worse about this situation, that was a personal record.

to distract himself from that, and to make the kid laugh, maybe, he turns to the baby, and offers his hand for the baby to shake, fully expecting the baby to maybe blink at him and the kid to maybe crack a pity smile, instead of the smile on his face that looks strangely fixed into place.

what he gets is the baby wrapping his tiny hand around virgil’s pointer finger, and gripping onto it with a surprising amount of strength for such a tiny hand, and virgil goes a little slack-jawed.

(years and years later, this will be the moment virgil pinpoints as when he became an absolute sucker for logan sanders, and the moment that virgil’s mind starts its slow pivot from “twenty-two year old trying desperately to run the family business whose general idea of babies is ‘that’s cute i guess’” to “twenty-two year old trying desperately to run the family business and becoming a little baby-crazy in his quest to protect the sanders boys.”)

“oh,” virgil says.

“he’s got a hold on you, huh?” the kid—patton—asks, amused, and takes another long drink of hot cocoa/coffee.

“yeah,” virgil says, a little stunned, because—because his hand’s so tiny, and yet he’s holding onto virgil, and blinking up at him with those pretty little baby blue eyes of his, like he trusts him or something, which is a stupid thing to think, he’s a baby, but it’s just— 

“he’s really tiny.”

“yeah,” patton says softly.

“is he supposed to be this tiny?” virgil asks, unable to tear his eyes away from the baby, who is altering his grip on virgil’s finger slightly with some kind of fascinated look on his face. he has eyelashes. they’re so long, and yet, so tiny.

“he’s a little small, but not, like, worryingly small,” patton says, propping his chin on his hand and smiling down at him—a real, actual smile, not the polite one. “he was born a bit early, so that’s expected, but he’s six point three pounds, or at least he was the last time we weighed him. he’s due for a growth spurt here, apparently.”

“six point three pounds,” virgil says, hushed. the baby weighs a little more than a bag of sugar, for fuck’s sake, how is his grip on virgil’s finger so strong? not strong enough that virgil can’t break it, but. but stronger than the grip of something that’s six point three pounds. “wow.”

“yeah,” the kid agrees, voice soft. 

“i mean—wow,” virgil repeats, staring at the baby—who is a baby, sure, but he’s gonna be, like, a person. a person who walks and talks and thinks for himself, and right now, that person is six point three pounds. “how old is he?”

“he just hit three weeks, two days ago,” patton says.

this baby is not even a month old and yet he’s aware enough to recognize fingers and hold onto them and test his grip and look around at things, and.

“sorry, this is just—i’ve never really been around babies?” virgil says, managing to tear his gaze away from the baby—logan, right. “so this is kind of blowing my mind, right now.”

“yeah, me either,” patton says. “well, before him, anyway.”

“it’s just—he’s gonna be a person,” virgil says. 

“i know,” patton agrees, soft. “i know. like, he’s gonna go to school and make friends and have opinions and walk and read and write and talk and all that, someday, but right now, he’s—”

“a baby.”

“yeah,” patton agrees, and leans so that he can smile at the baby—a real smile, a soft, private-looking, proud kind of smile. “yeah. right now, he’s my baby.”

he’s my baby. so the kid is definitely the baby’s dad.

"can i ask you how old you are?” virgil says tentatively, and patton stiffens, just a little, but a smile’s back on his face in a second. not the soft one, a polite one, a pleasant-looking one. a practiced one.

“seventeen in january.”

so, he’s sixteen. jesus christ, this kid is sixteen. virgil yelled at this poor sixteen-year-old dad with a baby.

“okay,” virgil says, keeping his voice carefully blank, even though the confirmation that this kid is, you know, a kid, has sprung fifteen million questions in his head, namely where are your parents? and what are you doing here? and something is definitely going on here, are you okay, is everything okay? then, because it seems like a fair trade, he says, “i turn twenty-three next month.”

"cool,” patton says awkwardly. he takes a sip of hot cocoa/coffee.

virgil does too, because honestly the baby’s gonna be the one who chooses to let go, not virgil, and having a baby hang onto his finger seems like the least he can do to keep the baby entertained. he takes a much slower, longer sip than usual to buy time for him to scramble for something else to say, and he ends up going with the relatively neutral, “so, uh, where are you from?”

“the city,” patton says, and amends, “well, one of the suburbs north of the city.”

virgil’s not about to ask him specifically which one, but, well. there’s a certain connotation with a lot of the suburbs north of the city. and that connotation is rich. which virgil was not expecting when he saw this kid in some of the rattiest clothes he’s seen in a minute that aren’t his, and yeah, there is definitely something going on with patton, is this kid, like, okay?

“it’s about an hour away from here,” patton says, and hesitates, before he says, “where—um, where is here, actually?”

“oh,” virgil says. “you’re in sideshire.”

“sideshire,” he repeats, like he’s testing how it sounds, then he shakes his head. “i’ve never heard of it.”

“it’s a pretty small town, so,” virgil says. “not surprising. we’re really mostly known for pride stuff, so—”

“pride stuff?” patton says, sounding intrigued. the baby makes a noise, too, and brings virgil’s hand closer to his face, examining it.

“right, yeah, you’re new here,” virgil says. “it’s not a super-huge deal, but we were, like, one of the first small towns to start having consistent, yearly pride parades that were, like, approved by the whole town, that kind of thing, so it’s always been pretty lgbtq friendly, but a lot of people move here in search of—well, i guess to live in a small town that doesn’t live up to the stereotype of homophobic small towns, you know?”

“oh,” he says, and his smile widens. “that’s—that’s really cool, actually. really?”

“my family’s been living here forever,” virgil says. “my great-aunts started it, really, they moved here because of that and then my grandpa came here too and founded this place, so.”

“that’s really cool,” patton repeats, sincere, and then he blurts out, “i’m trans.”

“oh, nice,” virgil says. “just wanna double check, he/him pronouns, right?”

patton’s grin widens—like he’s happy that virgil is asking, like it’s some huge thing, when again, it is the decent thing to do. “yeah!”

virgil weakly jabs a thumb back toward the little pride flag display he’s got behind the counter, and says, “i’m gay.”

“really?” patton says, eager, and virgil can’t help but laugh a little, because he’s so excited, it’s like seeing a puppy who thinks that the random dog in the mirror is a friend.

“yeah, really,” he says.

“i’ve never met anyone else who’s gay before,” patton says, still eager, still excited.

“what, seriously?” virgil says, thrown off.

“yeah,” patton says. “i mean, i—well, where i’m from, it’s kind of, you know, not really talked about, people like me, and at school, it’s not really—i kinda stick out like a sore thumb at chilton, for a lot of reasons—”

“chilton?” virgil repeats, eyebrows raised, and patton almost looks abashed, and virgil wishes he could take it back.

“i—yeah,” patton says. he takes a long drink of hot cocoa/coffee.

“wow,” virgil says. “that’s—that’s a really good school.”

a really rich school, too. the kind of school that requires kids to be on waiting lists, and that has uniforms and secret societies and debutante balls, with direct lines to ivy league schools.

“yeah,” patton says, looking away from logan, from virgil, and down at the ground, like he’s ashamed. “yeah, it is.”

virgil hesitates, and checks the time on the lasagna—not done, not close to done—and then the baby sleepily lets go of virgil’s finger, apparently deciding that the pair of them are too boring to stay awake for.

“can i ask you something?”

patton shrugs. this isn’t exactly an enthusiastic yes.

“you can—i mean, you don’t have to answer if you want, or it can just be a yes or no thing,” virgil says.

he nods at that. virgil leans forward.

“patton,” he says, quiet, “what are you doing here?”

patton breathes in sharply, but doesn’t answer.

“i mean—” virgil hesitates, leans forward more. “you didn’t know about sideshire, you didn’t know where you were, you’re pretty young and you have a baby and you started crying as soon as i snapped at you, which again, i am so so sorry about that, but i’m just—is everything okay?”

as virgil’s been speaking, patton’s face has been screwing up, slowly—his brow furrowing, and his lips pressing together, and his shoulders hunching up, and oh no oh no oh no he’s going to cry again—and he swallows, hard, when virgil’s done.

“i,” he begins, and they both wince when patton’s voice breaks on the syllable. patton swallows, and tries again.

“i think i might have just made the worst mistake of my life,” he chokes out, and sniffs, smearing his hand under his eyes, before he buries his face into his hands.

“oh, i mean, that’s—oh, god, okay, um, is it okay if i put a hand on your shoulder or something?”

he nods without lifting his head from his hands. virgil hesitates, before he puts a hand on patton’s shoulder.

“this is such a dumb question, but, um, are you okay?” virgil says tentatively.

patton lets out a muffled snort into his hands.

“i’m a trans teen dad who ran away with his three-week-old in the dead of the night,” he says. “so now i’m technically a homeless trans teen dad with my three-week old baby, with most of my belongings jammed into my car, and i’ve been planning for this a little, sure, but also not planned long enough at all, so no. not really.”

“oh,” virgil says, and then, “well. shit.”

“yeah,” patton says, and peeks out from his hands. “yeah, that sums it up.”

“i,” virgil begins, and hesitates. “i mean, i—do you have someplace to stay, or to go, or—?”

he’s already shaking his head, and virgil lets out a slow breath, because he’s starting to get stressed out and anxious for this kid, because, like. that’s a lot.

“my plan was mostly,” patton says, and begins ticking it off on his fingers. “discreetly pack as much as i could in the couple weeks since i’d made the decision and drain as much cash from my bank account as i could, without people noticing, keep track of my parents’ social calendar for an opportunity for the house to be empty long enough for me to get a head start, make sure i packed up all of logan’s baby things—did you know how much stuff a baby requires, it’s a lot—and then when i got out of there, just.” he gestures vaguely toward the horizon, slumping back in the booth. “find somewhere, find a job, figure stuff out.”

virgil says, “you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?”

“yeah, i actually—“ patton begins, before he shakes himself. “it’s a long story.”

“we have a while to wait for the lasagna, if you want to tell it,” virgil says gently.

“you don’t have to—”

“i offered,” virgil says stubbornly.

the kid considers this, and then drains his hot cocoa/coffee. “can i get a refill first?”

“you know too much caffeine is bad for you,” virgil says.

“newborn,” patton repeats. 

virgil winces, because, well, he might be asleep now, but those screams earlier had been pretty earsplitting for someone so tiny. “be right back.”

he picks up the mugs, goes back into the kitchen, and ends up just bringing out the coffee pot of hot cocoa/coffee—he doesn’t want to interrupt the kid anymore than he has to—and slides back into the booth, filling patton’s up generously and topping off his own drink.

“okay,” virgil says. “so. long story.”

“you really don’t have to, you know,” patton says.

"i asked,” virgil says patiently. “you don’t have to tell me anything you’d be uncomfortable telling me, a stranger who yelled at you, and again, i am so sorry—”

patton waves him off, and pauses, deliberating, before he huffs out a breath.

“so, my parents are emily and richard sanders.”

patton then gives him a look, like this should be Significant, but virgil can only shrug and say, “sure, if you say so.”

patton, strangely enough, brightens. “you don’t know who they are?”

“nope,” he says. “i mean—you didn’t know sideshire was a thing, i have no idea who your parents are. are they a big deal, or something?”

“oh, they’re a big deal,” patton says. “or at least, they are in the city. my dad’s the executive vice president of—well, the exact company doesn’t matter, but he’s in insurance and he oversees the international division, and my mom is—“ patton wrinkles his nose. “well, she’s really involved in charity, and daughters of the american revolution, and a hundred other social things that i can’t remember off the top of my head.”

“okay,” virgil says slowly.

“sorry, it’s just,” patton says, and shakes his head. “basically everyone knows who my parents are. it’s just—i dunno, most of my life has been spent with most adults going ah, you must be emily’s—” he cuts himself off with a wave of the hand, “and all the, you know, i heard from someone who saw you cutting school today, when i didn’t even see someone i knew, so it was just—”

“your parents are big brother?”

“not really,” patton says, and tilts his head. “well, that’s what it felt like, sometimes. i dunno.”

he shakes himself, takes a fortifying sip of hot cocoa/coffee, and says, “anyway. so, my parents are, um. let’s go with old-fashioned?”

oh god, please don’t be a you got disowned and ran away because you’re trans story, please don’t be a you got disowned and ran away because you’re trans story—

“so i had a lot of expectations, you know, do really well in school, go to an ivy league, marry someone of the proper social standing, and then have a kid,” patton says. “i didn’t really mind the whole house spouse thing my mom kept hinting at as a kid, because i always told people what i wanted to do when i grow up, whenever someone would ask, i’d always say i wanted to be a parent, but—i dunno. my whole life’s been planned for me, and no one really cared if i said no to it, you know?”

“oh,” virgil says, and then, because he can’t really think of what else to say, “ugh.”

“right,” patton says, and grimaces. “i dunno. a lot of my life feels like i’m just walking on eggshells and i’m just waiting for the day where i fuck up again and i’m back to being the family disappointment.”

virgil winces, and the kid looks down into his mug. virgil isn’t sure what to say, so it’s almost good when patton clears his throat and continues.

“anyway, um, so—i just—i kind of... lashed out, i guess, a lot? like, even if i’m trying and trying to be perfect, i’m still a fuck-up, but if i’m deliberately a fuck-up, well—”

“you’re not a fuck-up,” virgil mumbles, and patton smiles humorlessly.

“no offense or anything, but we’ve known each other for less than thirty minutes,” patton says. 

“i—”

“anyway,” patton says. “um, nowhere in this plan did it decree that i could be, you know, a rebellious teenager, or trans, or gay, or trans and gay, which—”

please don’t be a you got disowned because you’re trans story, please don’t be a you got disowned because you’re trans story—

“i mean, they were... it wasn’t the best response they could have had, after me telling them i was trans, but it wasn’t the worst one, either?” patton equivocates.

“like,” virgil prompts gently.

“well, i mean, it took some... persuasion,” patton says, “but they’ve been pretty good about my name and my pronouns and stuff.”

oh thank god not a disowned story—

“it’s just,” patton says, and sighs. “i dunno. they’re not, like, super transphobic, but i just—”

he pulls a face, takes a sip, and says, “i mean, i just—i was never gonna stack up, i knew that, i was pretty mixed up about the whole, you know, gender situation, partially because i didn’t know about this kind of thing for a long time and partially because, well, like i said, my parents are pretty old fashioned, so i was worried about how they might react when i, like, realized, and accepted it, and—so i did some stupid things.”

virgil thinks about protesting that, the stupid part, at least, but he has a feeling that patton would double-down on talking down about himself, which made virgil feel kind of upset, really, because this sixteen-year-old kid with a baby is clearly dealing with more than enough stuff right now in addition to dealing with any self-hate talk, so he stays quiet. he takes a sip of hot cocoa/coffee. he listens.

he listens as patton talks the snooty people that’ve been surrounding his whole life. he listens as patton talks about the expectations, the way people would look down their noses if he strayed from those expectations, the murmurs of disapproval that would follow. he listens as patton talks about the bullies at school who tried being his friend at first because he was a sanders and who turned on him the instant he decided to live his life as himself. he listens as patton talks about the drinking, and the boyfriends, and the stunts he’d pull, and the lectures that would escalate to screaming after each time. he listens as patton goes almost hoarse as he’s talking, like he hasn’t been able to talk to people for as long as he’s been talking to virgil, like he’s been locked up in some kind of tower or something. he listens as patton talks about going through it alone, like he’s got no one in his corner, no one who’s got his best interests as he sees them at heart, no one who wants to listen and be there and be a shoulder to cry on, and no wonder he ran away.

he listens as patton holds his breath after each infraction he’d detail that seemed like a big deal to him, and the whooshing breath of relief that he’d let out when virgil would just nod to signal he was still listening, and that he could keep going.

his heart hurts for this poor kid. this poor lonely kid.

“so, that brings us to about nine months, give or take, before now, which—”

the baby starts crying.

“—that’s about it, yeah,” patton says, and leans to pick him up, pitching his voice so it’s soft and comforting. “hey there, baby, you don’t gotta cry, i’ve gotcha, i’ve gotcha—”

he stands up, baby cradled in his arms, and asks, “where’s your restroom?”

“back in that corner, just down the hall,” virgil says. “i’m gonna check on the lasagna.”

he nods, and heads back into the bathroom, and virgil departs for the kitchen. he carefully puts on his oven mitts, takes it out, sets it down, and—

and the bell jingles.

no, no, no, no—

he rushes out of the kitchen, and sees patton blinking at him, cradling the baby to his chest with one hand, carrying a tote bag with the other.

“hey,” virgil says, feeling abruptly stupid. “um. sorry. i thought—”

“i left the diaper bag in the car,” patton says. “so. i’ll be right back, again.”

“right,” virgil says. “um, good. i’ll just—dish up the lasagna.”

“right,” patton repeats. “um,” and then ducks back into the hall, heading for he bathroom.

virgil, slowly, lets out a breath and resists the urge to slam his head against the cash register. what the fuck was that, he scolds himself even as he goes back into the kitchen. what the fuck was that, the kid would totally be allowed to leave if he wanted to, that isn’t your call to make, oh my god, can you possibly look worse, you already fuckin’ yelled at him, jesus—

“—all right, lo, is that all you needed? you feeling okay? no more crying, for now?”

no response, but he hears patton giggle.

“aw, well, you’re welcome, sweetheart! i love you!”

the smacking noise of a kiss, a babyish noise that’s probably some kind of response, in baby-speak, and patton giggling again.

“yeah, who do i love most ever of all time? it’s you! it’s you!”

more baby noises. virgil smiles, unable to help himself, as he dishes up generous portions of lasagna.

“you’re the bestest little baby in the whole wide world, aren’t you?”

virgil hesitates, before he gathers up the plates and two glasses of water on a tray before hoisting it and emerging carefully from the kitchen. he sees patton, smiling down at the baby, walking around the diner and bouncing logan carefully. he’s looking down at his son with such a fond, gentle look on his face, not paying attention to the world around him, like logan’s the only thing that matters.

virgil doesn’t wanna break the spell, but when patton turns a little to start walking again, he sees virgil and starts. “oh!”

“dinner’s ready,” virgil says lamely, and walks back to their booth, setting down the dishes and the water before dropping the tray back behind the counter. 

he settles back behind the booth, and passes patton a fork.

“so,” he prompts gently. “this year?”

“right,” patton says, and digs in, talking in between bites of lasagna.. “um, so—so i’ve got this friend, christopher?”

oh, thank god, this kid has a friend.

“that’s good,” virgil says encouragingly. “how long have you two known each other?”

“since i was born, basically,” patton says with a grin. “apparently, he threw up on me the first time we met.”

“ew, gross,” virgil says.

“i know, right?” patton says. “but whenever i get sick, he always just says it’s okay, you owed me one. he’s—he’s my best friend.”

“good,” virgil says. a best friend, that’s even better than a friend.

“uh, about that,” patton says, and virgil frowns.

“not good?”

“um,” patton says, takes a bite of lasagna, eats it, swallows, and then clears his throat. “so you know how it takes two to tango?”

he tilts his head at patton, confused. 

“i don’t...?

patton very pointedly nods toward logan.

“oh,” virgil says. “i—oh. okay. got it. right.”

“yeah,” patton says. “so, um. to make a super long story short—and i’m so sorry for taking up so much of your time—“

“you don’t have to apologize,” virgil says.

“well, i’m apologizing,” patton says, and takes another bite. “anyway, i just—i, you know, chris and i did... that, and then he happened, and i love him, of course i do, more than anything in the world, but hoo boy, if a trans teen was a topic of gossip, a pregnant trans teen was—”

“yeah,” virgil says, and winces. 

“right,” patton says miserably. “so it just—i dunno, so much of the time it felt like logan and me against the world, and pre-pregnancy, chris was telling me all about how we’d skip a year, go to europe, backpack it, train it, sleep on benches, see the world, and—and we’d be out of here the second the diploma was in our hands.”

“that sounds nice,” virgil offers softly.

patton smiles, but it looks more like a grimace. “yeah,” he says. “yeah, it does—did, i guess. he said i should leave a note on the dining room table that says dear emily and richard, i don’t belong here, i’m going somewhere else, i’ll call you when i get there, love, patton, and we’d just... jet. so. the idea started then, i guess, right before my birthday, and then in feburary or march, i, well.”

he places a hand on the carrier. “realized this guy was comin’ along.”

“right,” virgil says. 

“so our parents were—you know, trying to plan our lives,” patton says, and looks—strangely—almost ill for a moment, before he brushes it off. “and chris and i were sitting on the stairs, eavesdropping, and just—no one asking us what we thought, what they were trying to decide what to do with our lives, and chris kept saying that they’re trying to figure out what to do with our lives, and that we’d need their help, and i just kept saying no, no, we can take care of ourselves, and he went how and i said we’ll figure it out, and he said it’s okay, it sounds okay, giving up europe and getting a job with your dad and living here, it sounds okay, and he couldn’t just—he can’t just give up everything for me, i could never, ever expect him to do that, if my parents suck his are the worst and he’s been wanting to get as far away from them as possible for as long as i can remember, so—”

“so you started planning on running away.”

“so i started planning on running away,” patton agrees quietly, and takes another bite. “and not just—i mean, not just because of christopher, but i just—i couldn’t stay there anymore, you know? even pre-pregnancy, i knew i couldn’t stack up, and, well, during pregnancy—”

he makes a face, and says, “i mean, i—i love logan, i love him, i never imagined i could love anyone so much, but just—well, being a boy and being pregnant, it—”

he breaks off.

“you don’t have to finish that,” virgil says quietly. 

patton nods, just a little dip of his head, and eats a couple more bites, before he says, “so i was pregnant, and i gave birth, which really, really sucked, by the way, i was in labor for fourteen hours—”

virgil flinches.

“—i’m so holding that over logan’s head for the rest of his life, but i just—post-birth, i realized that if i stayed there, my parents would try to parent logan the way they parented me, and i couldn’t—i mean, i couldn’t let that happen. i couldn’t let that happen, right?” he asks desperately.

“course not,” virgil says.

“and i mean, i know they love me,” patton says, just enough uncertainty lingering in his voice that it breaks virgil’s heart all over again, “i know they do, but i can’t—logan can’t be raised the way i was, you know? he could be anything he wants, anything in the world, and i’d be behind him, i’d be rooting for him, but with my parents, they’re so rigid, if he wanted to be a, oh, i don’t know—”

“a diner owner,” virgil offers.

“right, a diner owner, they’d think he was on the same level of a carjacker, or something—um, no offense,” patton says quickly.

“none taken.”

“i mean, as long as—as long as he’s happy, that’s my whole mindset, you know? as long as he’s going to be happy, i’m going to be happy, but with my parents, it’s more—they have a very specific way i should be happy.”

“for what it’s worth, i think you’re right,” virgil says. patton smiles thinly.

“thanks, i guess.”

a pause. they both eat. patton’s practically done—it’s like he hasn’t eaten all day, and then rolled up to a diner that he’d had to psych himself up about going into, and god, virgil yelled at this poor kid, who’s practically inhaling his food.

“i mean, i had my life planned. like, my life plans came over on the mayflower, they’re so old. i was supposed to graduate from high school, go to yale or something, marry some blueblood, and instead, i—i got pregnant, and i’m not finishing high school, and i’m not marrying christopher, and i—”

the kid is choking up. before virgil can say anything along the lines of please don’t cry, it’s okay, it’ll be okay, the kid’s continuing.

“i humiliated them, the two proudest people in the world and i’m humiliating them, i’m spoiling their plans, i—i’m taking their world of opportunity and privilege and comfort and i’m throwing it in their faces, i’m taking all of that away from logan, i’m breaking their hearts and they’re never, ever going to forgive me—”

the kid breaks down again, a hand coming up to cover his eyes, and virgil’s up before he can even think, sliding out of the booth and kneeling in front of patton’s.

“oh, hey, it’s—can i come up there, can i hug you?” 

“you don’t have to,” he sobs.

“i’m asking, can i come up there and hug you?” virgil says, and the kid nods, still not removing his hand, so virgil can’t see his face.

virgil cautiously rises up onto the booth, and, slowly, wraps an arm around his shoulder, and drops his hand so he can rub up and down patton’s arm, the way his mom used to do for him.

“i don’t know what i’m doing,” patton says, voice trembling dangerously. “i just—i thought i could get it under control, but i can’t, i can’t, and my life is falling apart, i’ve been thinking about this for months and months and months and it’s here and i’m failing, i can’t handle it, i just—i can’t even walk into a diner without having a breakdown—”

“that’s not your fault—”

“—and i thought i would have help, but i’m so stupid, running away means running away, which means my parents don’t know where we are, and christopher doesn’t know where we are, and we’re alone and i love being a dad, i do, but i don’t think i can be a dad all on my own, and i don’t know if i’ll be able to figure out having a job and taking care of my kid, but i need to have one in order to do the other, and it’s going to be so much, and i’m such an idiot for not thinking about that, i don’t have a plan, i don’t know where i’m going, and god, my mom was right, just because i couldn’t handle sitting in their house listening to her call me an idiot and i can’t even argue with them, because i am, and i’m gonna run out of money and i’m gonna be homeless and i’m gonna have to give up logan or go crawling back to my parents and who knows if they’re ever gonna forgive me, i don’t know if they’re never gonna talk to me again or if they’re gonna send the police after me to drag us both back and to have me locked up in my room for as long as they can manage, and even if they don’t i’m still stuck unemployed and homeless and with a baby that i barely know how to handle and i don’t even know which option is worse and i’m going to fail, i’m going to fail—”

he buries his face into virgil’s chest, and virgil freezes, just for a moment, before he hesitantly puts a hand on patton’s head, and tries to stroke his hair.

“you aren’t going to fail,” virgil says firmly, and strokes a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what to do,” he sobs out, heartbroken and scared, and virgil tightens his hold on him, runs his hand through his hair again, and patton hiccups.

“i don’t know what to do,” he chokes, and virgil runs his hand up and down his arm, cradles his head, tries to just hug him.

“i don’t know what to do—” he says in the smallest voice, voice barely above a whisper. 

“it’s okay,” virgil says, voice gruff. “it’s gonna be okay, okay? you and logan are both gonna be just fine.”

he keeps going—saying that kind of thing, you two will be okay, or it’s okay to be sad, or i’m sorry this is happening—and awkwardly cupping patton’s head, running his fingers through his hair.

his shoulders shake, and virgil stays where he is, setting his chin on patton’s head. logan, mercifully, doesn’t pitch a fit because his dad is upset, the way virgil’s seen some babies do—he’s staring, but that’s about it.

sorry your grandparents suck, he mouths at the baby. thanks for being chill.

logan, predictably, just blinks at him.

eventually, patton stills. virgil pulls back, bit by bit, and patton’s turned very red, staring down at the table.

“can i have the bright side?” falls out of his mouth before he can help it, and he cringes even as patton goes redder without removing his eyes from the table.

“what?”

“i—forget it, you don’t—”

“no, i mean, what’s that—what’s that mean?”

virgil rubs the back of his neck, and mumbles, “it’s just—i have anxiety.”

“oh,” patton says. “um, sorry.”

“it’s not—that wasn’t—i wasn’t trying to get you to feel sorry for me or any—um, anyway, so, i’d, you know. catastrophize a lot, or i’d rant about my day, or say everything that could go wrong, and after i’d get really upset or something my mom would just say can show me the bright side here, stormy steve? or something like that and i’d have to think about something good that could come of it. even if i was upset, well. i’d think of one good thing and that—that helped. so.” 

virgil clears his throat, and now they’re both staring at the table. “stupid, i know,” he mumbles. “forget it. um, do you like chocolate?”

“yeah,” patton says.

“cool,” virgil says, and then he lies. just a little. “if you don’t mind, i’m, um, we’re trying out this new cake? double chocolate fudge. i could use a taste tester before i decide to start serving it regularly.”

okay, fine, he’d tried out the new cake five months ago, when he took over the diner, but it’s still new enough that it’s not on the menu yet, so there.

“oh,” patton says. 

“you cry in my diner, you get food,” virgil says. “if you’ll have it, that is.”

“i—sure. i’ll split some cake with you. thank you.”

“cool,” virgil says, and nudges the glass of water closer to patton. “crying dehydrates you, so, um. drink up.”

patton, who still hasn’t looked up from the table, wraps up the cup in both his hands. 

virgil goes to the back, and preps the biggest slice of cake he can pass off as a typical serving, and grabs two more forks before heading back out to the table, where patton’s gently squishing his son’s squishy baby cheeks and booping his tiny, tiny nose.

“he’s really cute,” virgil says, setting down the cake. “is it as satisfying to squish him as it looks?”

“it is,” patton says, and, smiling, looks up, even as his eyes are red-rimmed and he hasn’t quite managed to smear off all the tear tracks on his cheeks. “do you wanna hold him?”

“i—oh,” virgil says. “oh, are you—are you sure?”

“yeah, i mean—” patton says. “if you wanna?”

“i mean, i just—i’ve just never held a baby before?” virgil says. “so you’ll have to coach me through it.”

“oh! sure thing,” patton says, and demonstrates the arm hold. “like this?”

virgil copies him exactly, freezing in place, as patton coos gently to his son, leaning over him and gathering him in his arms.

“okay,” patton says, turning. “oh—great, yeah, just like that! just be sure to support his head, okay?”

“right,” virgil says. “weak neck.”

“yeah, that’s it,” patton says, smiling, and carefully, slowly, transfers logan into virgil’s arms.

virgil immediately cups his head with his hand—god, what if he didn’t and something happened to logan’s tiny baby brain?—and patton settles all six point three pounds of him into virgil’s arms, stepping back, which virgil barely notes out of the corner of his eyes, because—

because he’s holding a baby.

(even if logan grabbing his finger wasn’t The Moment, this certainly would be.)

he’s so tiny, and somehow, so warm, so utterly, completely captivating—six point three pounds did not equate small in terms of attention, in terms of focus that virgil was giving him. he blinks up at virgil with clear blue eyes, and virgil can’t help but let his lip twitch up into half a smile.

“hey there,” virgil says to him, his voice taking on a distinctly cooing tone that would probably alarm him when he wasn’t holding a baby anymore. “hi there, kid, i’m virgil.”

the baby says nothing, unsurprisingly. virgil kind of wants to press his nose into the baby’s cheek, or something, and then is slightly alarmed by that impulse. what is it with the immediate urge to just... cuddle and poke at and murmur at it fondly? some kind of evolutionary instinct, probably.

virgil had never considered himself a baby person before. wow. is he a baby person? is that what this is? or is he just very particularly a logan-baby kind of person? virgil doesn’t know any other babies, so he’s just gonna have to assume baby person. which is—new.

so virgil’s just—probably looking like an absolute freak, beaming down at this random baby he has no attachment to, and he feels like it, a little, because it’s just—well, logan’s so little and virgil just wants to be sure that he keeps that curious look on his face, that he’ll grow up and smile and be happy, and wow, yeah, this baby has got him wrapped around his little finger. 

“cute,” patton murmurs, and virgil just about startles.

“oh! um,” virgil says, and nods his chin toward logan. “should i...?”

“it kind of seems like you want to keep holding him,” patton says, amused.

“i kinda do, a bit,” virgil admits. "is this, like. am i a baby person?”

“you don’t know?” patton asks.

“well, like i said, i’ve never really been around babies, you know?” virgil says, as logan’s eyes shut lazily, and oh, wow, is he seriously comfortable enough where he is that he’s falling asleep on virgil?

“what, ever?” patton says.

“i’m the youngest of five, plus i’m the youngest of all my cousins,” virgil says. “youngest child of youngest children, you know. most babies i’ve seen are customer’s kids, so this is, like. my first extended contact with one.”

“only child,” patton says. “but, well. i always liked kids, even when i was a kid.”

you’re still a kid, virgil thinks but doesn’t say.

“i used to babysit a lot, and i volunteered for daycare, and stuff, so,” patton says. “kinda always knew i was a baby person.”

“good,” virgil says, looking back at logan. “that’s good.”

“do you wanna know the bright side?”

virgil looks up from logan, distracted, not getting it, until he very suddenly remembers.

“oh!” virgil says, and shifts his stance while making super sure he doesn’t shift his grip on the baby. “yeah, of course, tell me. what’s your bright side?”

patton grins at him, weary. “at least i never have to do today again.”

virgil laughs, and concedes the point with a nod. “that’s pretty smart, you know?”

“eh—” patton begins, clearly about to wave it off.

“no, seriously,” virgil says, and smiles at him. “you never have to do today ever, ever again. congratulations.”

patton laughs—it doesn’t sound particularly happy, it sounds kinda snotty, actually—but it’s genuine, and so virgil smiles a little wider when he hears that, and looks down again at the baby in his arms. 

“he’s really cute,” virgil says. “congrats on the good genes.”

patton laughs again. “well, thank you.”

he steps closer, and peeks at logan. “he must be really tired,” he murmurs.

“yeah?” virgil says.

“well, it’s just—logan’s usually crying, this time of night, but i threw his schedule all kinds of out of whack,” patton says, and bites his lip.

“hey, that happens,” virgil says. “should i lay him down, though?”

“yeah, probably,” patton says, and carefully worms his hands under logan so that he can take him back. virgil steps close, as to ease his way, and patton lifts him, lies him down in the carrier.

virgil tries not to feel disappointed, and instead takes his seat in the booth again, handing across the fork for patton.

“try the cake,” he says. 

patton digs in, and lifts the fork to his mouth, and then his eyes close and his hand comes up to his mouth.

“oh,” he says dreamily. “oh. that’s really good.”

“well, good,” virgil says, digging in himself. it really is, if virgil says so himself—fudgy and rich and moist, chocolatey and decadent and just good. perfect thing to eat when you needed some kind of sweet comfort food.

they eat the whole cake in fairly companionable silence, and virgil pushes patton to take the last bite, and he does, before leaning back against the booth with a satisfied sigh.

“that was some really good cake,” he says. “definitely put it on the menu.”

virgil grins. “glad to hear it goes over well.”

“did you come up with the recipe yourself?” patton asks.

“yeah,” virgil says. “well—most of the diner ones are either family recipes handed down or mine, yeah.”

“wow,” patton says. “i mean—i burn toast.”

“it gets better with practice,” virgil says reassuringly. 

patton grimaces, just a little. “one more thing to worry about.”

“it doesn’t have to be,” virgil blurts out.

“what?” patton says.

“you could—“ virgil hesitates, gestures with his fork. “i mean, you said that you didn’t have anywhere in particular to go, right?”

“right,” patton says cautiously.

“you could stay here,” virgil says. “i mean—not here-here, necessarily, i don’t think i have room for two people plus a baby upstairs, but—sideshire. you could stay here, in sideshire.”

“i—huh,” patton says thoughtfully.

“i mean,” virgil says. “i know maria—she’s a family friend, she knew my aunts—i know for a fact she’s always hiring, and that doesn’t require much in terms of work experience. there’s pretty good childcare in sideshire, not that i know as much about it as you’d probably want to.”

patton doesn’t say anything.

“you could just—sleep on it?” virgil says. “maria—she runs the inn, you’d probably be doing housekeeping or waiting tables or working in the kitchen, i know that if you went in there and told her virgil sent you that she’d have a place for you—pretty cheap, if not free.”

“i couldn’t—”

“one night,” virgil says. “one night, you sleep on it, and you can decide in the morning. stay or go.”

patton pauses, licks his lips, and nods. “sleep on it,” he repeats slowly.

“yeah,” virgil says. “i mean—you’ve had a big night, patton, to say the least, and you’re gonna have a big day tomorrow, too. you have a lot ahead of you. i’d probably be insisting to anyone else that they stop and take a break, too.”

patton concedes the point, and nods.

“it’s just—” virgil hesitates, before he shrugs. “it just seems like—you need a person, right now. a friend. or at least a familiar face that isn’t your infant son.”

patton tries for a smile, and it wobbles. it’s almost better than the fake, practiced one.

“yeah,” he says, quiet. 

“okay,” virgil says. “then if you need it, i can be your person.”

patton stares at him, before he nods. “okay.”

“yeah?” virgil says.

“yeah,” patton says. “okay. i’ll listen to you, as you are now my person. i’ll sleep on it.”

“okay!” virgil says. “good.”

so virgil sketches out direction to the inn on a napkin, and gives patton a half-caf hot cocoa/coffee for the less-than-five-minute drive, and holds logan as patton packs away the coffee and the diaper bag in his car stuffed full of all his and logan’s belongings, and patton takes logan to start fastening him into the car seat.

“get some rest,” virgil says. “you and logan both.”

“it’s funny that you think i can get logan to rest when i want him to rest,” patton says wryly, double-checking that logan’s all fastened in. 

virgil leans in to see logan’s face, and tells him directly, “get some rest.”

logan makes a sleepy noise.

“that was a yes,” virgil tells patton, and patton snorts, before he reaches over and takes out his wallet.

virgil’s already shaking his head, and puts his hand down on patton’s hand.

“no,” he says.

“i can pay for what i ate,” patton says.

“i was closed,” virgil says. “this was just dinner between two friends. okay?”

patton hesitates, before he lowers the wallet.

“okay,” patton says. 

“okay,” virgil says. 

“i... no matter what i decide, virgil,” patton says. “thank you.”

virgil ducks his head. “i just—”

“you were really nice to me when you didn’t need to be,” patton says. “thank you.”

virgil hesitates, before he opens his arms. “see you maybe?”

patton leans in, and wraps his arms around virgil’s waist. he’s short—it probably shouldn’t surprise virgil, he’s sixteen, he’s probably due for a growth spurt—but virgil wraps his arms tight around patton’s shoulders, trying to transmit some kind of be okay be okay be okay energy that’ll carry him through, no matter if he decides to leave sideshire or not, and just make sure that their lives turn out better.

“thanks,” patton repeats as a whisper into virgil’s shoulder, and virgil squeezes him a little tighter. they separate.

“not a problem,” virgil says roughly, and steps back as patton hops into the driver’s seat and starts the car but doesn’t yet close the door against the wintry chill.

“drive safe, yeah?”

“yeah,” patton confirms. “i just—virgil?”

“yeah?” he asks, sticking his hands into his hoodie pockets.

patton smiles at him, and says, “i’m not sure how much thinking i’ll do.”

virgil smiles back at him, and patton lets out a sigh—he almost sounds happy. 

“i actually have a pretty good feeling about this place.”

with a smile that’s bright and beaming and real, he shuts the car door with a noisy thud.

[presumenothing]

call it what you want

the toph and zuko fic that absolutely no one but me asked for (but i asked very nicely so here it is)

beware probable inaccuracies to canon and in descriptions of blindness

(AO3)

i.

On the third morning in a row they wake up like this, they don’t even need to exchange a look before agreeing (though any literal looks would have been one-sided and therefore admittedly moot, considering).

“Emergency measures?”

“Emergency measures,” Zuko confirms, and he doesn’t even startle at the way his voice comes out anymore. It does still take more concentration than it should to shift his feet into position – at least he remembers to go barefoot, now. “Uncle’s already up, I think that’s him in the tearoom upstairs.”

Toph punches him in the arm. Fortunately there isn’t anyone around to witness the (apparent) act of Fire Nation brutality, but also: ouch. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, Sparky, I have a reputation to maintain!”

“You’re the one with the firebending now,” Zuko grumbles, not at all under his breath. “Besides, I had to stop you from accidentally sparking off about four separate international incidents yesterday alone, so – hey!”

Toph doesn’t stop pulling Zuko along the corridor, but at least she does slow down, and he suspects the stride hadn’t even been intentional to begin with, just habit from usually being the shortest one in their group.

“Wouldn’t want you forgetting how to do your job, o great Lord Not-Sparky,” she retorts, but there’s no heat in it besides her customary snark, and despite everything Zuko finds himself weirdly grateful that it’s the two of them stuck in this situation and not anyone else.

(That doesn’t stop him from gleefully whispering I told you so! when Uncle turns out to be right where he’d said he would be, but Zuko figures he’s entitled to that much.

And if Toph is rolling her eyes, at least she does it silently, so. It’s a win-win, really.)

.

ii.

The first morning, Toph wakes up with the feeling that something is off, but it isn’t until she opens her eyes (not her first priority upon waking, for obvious reasons) that she realises how off.

It takes her three tries to swing her legs off the side of the bed and onto the floor – how the hell is her depth perception somehow worse with vision? – and the chill of unfamiliarly-patterned tile is what drives it home for her.

Not that the rest of it hadn’t been enough already: Toph knows the dimensions of her own body very well, thank you, because she’d always be running into walls otherwise. And then there’s the matter of not so much what she’s seeing as the fact that she’s seeing it at all, and not in the way she usually means the term.

But anyway. This definitely isn’t the room she fell asleep in, because that one had been heated and this one isn’t at all, because apparently firebenders were above needing or wanting things like cozy heating when they slept, however comfortable it might be. Which means that this is a firebender’s room… unsurprising, since they’re in the Fire Nation and all, but Toph is also starting to suspect that this is Zuko’s room. She’s still trying to figure out the shitton of information her eyes are suddenly tossing at her, but she’s pretty sure that what she eye-sees matches the layout she’d mapped out before with her earthbending – which by the way is definitely missing and not just her feet being temporarily numbed by the cold floor, and it’s not like Toph is freaking out or anything, but.

But. Okay. One thing at a time, Toph decides, and looks around until she spots something that has to be a mirror, hanging on a wall halfway across the room because of course it is.

Several false starts later, she eventually settles on memorising the distance and direction to it, before squeezing her eyes almost shut as she walks so that only a narrow band gets through because honestly, too much information. No wonder sighted people were always so distracted.

Toph only opens her eyes again once she’s finally standing in front of the mirror, and – holy fuck, she thinks.

Not because she’s Zuko. Or not just that, rather, not even that, because she is somehow in a body that she’s certain has to be Zuko’s the same way she’d known this was his room.

She’s heard that the scar on his face is bad, had even felt it for herself – how big it was, how much of his face it covered, raised ridges and unnatural smoothness that she would’ve recognised as wrong even if she hadn’t touched anyone’s face before, but.

But now that she’s seeing it, the scar stands out far more than she ever thought it did, a livid patch stark against the rest of his features that she struggles to tear her gaze away from, and if this is what it means to have sight, have colours, Toph thinks she might not want it anymore.

Which is when she realises that if she’s here in this body it has to mean that – shit. Zuko.

(The first morning, Zuko had woken to utter pitch darkness that refused to abate or even change no matter how many times he blinked or frantically rubbed at his right eye. He’d probably have fallen spectacularly on his face if he’d moved to stand – but Zuko hadn’t even tried to. Couldn’t, not with the blackness pressing down on his limbs like far-too-physical fear.

He’d managed to simultaneously convince himself that Ozai had locked him in some windowless cell for good and thrown away the key, or that he’d finally lost his vision to the burn damage like the medic had warned Uncle might happen all those years ago, in quiet harried words where they thought he couldn’t hear.

Then a hand had landed on his shoulder, and Zuko would’ve startled if there’d been anything left in him to startle, but then a voice – his voice? – had hissed by his ear, and he’d made out the words “Sparky” and “come on” and –

And that hadn’t magically made everything better except in the ways it had, because he still couldn’t figure out what it meant but at least he wasn’t alone in the darkness anymore.)

.

iii.

Really, it’d been plain luck that Toph had woken up so much earlier than usual. Or not, because apparently firebenders woke with the sunrise and she’s a firebender now, and this is already shaping up to be a pain, didn’t Sparky or Uncle ever want to just sleep in until noon?

Apparently not, judging from the way Sparky had already been awake (awake and well into panicking) by the time she located the set of guest rooms that she’d been sleeping in just last night. Firebenders, honestly.

(“It’s habit, I guess?” Sparky had explained afterwards with a sheepish look, so okay, maybe this was more a Lord Rise-and-Shine thing than a general firebender thing.)

Anyway. Whatever the reason, it gives them enough time to figure out a plan before the rest of everybody wakes up, at least once she finally gets Zuko to calm the hell down.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, still breathing in that careful firebendy pattern which would’ve been a dead giveaway to her. But at least he looks not-freaked-out now (in Toph’s definitely nonexpert opinion, anyway) and she figures they can probably depend on most people around them to be as unobservant as they usually are. “Any idea how this happened?”

“Nope. We could always take the day off, see if this fixes itself by tomorrow,” she offers with amazing generosity.

“Absolutely not!” Zuko answers immediately, because – oh yeah, right, workaholic tendencies are another firebender and/or Sparky thing. “I – you – we have a meeting with all the major Fire Nation officials this morning, and there’s that delegation from the colonies after that, and then – ”

(Toph sighs. Couldn’t blame her for trying, at least.)

They end up settling on having Toph-as-Zuko lead Zuko-as-Toph around for now, because Toph has standards, and she refuses to let herself be seen bumping into walls all day long.

Plus, even waking up early hadn’t given them enough time for more than a superspeed crash course on Fire Lording, so of course Zuko insists on staying with her so she doesn’t mess up and offend all the world’s leaders or something.

“One wrong word could – could restart the war,” Zuko squawks like the baby turtleducks that the kitchen staff pretend not to see their Fire Lord regularly stealing bread for.

“Heard you the first twenty times, Your Shortiness,” Toph says breezily, patting his head – and just to be clear, she’s still not gonna forgive Sokka for all the times he’s used her as an elbow rest, but she (or her body, at least) is really just the right height for it.

(There are a few raised eyebrows when the Fire Lord doesn’t walk into the meeting chambers alone, but it probably helps that basically everyone present has other much higher priorities, and most of them are already resigned to the Avatar’s group acting weird by default anyway.

Which is to say that no one questions the arrangement until they break for lunch, and then not even until Aang bounces over to join them from who-knows-where, because Toph’s pretty sure that the A in Aang (and airbender, and Avatar) stands for audacity. “Toph, are you holding on to Zuko’s shirt?”

Toph – actual Toph – opens her mouth to give a bullshit answer, but Zuko beats her to it. “Duh. See, somebody here lost a bet, which means he’s gotta be my seeing-eye person until I say so. Right, Sparky?”

Toph’s reluctantly impressed. Not only had Zuko clearly thought about this, he’d even said it with all the snark she would have, complete with a disturbingly wide grin (she’d looked).

She gives one of those indistinct-but-not-really-upset grumbles that Sparky uses a lot around them, and gradually falls behind the rest of the group so she can elbow him with her own rock-sharp grin (because she can confirm from experience that it’s audible, even if not visible). “I didn’t know you had that in you!”

“Yeah, well.” Sparky rubs the back of his neck, his gaze darting away then back, and there’s no aura of sass about him now. “You handled the meeting pretty well, all things considered. Especially that… Minister Takagi.”

“You can just say ‘asshole’, y’know, it’s not like you’re the Fire Lord right now.” Besides, it’d be way more accurate, with the deliberate way that minister had said something oily and barbed about Ozai that’d gone right over her head but still hit home anyway, judging from the way Zuko had tensed in the seat beside hers.

Toph had simply blinked slowly before savouring the brief but utter look of confusion as she responded to the rest of his speech while outright ignoring the comment like the completely irrelevant bait it clearly was.

Too bad, Minister Asshole. Better luck next time!

(And if her cheeks are vaguely warm from the compliment in the way she knows means a blush, Sparky can’t see right now anyway, so it’s all fine as long as she doesn’t spontaneously combust from embarrassment.

…or from being a firebender. Is that even possible? Hopefully not.)

.

iv.

“But of course,” Uncle says as he refills their teacups. “I would be glad to be your regent while you are on vacation, nephew. You scarcely needed to ask.”

“Like I said, we’re just going to Gaoling to speak with the Beifongs, and so Aang can do his Avatar thing before we route any of the withdrawing troops through there,” Toph says, and Zuko can practically feel the annoyance rolling off her even if it’s for entirely different reasons than his own would’ve been, in the same situation. (It does make for a more convincing act though.) “It’s not a vacation.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Uncle replies with great equanimity, while Zuko tries to figure out if his tea is cool enough to drink now that he can’t judge by the steam rising from it. “It is good to see you taking better care of your health in spite of your heavy responsibilities, nephew. I hear that the clerks are overjoyed to have paperwork delegated to them again!”

Probably about as ecstatic as Toph herself was when she’d heard about that option, Zuko thinks to himself, and snorts at the thought.

(Honestly, it’s not like the paperwork that reaches the Fire Lord’s desk is anywhere near as complicated as the incomprehensible hell of requisition forms Zuko had constantly wrestled with aboard his ship, but Toph had still cheered when all of it got carted away to the clerks’ office. “Why would you go through all that if you didn’t have to? You should’ve done this ages ago!”

“How else was I gonna learn the details of what’s going on?” Zuko had muttered, but he couldn’t blame Toph for this one, since – well. Reading and writing hadn’t been a big part of her education, as she’d put it. “I’d offer to do it myself, but…”

He’d trailed off, then buried his face in his hands because he was not finishing that sentence, because Toph Beifong might be the greatest earthbender of all time but she’s also the worst influence to ever exist and apparently Zuko isn’t even good at cracking blind jokes anyway. And he didn’t even know whose expense it’d be at, right now.

Toph had just cackled like she’d known what he was thinking anyway.)

They manage to make their escape from Uncle almost one and a half pots of tea later.

“Is it just me,” Zuko begins hesitantly once they’re a safe distance down the corridor, “or did you also get the feeling that – ”

“He knows?” Toph sounds like she’s frowning. “Yeah. I mean, I guess it’s not a big deal if he of all people finds out – but how, though? He’s barely even been around the palace since this started!”

“Maybe he could… see it or something, I dunno.” Zuko shrugs. “Uncle’s been to the Spirit World before, he did say some stuff about it changing his awareness of things.”

“But he’s not the only one who’s been there,” Toph points out, before they both contemplate Aang for a moment. “Though maybe the only one without the attention span of a catterfly, yeah.”

(“Which reminds me, when’s Sweetness due back from the North Pole?”

“Katara? In another ten days, if everything goes to plan. Why?”

“Because I’m gonna have her fix this shitty heartbeat of yours, I don’t even care if we’ve swapped back by then! I already thought it sounded weird after the whole lightning thing, and you keep saying that it’s fine but this is really not normal, we’re just lucky you haven’t had a heart attack doing your morning exercises or something equally ridiculous–”)

.

v.

They tell Aang what happened once Appa is up in the air and en route to Gaoling, but the airbender still sounds disbelieving for once, even after they land early to train and set up camp.

“Okay, you got me, very funny, no way you actually switched b– huh.” Aang pauses, even keeps still for a moment. “Huh. You’re being serious.”

Zuko doesn’t need earthbending to recognise the sound of Toph tapping her foot, and probably crossing her arms too. “Care to enlighten us, Twinkletoes?”

Aang bursts out laughing at that, so the nickname probably sounds as weird to him in Zuko’s voice as it does to Zuko himself, though he goes back to being thoughtful afterwards. “I can see it a little if I concentrate, yeah – maybe it’s an effect of the energybending, I dunno. Your colours are a little different to the usual earthbender and firebender ones, and I don’t think they were like that before.”

Zuko’s pretty sure Toph is thinking the same thing he is (that still doesn’t explain how Uncle found out) but out loud he only says, “Can we get started now, if you’re done talking Avatar stuff?”

“Right!” Aang agrees with an enthusiastic bounce, and Zuko now really understands why Toph gave him that nickname. “So Zuko, you need me to teach you how to earthbend like you’re actually Toph, and not you pretending to be Toph and earthbending like how you think Toph earthbends–”

“Yes, Aang,” he interrupts, trying to sound longsuffering instead of laughing, then points unerringly at where Toph is lifting a foot. “And you’re not going barefoot, Toph, I have a reputation to maintain!”

“It’s not like anyone’s looking,” Toph mutters, but her shoes are still on when she puts her leg back down.

(“Honestly, Zuko, I’m really impressed,” Aang says as Toph lights the campfire for dinner, and this probably shouldn’t feel comfortingly nostalgic but it does. “I mean, it’s obvious now that I know what’s going on, but you’ve actually been navigating really well? I think I’d have taken way longer to adapt if I had to see by earthbending alone, and I already know earthbending.”

“It’s surprisingly intuitive once you get the hang of it. And I think Toph’s muscle memory stuck or something, otherwise I’d probably still be running into walls. Well, more walls,” Zuko amends. “Besides, I guess it’s sort of like when I was adjusting my newly shitty vision, after – after what Ozai did.”

Zuko’s briefly proud of himself when he barely even stumbles over that last part, until he realises that Toph has gone still across from him, and there’s an alarming flash of heat that probably isn’t the campfire.

“Uh.” Aang sounds alarmed, and like he’s staring. “Toph…?”

“Are you seriously telling me,” Toph grits out between her teeth, “that my depth perception is so fucked up because you only have half your vision left.”

“It’s really closer to seventy percent,” Zuko answers on reflex even as he facepalms both internally and externally because how in the name of Agni had he forgotten to tell Toph about this? Yes, it would’ve been obvious to anyone else, and it’s simple fact to Zuko by this point, but of course Toph of all people wouldn’t have realised that his eyesight was abnormal seeing as (ha) she’d never had vision before.

The ground trembles from sudden stomping. “That’s it, forget Gaoling, we’re going back to the capital now so I can kick Scumbag Lord’s ass all over again – and no using earthbending against me, Twinkletoes!”)

.

0.

“Do you miss it?” Zuko asks, later that night.

No answer comes for a long moment, and he’s starting to wonder if Toph’s fallen asleep when he feels the rustle of her turning over.

“Which part, the earthbending? Or being a blind and helpless twelve-year-old girl?” The air quotes around those words are perfectly audible even if he can’t see them, but neither of them have ever been much for rhetorical questions anyway so Toph barrels right on. “One more than the other, and you’re damned lucky I’m well-educated nobility or I’d have thrown up all over your court etiquette by now.”

Zuko tries to imagine Katara or Sokka (or possibly worse yet, Aang) trying to act as the Fire Lord and winces – they’re amazing people and Zuko cares for them more than he knows what to do with, but he’s also heard all about Sapphire and Wang Fire by now, and just. No. “Thanks for that, Toph, you’ve been doing a great job.”

Toph punches him in the arm instead of saying you’re welcome like a normal person. “No need to sound so surprised. You?”

“Hm?” he asks, before his brain catches up with his mouth a moment later. “Oh. I…”

Does he miss it, being the banished prince turned Fire Lord? Being not just Zuko but Zuko, son of Ursa and Ozai and everything that meant?

Does he miss having people look at him and see the scar on his face before everything else, see the pure golden eyes and assume everything it implied? (Not that he knew for sure how people looked at him now, not literally – but he’d seen enough of how they looked at Toph before, and it was always underestimation rather than exaggeration. And if it’d been just a year ago he would’ve been furious at that but now? Now, he’s still offended on Toph’s behalf because it’s not fair, it really isn’t, but he’s… surprisingly okay with it, otherwise.)

Does he miss fire dancing on his palm, sun-warm but never burning?

“…not as much as I expected,” Zuko says finally, and he doesn’t know how much time has passed but he can feel Toph listening for an answer anyway. “Except for the firebending, but I guess earth’s not too bad either.”

(Zuko doesn’t think he’s ever going to react anything but poorly to people touching him without warning no matter whose body he’s in, it’s a fact he’s fairly resigned to – but Toph’s earthbending means that pretty much no one but airbenders can really take him by surprise, and there’s only one of Aang. Fortunately.)

Toph snorts in a manner unbecoming of either lady or Fire Lord. “Well, fire sucks. If this keeps up, I might just have to become the greatest firebender of all time, too.”

Zuko laughs. “I look forward to it,” he says sincerely – this is the earthbender who’d learned from badgermoles, after all, even if she’s also busy snickering at his unintentional pun. “Tell Aang to bring you to go meet the dragons sometime, I think you’d love them.”

“Please. I’d rather ask Uncle instead, Twinkletoes would just be distracting.” Fair point. “And you’re coming with.”

The Sun Warriors might sooner feed an earthbender to the dragons rather than grant an audience with them, but Zuko nods anyway. “Alright. Good night, Toph.”

“Night, Sparky,” comes the mumble in reply, already half-asleep, and Zuko closes his eyes.

.

.

.

[monstersandmaw]

Dullahan ‘Choose Your Own Adventure Story’ - Part Nine (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Whuff!! I did it! First that whopper of a story for November’s Patreon ‘monthly story’ yesterday, and now this! *cracks knuckles and flexes fingers!*

Ok, here we have Part Nine. Everyone voted overwhelmingly for taking the unusual-looking path to the left, so that's where we went! No D again this week (I miss him! We need to get out of these mines!), but I promise that whatever you vote for at the end of this, he will appear again next week! (Maybe even sooner to make up for the lack of post last Friday...)

Last time we blew up the tunnels containing the mysterious and harmful crystals, but we suffered a tunnel collapse, and Kravik got left behind!! This week, we get to the heart of what has been going on in the tunnels, and why! And we meet a new character... (spoilers, I already love him)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight

Left. You knew that right would lead out - eventually - into the sunlight, and there would be people there who would detain you, demand information, and possibly blame you - however rightly - for the explosion. No, left it was: into the unknown.

The runes thrummed slightly as you walked past them, and it occurred to you that perhaps they had been put there to disguise a tunnel that had been there all along.

Tears tracked down your face as you made your shaky way down the passageway away from the settling clouds of dust and chips of rock. “D…?” you sobbed to yourself, knowing he couldn’t reach you, but still, it brought you some degree of comfort to think of him. Would he have felt the explosion? Would he think you’d been hurt? Oh gods, Ten was going to be furious with you when you made it out. If you ever made it out. “Gods, please let Kravik be alright…” you prayed as you made your way along the uneven tunnel, wondering if this would help your cause or hinder it. Something told you that you were getting close to the heart of all this, and that same something, that tenacious knot inside you, drove you on.

If Ten had truly and willingly given you the gift of her true name, she could hardly be angry with you for using it now, could she?

The passageway led downwards at a steady gradient, and by the feeble light of your lantern, you saw that the walls of the tunnel were even more roughly hewn than those of the main mineshaft. It was an older tunnel then, and just as you had begun to wonder what on earth lay up ahead when a faint light up ahead gradually began to eclipse that of your own as you approached, growing ever brighter, until you emerged tentatively into a larger cavern, lit by warmly glowing alchemical lamps on the walls. To your astonishment, it was comfortably furnished with tables and dressers, a wardrobe, and a desk with piles of what looked like research notes and heavy tomes on mineralogy and alchemy.

What seized your attention next, however, was a row of iron bars which fenced off half of the room on the left, creating a single, large prison cell in a spacious alcove of the cavern. Lying on a comfortable looking bed behind the bars was a figure.

He sat up as you entered and stared at you with big, black eyes. He wore a simple, white, linen shirt despite the chill, and dark brown trousers covered his slim legs. A loose, dark blue, cotton scarf was wrapped around his skinny neck. At first you took him for a goblin, but a moment of dumbfounded gawking at him revealed that he was too large to be a pure-blooded goblin. A halfbreed? Half goblin and half human? Such combinations weren’t completely unheard of, but they were certainly rare.

He looked at you with his face full of fear and then gasped, “Who are you? What are you doing down here? What’s happening out there?”

“Who am I?” you asked stupidly. “Who are you? And what are you doing down here in a cage!” You raced to the door of his cell but discovered instantly as you rattled it that it was locked. “Who’s locked you in here? Was it the mayor? Why?” Questions tumbled out of you in a torrent as the young half-blood stood up from his bed and came over towards you with a curious expression now on his handsome face.

His skin was the dark grey of a goblin’s, and he had a prominent nose and dark eyes, but his face was almost more human than goblin, and while he was short for a human, at around 4’11”, he was very tall for a goblin. He also had the slightly gnarled bone structure of a goblin, and their sharp cheekbones and jawline. His black hair was tied back off his face in a neat plait that fell to his shoulders, revealing slightly pointed ears. “The mayor?” he asked quietly. He was very softly-spoken. “You know my mother?”

That stopped you dead in your tracks. “What? The mayor is your mother?” You were appalled that she could do something so hideous to her own son, and you felt the world tilt on its axis. “Gods, what is wrong with that woman? First she poisons the goblins in this town and then she locks up her own flesh and blood?”

The half-goblin turned away, looking ashamed. “It’s not her fault,” he muttered dejectedly, his warm tenor voice cracking. “It’s mine.”

“Yours? Why?” You put your hands to the bars of the cage and fixed him with an attentive stare.

He sighed. “My senses are attuned strongly to magic,” he said, still staring at a distant corner of his cage. “I can feel that amulet you’re wearing, for instance. It’s very powerful.” He sighed again and continued, holding up his palms to gaze blankly at them. “But I cannot access my magic. It’s to do with my goblin heritage. My father…”

His bony shoulders dropped and he laughed sadly as he glanced back at you over his knobbly shoulder.

“My parents were very much in love, believe it or not. But my mother comes from a long line of very powerful mages. To bear a half-breed child is shame enough, but one with stone-bound heritage? One who cannot wield magic? A goblin?” he let out a bitter snort. “I’m a blight on the family name. So… if she can get me to open up to my magic, I can at least wield it. I’ll no longer be an embarrassment to her, and perhaps she can redeem herself a little in her family’s eyes.”

He cuffed up his shirt sleeves and you saw blue tattoos all over his skin. They pulsed and glowed in resonance with the amulet around your neck, and he clenched his fists. The bright blue markings stood out in livid contrast with his smoky grey skin, and he ground his sharp teeth before he went on.

“She’s been injecting me with the phorosnykum that she’s had excavated here in the mines. Raw, it can be lethal, and it’s almost impossible to do anything with it, but she knows how to process it here in her lab. She tattoos me with it, in the hopes that it will bypass my stone-bound blood and allow me to channel magic. It’s been done before, apparently, to halfbreeds like me.”

You swayed on the spot, and he looked up, concerned.

“You had no idea, did you?”

Mutely, you shook your head. “I have to get you out of here,” you murmured once you’d recovered your senses. “Gods, I have to get you out. Is there a key?”

He nodded, clearly debating whether to tell you where it lived.

“Please,” you insisted, clutching the bars. “This is wrong!”

His dark eyes flitted back and forth. “I want to be able to use my magic,” he said very quietly. “But… you say she’s poisoning people?” You nodded, and he shook his head, looking sick. “Not at that price…” he said. “I’ll help you.”

“There has to be another way she can do this without using the goblins like this?”

He nodded. “Of course there is. She could do it in the open, and mine it all herself, but she’s too ashamed of me to let it be known that she bore some dirty halfbreed who can’t use magic. That’s why she’s covering it all up. Magic is everything to her family. If you’re not powerful, you’re practically not worth the air you breathe…”

You scowled. “That’s disgusting.”

He shrugged and took a deep breath, focusing. “Alright. Her laboratory is through there,” he said, pointing at a doorway at the other end of the rough-hewn chamber. “There’s a ward on the door, but I think that amulet will negate it. It feels like it will. The key is on a hook on the wall just inside the door.”

You nodded and turned away, heart thudding with the maelstrom of emotions. Kravik could still be lying buried under all that rubble, D and Ten must be aware that something had happened now, and you were about to break out the son of the mayor who was being used as a laboratory experiment by his own mother. It was almost too much to bear.

Halting suddenly, you turned back and looked over your shoulder as you asked, “What’s your name?”

He beamed you a gorgeous little smile, his eyes crinkling. “Will,” he said. “I’m Will. You?”

You told him, and his smile broadened. “Thank you,” he said. “You’re the first person I’ve seen, apart from my mother, in over a year. Thank you for helping me.”

“How old are you, Will?” you asked, hesitantly. He looked like he could be anywhere between thirteen years old and twenty five - there was just no way to tell at all.

“Eighteen,” he said.

“I can’t believe she’s done this to you,” you said, shuddering, and turning back towards the laboratory.

As your palms pressed against the wood of the door, a violent flash of light burst from the point of contact, and you were thrown back onto the ground with a hard grunt of surprise.

Will yelled your name, darting to the front of his cage and grasping the bars. Your ears rang and everything hurt.

You managed to push yourself upright and, blinking, you shook your head to clear it of the ringing. The amulet, it seemed, had protected you from the full blast of the ward, but it had not negated it in the way Will had hoped. His voice reached you after a moment or two, faint and muffled still.

“…you alright? Please! Tell me you’re alright!”

“I’m alight,” you confirmed, standing shakily. “Doesn’t look like I can get in though…”

“Dammit,” he hissed. “I thought the amulet would let you in.”

Before you could think any further, he went rigid and turned towards the door. “Someone’s coming,” he said, scowling.

Your stomach dropped. “The mayor?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like her… Small feet… unsteady…” He raised his nose and snuffed exploratively at the air. “Goblin… and… dwarven black powder…?”

“Kravik!” you screeched, spinning on the spot and bolting for the entrance to the cavern.

You didn’t stop to think. It could have been anyone, anyone who had been accidentally caught in the explosions, but there, making his way slowly along the corridor, his clothes ripped and torn, his face smudged with rock dust and running with blood from a small cut on his forehead, was, improbably, Kravik.

You ran at him and swept him up in your arms, crashing down on your knees to hug the little goblin tightly to you. Sobs wracked your whole body. “I thought you were dead!” you wailed as he embraced you fondly, if a little carefully due to the bruising in his ribs. “Oh thank the gods you’re alright.”

“I’m a tough little shit,” he cackled weakly. “Takes more than twenty tons of rock falling on me to kill me.”

“How?” you breathed, leaning back to let him have a bit of space and air.

He grinned. “There was another tunnel,” he said. “It was guarded by runes or something, but the explosion must have damaged them.”

“That’s how I got in here!” you said. “Gods, how many more tunnels are there like that?”

“This whole mine must be honeycombed with them,” he said. And then his eyes landed on Will in the cage and went wide with horror. He whispered your name and looked at you. “What’s going on?”

You introduced him to Will, who seemed fascinated to meet a full-blooded goblin, and Kravik seemed equally fascinated by the mix of human and goblin features in the person before him. You told him everything you’d learned in talking to Will, and Kravik listened quietly, occasionally wincing and shifting his weight as his injuries from the rockfall pained him.

“So you can’t get into the study?” he asked when you’d finished, and you both shook your head. “You think it’d work if I try?”

You hadn’t thought of that. “You mean with your immunity to magic?” you clarified.

He nodded. “Give me that amulet though, just in case. If it protected you from the worst of it, I’d rather have it on than not…”

You drew it up over your head and handed it to Kravik, who slipped it on and shivered. “It’s cold,” he said grimly. He was limping badly and his breathing was ragged from his bruised ribs, but he was right: he was one tough cookie.

Will shot you a look as Kravik made his unsteady way over to the door. “I like him,” he whispered with a cheeky grin.

“He’s my best friend,” you muttered back. “I thought he’d died in the tunnel collapse. Gods, I’m such a wreck right now.”

Will stretched his hand through he bars and gripped your arm warmly in his thin, knuckly fingers. “You’re doing fine,” he said. “We’ll get the key and get out of here. I’ll go to my mother and tell her to stop all this. I’ll leave, abandon her name. She’ll have no connection to me any more, and no reason to want to keep doing all this.”

“You’d do that?” you asked. “You’d just abandon your family?”

He snorted and looked around at the cage. “Does family do this to its own?”

You scowled. “I suppose not. You think she’ll let you go?”

Will shrugged.

From the other side of the room, Kravik called, “Here goes nothing… Wonder if my luck will still hold…?”

He placed his hands on the door and pushed.

The same flash of lightning blasted out from the point of contact, but the door opened this time. Kravik, however, was hurled back across the room, flying much further than you had, due to his smaller stature. He landed heavily, awkwardly, and cried out. You hurried to his side, but he waved you away. “Get the key,” he wheezed. “I’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly, you left his side and stepped into the laboratory. On the desk was an open journal of experimental notes, you realised, and you grabbed it before turning and finding the heavy, iron key hanging on the wall, exactly where Will had said it would be. You snatched it down off the hook and returned to the room. Your eyes went first to Kravik, who still lay curled and moaning on the floor, but you figured that once you’d freed Will, you could tend to your friend.

You turned the key in the lock, but just as you went to swing the cage gate open, Will seized your wrist through the bars, his eyes wide and frightened. “Someone’s coming!” he hissed. “Oh gods, it’s… it’s her! Hide!”

A thrill of fear ran through you, and you found yourself rooted to the spot.

“Hide!” Will snarled. “Grab Kravik and hide!”

You turned and bolted to the fallen goblin’s side, but as you got there you realised with a jolt of horror that the key was still in the lock.

She was almost in the room.

Her shadow filled the entrance way.

You had two choices: grab Kravik and hide, or go back for the key.

______________

Hope you enjoyed Part Nine! If you liked this part, don’t forget to leave me a like, comment, and/or reblog/inbox. You have no idea how happy that makes authors and creators like me, and it makes all of this worthwhile.

And don’t forget to vote!!!!

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Part Ten 

___________________________

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[ghostofvixx]

How could I? |MKL|

You and Mark will never get along.

You were so used to traveling. You did not belong anywhere, why should you anyway? After a few months, you were going to move for sure. You were born in Seoul, even though you only lived there for only three years. Your parents were one of the most important members of a company, the CEO’s right hand, which implied earning a lot of money but also spending the biggest part of the time here and there. A lot of people would think you were, are, or will never be loved by your parents, growing up in a shallow environment, but they actually were aware of your situation and took good care of you. They had enough money to hire a-by that time- desperate teacher who would be in charge of educating you the right way and would sacrifice her own social life to not only earn a good amount of money but also to take good care of you, which she obviously did. She taught you the most valuable advice you had ever received: everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Be kind, always.

Not only that but also to be the social butterfly you are and to see every new place you lived in as an opportunity to meet new people, not to just isolate yourself from the world.

You have always loved YouTube way too much, watching videos was the only thing you did for a while even instead of studying. However, when your teacher saw how lost you were and told your parents about your distraction, you stopped even before they could talk you off. You would never disappoint them, in that way at least.

At sixteen you began to post videos. They were short videos about your experiences in all the places you had lived since you were born, but since people began to ask in the comments about how it was like to live there, gradually you began to appear more to explain a couple of things. At the age of eighteen, you were a very respected influence in the YouTube community and happened to have a daydream relationship with this other YouTube you met in America.

At the age of eighteen, you decided to begin your independence, moving to the place you were born, Seoul. You parents wanted to buy you an apartment there, close to college with all the facilities to ever exist, but you decided to try to live without their money, to earn your own money while you study just as any other person would do, hoping you weren’t going to be recognized by a lot of people.

You parents said they would take care, you would live with their beloved Lee’s daughter and son Jen and Mark Lee, who apparently also happened to have a successful YouTube channel.

Now you knew why your parents did it.

At first, you weren’t known inside Korea, but in when you began to have followers on your social media, pressing the link in your description was almost impossible. It wasn’t just the content, you also had charisma and all the things people feel attracted to nowadays.

In spite of that, you didn’t feel surprised at all when the Lee siblings, Jen Lee, twenty-three years old, and Mark, who was your age, didn’t know you at all. And it’s not as if you knew them either.

You first encounter was definitely the most awkward thing ever.

“So… You guys make videos too?” You asked, in an attempt to break the ice.

“Well, Markie does. I’m twenty-three now, I don’t have time so I just appear from time to time on his channel.” Jen explained as she didn’t stop smiling. “Come here we will explain you our timetables and stuff so you know how we work.”

Jen was the nicest person to ever exist.

Mark, on the other hand, was the opposite.

“Do you really have to invade us like this?” He asked the following morning as both of you were getting ready to go to college.

“I mean… What?”

“Nothing” he mumbled taking the milk brick of your hands since you weren’t using it, that’s when you realized what he meant. “I’ll buy my own stuff this afternoon, Jen told me I could take this today meanwhile.”

He shrugged.

“Whatever.”

“By the way, what’s your channel about Mark?” You asked, not wanting to leave the conversation like that.

“Check it out if you’re really that interested.”

You didn’t say anything after that. Why should you? To be given an attitude?

“Look.” He called you out as he stood up once he was done.” We aren’t going through a good moment right now, and the last thing we need is a stranger breaking into our house warning us a couple days ahead. I’m sure you and my sister are going to get along, so please just don’t try to get along with me too. It won’t work.”

That was the first and only proper conversation you shared. From that moment Mark didn’t exist, he was just the boy you had to talk to from time to time because Jen wanted to.

People in social media, however, shared a different point of view.

“I’m sure they are dating! That’s why they won’t post anything about them living together!” You gradually got used to reading such ridiculous things.

That earned a couple of arguments with your boyfriend, who, living in America, was continuously doubting your relationship. There was no point in explaining that you guys didn’t get along, he wouldn’t believe it.

All of that plus the disappointment of not being able to find a job and resort to your parents from time to time, made you feel completely unstable. Thank god that the personification of kindness, the angel without wings, the only friend you were able to make, Lee Jen was with you to offer you the support you were looking for. She -unlike her brother- was the best thing that could have happened to you.

And what about Mark? You tried to talk to him by your own to see if he had changed his mind a couple of weeks after that happened.

He hadn’t.

“I don’t even understand how you can have followers being the dickhead you are!” You shouted at the end of the conversation.” The only thing you do is talking nonsense to a camera!”

“Y/N!” Jen shouted, trying to stop you.

“Well, at least my parents don’t buy me followers to think I’m important!”

“Oh come on Mark! Not you too!”

“They’ve never done such a thing!” You weren’t sure if you were defending your parents or yourself, but that was definitely not the truth.

“Of course they didn’t” He rolled his eyes. “You know what? At first, I thought we would eventually get along, now I doubt it. And now go tell your parents what I said, let’s see what else they can do”.

“Guys stop it! If the only thing you can do is fighting then I hope you end up choking each other, I’m not going to be here to save any of you or to act as the post woman.” Jen exploded, making both of you shut up.

The situation didn’t improve, it only got worse, you were still at each other's throats every day, every time.

**

You had the feeling that you were going to crash at any moment.

Eventually, it happened.

Half a year after you moved.

“This is not working Y/N.” Your boyfriend said through the phone. This time, he was the one who had to stay till late to talk to you.

It was a rainy day I’m Seoul, and, on top of all, you hadn’t brought your umbrella.

“Honey, can we talk about this once I’m at home? I’m sure we can work thing out, we will find a way to-“

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You know how hard the YouTubed life is, and being without you… Plus you living with that Mark guy… People talk you know? I can’t handle it anymore.” He said, his raspy voice sticking inside your head.

“Please let’s just… Let’s just talk for a while, we can talk, maybe I can move to America with you.” You tried to convince him as your voice cracked every five seconds.

“I’m sorry Y/N. It’s already late. I’m so sorry we had to end our relationship like this, I can’t stand this anymore. Please, find someone nice and who will take good care of you. Good night, Y/N, I loved you.”

I loved you.

Those were the harshest words you had ever heard, overpowering any argument with Mark. You weren’t thinking straight, so you returned to your flat under the rain, as the tears mixed with the raindrops.

“What the hell Y/N?” Was the first thing you heard when you came in.

You were expecting to see Jen eating lunch with Mark, you will have asked her to come with you for a second and tell her what had happened as she will have given you one of her healing hugs.

However, when you saw just Mark standing up and basically running to you, without Jen by his hide, you couldn’t hide your disappointment.

More tears were spilled again.

“No! Please don’t cry. Come on Y/N you have this, you should change into more comfortable clothes and then I’ll let you cry all you want but you are going to get a cold! Aish, Why does Jen has a meeting to attend in a day like this?”

You tried to listen to Mark, only because he wasn’t shouting at you.

He wasn’t lying about letting you cry. Both of you sat on the couch as you began to cry again and he just watched you, not knowing what to do. Sometimes he stroked your hair for a couple of seconds, but he felt immediate regret. He didn’t call Jen because you wouldn’t let him.

“She is- she is busy now Mark. Let’s just- leave it this way, I’ll st-stop crying now.” You tried to say in an attempt to make him relax.

“No! I mean I- I don’t care if you’re crying it’s just that I don’t know what to do I mean we are not best friend in the world and-“

“Don’t worry Mark.” You interrupted him. “What you’re doing is more than enough.”

You ended up crying again-but just a little- as he tried to dry your hair with a towel and a hairdryer afterward. You ended up falling asleep there without realizing it.

You are still sure that there wasn’t a blanket nearby the couch, but when you woke up there was a red one covering your body.

“Thank you, Mark.” Was the first thing you told him the following day, leaving Jes speechless.

“Are you going to tell me what happened or…?” Jes asked, moving her head from right to left, trying to make eye contact with both of you.

“I’ll tell you this afternoon once we’re back and not in a hurry to go to college.” You tried to smile, but that didn’t make the situation better.

“Can I be there too?” Mark asked pouting his lips. “I literally thought you were going to die yesterday, I want to know it too!”

“Yeah, sure, why not.” After all, Mark was right, he took good care of you.” Oh and Mark… I’m sorry… About everything.”

“Oh no, I’m the one who should feel sorry, seriously, at first I wasn’t very happy but I overreacted, I’m not usually like that I promise, my parents would never talk to me again if they ever find out I failed them.”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING GUYS THANK GOD I WAS SO TIRED I LOVE YOU GUYS PLEASE LOVE EACH OTHER.” Jes screamed at the top of her lungs while she clapped to emphasize.

That afternoon, the three of you talked. You explained to them how he broke up with you, how you were having difficulties to find a good job and even to make friends. You felt overwhelmed and you had to explode at some point. Then Mark explained to you how they were having a hard time with their parents since they had lost all the trust they had in Mark and Jen before you came. You were the fireproof and Mark thought it was so ridiculous that he wasn’t having it.

“Are we friends then?” Mark asked you once all of you were done explaining.

“Of course we are Markie.”

**

Three years passed and you were like best friends. Both of you had made a lot of videos together, from playing video games to talking about your life in Seoul. Your popularity only increased since your first video together, becoming -still not sure how- one of the most shipped couples. Not as if you cared though.

There was this weird feeling you had when you were with him, something you would identify as a crush if you weren’t so afraid. You were sure about many things in life, one of them was that Mark would never return your feelings. It was easier thinking that way.

In other news, Jen was going to get married! She began to date this guy a little after you moved with them, but you met him a year after, once they were sure about their relationship. They were so sure that after three years of relationship, they couldn’t wait to get married.

To celebrate it, all of Jen and her fiancé’s friends went out to celebrate, you and Mark were obviously included. That’s when the mess began.

Since both of you didn’t know them, you and Mark decided to play a game and record it to post it on YouTube. Every time you answered “yes” or “no” to a question, you had to take a shot.

If Mark and you were stupid on a daily basis, you were even more stupid when drunk.

His hands placed in your hips, your hands on his hair, and overall, your lips moving against each other. The rest is a story.

When you woke up the following day in Mark’s bed, your legs tangled, his arms around your waist, your clothes on the floor and a message from Jen telling you to have fun, that she would be sleeping at her fiancé’s house, it wasn’t hard to tell what happened.

“This can’t be happening.” You said as you tried to escape from Mark’s arm -against you will, of course- falling from the bed as you tried to grab the sheets to cover your body.

“What is happening?” Mark said as he opened his eyes, the lowest voice you have ever heard.

“Don’tfallforhimdon’tfallforhim.” Was the only thing you could tell yourself.

“Oh my god Y/N. Did we…?”

“I don’t know Mark but please put some clothes on!” You tried not to raise your voice since you had the biggest headache ever.” Mark please… Let’s just forget whatever that happened last night. Please turn around I’m going to get dressed.”

You were expecting a sign, something that could tell you he knew what happened last night or that he didn’t regret it, but his confused face and the way he obeyed you proved you wrong.

**

Jen was really busy, she had to go to work, plan her wedding and take care of her brother and her best friend since they were behaving like kids. She was about to explode.

After that Mark and you never talked. You were sure you were the reason. He obviously regretted what he did, and you were too ashamed to even talk to him.

Time went through and, nine months after, you still think he doesn’t even want to see your face. Sometimes he spends the whole night out and you are completely sure he has something special now, which only makes you question if you should keep living with them.

After all, it’s as if you lived on your own.

Jen is going to get married in only a week and Mark will probably not look at you, just the way he has been doing this past nine months.

You’ve never felt more heartbroken.

**

You tried to smile the whole ceremony. Jen was beautiful and she was feeling so happy that it wasn’t that hard.

The couple of the day are on the dance floor, dancing a song they’ve been preparing for a few months while everyone is recording them and cheering for them. After that everyone begins to dance. That’s when you take your time to appreciate Mark. You know he won’t dance, he is not really into dancing on this occasion, so he just talks to some guests and takes some photos with a few fans of him. There’s this moment when your eyes meet, you feel unable to look away, he stands up and heads your way.

You knew this was going to happen.

“Can we talk?” He asks you.” We have to, it’s now or never.”

“Let’s go then.”

You go to the Azotea, where you probably won’t be heard by anyone but yourselves.

“A lot of people have asked me if we aren’t friends anymore.”

“Since when are people so aware of our friendship.” You ask.

“Since we suddenly stopped posting videos together and appearing in each other's Instagram page Y/N.” He sights and turns around to look anywhere but your direction.

“Mark.” You finally say after five minutes of silence. “About that night… I know you probably regret what happened but I miss you, can’t we just forget what happened?”

“I can’t forget anything about you Y/N.” Mark finally turns around to face you. “For the first time I’m going to stop being my awkward self, so listen to me. I don’t know what happened that night exactly, but for what I remember I don’t regret it at all.”

“Mark, don’t do this.”

“Do you regret it Y/N? Be honest with me, if you do I’ll never mention it, nor my feelings about you ever again. If you don’t, please, let me try.”

“But I thought you were dating.”

“Dating? Who can I date? I’m not a very social person you know it right?”

“You have spent nights out and won’t talk to me. What do you want me to think Mark?”

“Definitely not that! I was just with my friend Johnny, trying to save us from a difficult situation.”

“Oh my god Mark we are so dumb.”

“That means you don’t regret it?”

“I thought you were the one who regretted it!l

“How could I, Y/N?” Feeling courageous, you hold Mark’s hand.

“How could I, Mark?”

[moonblooch]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)

Relationships: Fjord & Jester Lavorre, Fjord & Caleb Widogast

Characters: Fjord (Critical Role), Caleb Widogast, Nott (Critical Role), Mollymauk Tealeaf, Yasha (Critical Role), Jester Lavorre

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, minor conflict between characters, Misunderstanding, but its all cool, mentions of Fjord's backstory, references to Caleb's backstory

Language:English

Series:← Previous Work Part 2 of the Hits off the Cosmic Deck series

Some secrets are shared and the problem with the engine that probably definitely wasn't caused by this weird glowing thing.

“Was zum teufel?!”

Caleb’s voice echoed down the corridor to Beau’s room, where Fjord was trying to find some robes that she probably wouldn’t mind losing, just in case the person he sent to deliver them (because he’d be doshed if he was leaving his ship alone with a bunch of strangers) decided to take anything for themselves.

“What’s up in there Caleb?” he called back, praying for a good answer as he made his way into the corridor clutching a robe in hand.

The first thing Caleb had done was take a screwdriver to Beau’s goggles, claiming that they were not working properly. When he was satisfied with those, he had lifted Nott onto his shoulders to fix the lights, which required them powering down the entire engine room, which could only be done from the bridge, which now had all of its breadboards on display and several disconnected. Thankfully the lights had seemed to be a loose connection in the wiring as opposed to a fault with the cells and when the lights had flickered back to life, they had unveiled the sheer mess that the engine room was actually in.

Aside from the splatter of tar-fuel (thankfully only from a spare canister, not from the engine itself) which Beau had left close to the entrance, the engine itself was nearly incomprehensible. Fjord was no mechanic by any means, but he had assisted in maintaining the engines of the cargo vessels he had worked on in the past. And yet none of the engine of The Mistake seemed even vaguely recognisable to him. He was certain he would have given it a look over when they bought it (bought being a fairly generous description for the transaction which had brought the ship into their hands), perhaps he had been in too much of a rush.

Either way, Caleb at least seemed to recognise its components, though his comment on the “unconventional layout” was far from encouraging. He had stowed his pack in the little space available in the engineer’s quarters before opening his other bag and affixing a device that seemed to be a small collar light wired to a pair of goggles to Frumpkin and sending him into the depths of the engine room.

He had removed Beau’s goggles, replacing them with a pair of his own which he explained were connected to Frumpkin’s, so that he would be able to see what his cat could. Fjord had left the room, intending on sending Nott to find Beau and Jester with the spare clothes, but Caleb’s latest exclamation led him back into the corridor.

“Why in the name of everything sacred does this thing run on rhydonium?” Caleb yelled back.

“Should it not?” Fjord asked, already knowing the answer as he rounded the corner into the engine room. Caleb’s goggles were glowing blue, presumably an indicator that they were connected to Frumpkins.

“Nein! Nothing this small should.”

“Then, uh, can you make it so that it runs on something else?”

“Not without taking the entire ship to pieces. Every pipe would have to be treated, the cost would be enormous. That and you would attract a lot of attention; these kinds of mods are usually only found on pirate ships.”

Scrutiny was not something Fjord was looking for at that time. The thing in his arm was difficult enough to hide, and travelling with more people was a risk as well. Taking The Mistake to a proper workshop for any extended amount of time could just be the final bolt in the sarcophagus.

“Is there any good news?” he asked.

“Yes, the good news is that I know what your problem is. It is a two person problem to fix, but it mostly requires somebody else to hold things in place while I work. I have made a list of the tools and materials it will need, the ones that I do not already have.” He indicated a clunky looking data-pad which sat on top of his tool bag.

“Right,” Fjord said, looking at the clearly extensive list, “and what is the problem exactly?”

“There are a host of minor issues, but this ship must be at least twenty standard years old by now and I am going to assume it has worked hard in that time so those are to be expected. You will want to get them fixed eventually as they will hamper the functionality if left, but they are not urgent. Your problem is the acceleration compensator.”

“Well dag.”

“I am astounded you even made it to dirt.” Caleb told him, lifting his goggles for a moment to make eye contact. “If you take off in this state you will be flat as a panna cake before you hit the big L.”

“Beau’s not going to like that.” Fjord mused, mostly to himself.

“She is your pilot?” Caleb asked.

“Yeah, a good one at that. She’s done her best with the engine as well, but she’s more of the ‘hit it ‘til it works’ type. Never failed us before, but I guess it had to at some point.”

The look that Caleb gave him before he pulled the goggles back over his eyes could only be described as horrified.

“I will send Frumpkin on a bit more of a look around, if I find anything else important you will hear my yelling. Could you send someone to purchase the items on that list please?”

Fjord picked up the data pad and scanned the list as he walked back to the galley, where he had last seen the others. He could still hear the slightly muffled sound of voices as he approached.

“All I’m saying is that you can’t just go around waving those glowsticks wherever you want to.” Nott was saying. “That sort of thing can get you killed.”

“Well if it’s my life at risk then I’ll wave them wherever I please.” Molly’s voice replied as Fjord came to the door. He had hovered for a moment, debating whether or not to interrupt, when Nott made a guttural growling sound and he decided that it would be best to step in.

“Hey there folks, apologies for interrupting here but I’m afraid I’ve got a couple errands I need taking care of.” He said proffering the robe. “Nott, could you take this to Beau please? I’m guessing she’ll be nearly done.”

Nott shot Molly one foul look before taking the robe and leaving, her feet clicking against metal as she scurried down the steps outside. Fjord turned to Molly and Yasha.

“There going to be any trouble?” he asked “because this is a small ship, I don’t want any scraps breaking out.”

“Not at all.” Molly sighed. “Nott’s just a little agitated about me showing off the lightsabres in public, not that it’s any of her business.”

“Well,” Fjord replied, “I’d take it as a favour if you listened to her in this case. Just to keep the peace a bit. Particularly since anything to do with Jedi only ever leads to trouble in my experience.”

“Whoever said anything about Jedi?” Molly asked with a grin.

“I’m sure you’re just being wise-mouthed, but for the love of the First Light don’t say that sort of thing around Beau. If she thinks you’re Sith she will kill you, and I’ll be in no place to stop her.”

Whilst Molly’s expression didn’t change, something in Yasha’s face twitched. Fjord decided not to comment on this; Yasha looked like she might be able to snap him in half and he was hardly keen to test that theory.

“Look, I’m sorry to come down on y’all like this, I’ll have a word with Nott when I have a chance. Could you maybe have a look around for some of these things?” he held out the data pad. “As many as you can find, maybe some food as well, and I’ll consider the cost your fee for the trip.”

“What if it costs more than a trip to the next planet?” Yasha asked.

“Then we’ll take you further, as long as The Mistake can handle it. That’s what the parts are for.”

“Well, she’s living up to her name if this list is anything to go by.” Yasha said, looking it over. “We will see what we can do.”

Once they had left, Fjord took a moment to breathe. Letting this number of strangers onto his ship all at once was laserbrained, but he had no choice. He had to find out what had happened to Vandren’s starship, and how he had found himself on a beach halfway to the other side of the galaxy after the apparent explosion. In order to keep following the trail of information, he needed a crew. Beau and Jester had been doing a fine job, but a crew of three could only move slowly, and forget about getting any work.

He returned to his quarters, sat on his bunk and at last removed his glove. He had not been missing a hand when he had lost his last crew, but he had woken up on that beach with a hand made of metal, a crystal embedded in the palm. He had examined it many times since, but now he curled the fingers experimentally, trying to parse how the joints moved against each other and the tiny pistons slid into place. Plenty of freighter workers were missing limbs or had enhancements, but Fjord had never seen a hand quite like his before.

He had never seen one that could do what his could either.

Holding his arm a safe distance in front of him, Fjord closed his fist entirely.

A bolt of light shot out from it, quickly solidifying into a shape he had come to both recognise and learn to use as a blade. He turned it this way and that, allowing the blueish glow to chase away the shadows of his perpetually gloomy room. The edges of his vision gradually darkened until it was just him and the light. The sensation of the bunk and the floor beneath his feet faded until he was floating, hypnotized by the crackling bolt in front of him. He must have been breathing, but he could not recall the last time he had actually taken a breath.

LEARN

Fjord’s hand sprung open out of instinct, fear clawing at his throat. He looked frantically about his room but no source for the voice made itself evident. Legs shaking he stood.

LEARN

There it was again, more insistent. Fjord clenched his hand, allowing the blade to form again as he strode from his room, stumbling through the entrance bay then the galley and into the main corridor, towards the one person he knew to still be on the ship.

“Zurück!” came the cry from the engine room, Caleb swung into view, sending Fjord to a stop immediately. He was clutching a weapon his hands, one that Fjord didn’t quite recognise but which he had seen half a dozen variations of in his brief time as part of a hunting party to the Xorhassian Sector.

“Is that a flame thrower?” he asked, dropping his blade and raising his hands. He could hold his own in a fight, but against a ranged weapon with nowhere to run he barely stood a chance. “Ferglutz Caleb, why do you have a flame thrower?”

“Are you with them? The order?” Caleb asked, voice shaking and all but a yell.

“Who?” Fjord asked

Caleb appeared to physically deflate.

“I am sorry Fjord, I heard the noise of a lightsabre and I panicked.” He holstered the barrel of the flame thrower, which Fjord could now see was attached to the mysterious pack which he had stowed in the engineer’s quarters, and held his hands out.

“You’ve had a bad past with some Jedi then?” Fjord asked. The last thing he needed was someone else that Beau might be inclined to start a fight with.

Caleb’s face grew dark.

“Not with Jedi, but yes. All sabres make a very distinctive sound when they are activated, so when I heard yours my first assumption was that someone had hunted me down. Clearly that was incorrect, and I am very sorry for trying to kill you. Your hand looks very much like something that they would create, which is why I did not drop my weapon when I saw you.”

LEARN

The voice came again, and Fjord did his best not to flinch, instead keeping his eyes on Caleb who did not appear to have heard it. The message was clear; Caleb knew someone who could have done this to him. He needed to learn who that was.

“Hey, no hard feelings alright?” he said, taking a tentative step forward. When Caleb did not retreat or grab for the flamethrower again he continued to walk forward until they were almost too close to touch. “I’ve met guys who spent their whole lives at light speed trying to get away from Sith, if you’ve had a bad past with them you being a little jumpy’s understandable.”

He held out his metal hand, open a silent offer for Caleb to take it, and did his best to exude as calming an air as possible. Caleb eyed the hand nervously before reaching out with both hands to examine it.

“Truly, this is a faszinierend piece of hardware you have here.” He remarked, turning the hand gently in the light. “Forgive me for asking, but who gave you this, please?”

“Honestly Caleb, I wish I could tell you. I was in a freighter accident, about a standard year ago I think, and when I woke up I had that thing.” He left out the fact that his hand had not been damaged when his escape pod was deployed, that he could only remember the snippets of darkness and glowing eyes which came to him in his dreams.

Instead he said “I’d appreciate it if we could keep this incident between the two of us Caleb.”

Caleb looked surprised, but nodded in agreement.

“Yes, likewise. Nott will worry if she believes that I have had an, er, an episode I suppose. I take it that you do not want the others to know about your hand?”

“That’d be great. I’ll extend the same courtesy to your flame thrower for now, but it might be better if the others knew about it in case we get into a scuffle.”

“Is that likely?” Caleb asked, releasing Fjord’s hand.

“I’d hope not, but if this is a pirate starship like you suggested then I can’t guarantee we won’t be mistaken for enemies by some shipjackers.”

Caleb nodded slowly.

“I can make some tweaks to the hyperdrive, in something like this we should be able to outrun almost anything that is not an imperial model.”

Fjord desperately hoped that was not a possibility.

The awkward ticks slid past one by one until Fjord finally spoke up again.

“So, did you find any other problems? With the engine I mean.”

“Hm, oh, yes, ah, I – there was nothing major,” Caleb seemed to be grateful for a topic he could speak about comfortably, “all mostly standard for a rhydonium engine, which you should not have. Most of the strangeness that I encountered can be put down to the down-sizing; this appears to be based off the old Venator class and I am certain that you do not need me to tell you how insane that is.”

He shook his head, a strange smile creeping onto his face.

“Apart from that, the only unusual item which I found, well, Frumpkin found, was this glowing – I think that it was a crystal of some sort, but no kind that I recognise. About this big.” He indicated with his hands. “I put it in the engineer’s quarters, hold on.”

He opened the door to the small side room, an action shortly followed by a long, low meow.

“I know, I know.” Fjord heard Caleb mutter. “It was just to keep you safe, yes?”

He emerged barely a tick later, holding something glowing in his gloved hands. As it got closer, Fjord had to admit that crystal was probably the best word for the dodecahedron-shaped object, even if his vision swam every time he tried to look directly at it. It was the colour of a blue sky in a partial eclipse, a strange, swirling, not-quite-silver that could have been a different colour entirely from another angle.

“I am aware that some ships use crystals, but I have never seen any like this. Do not worry,” Caleb said, immediately causing worry to curl in Fjord’s gut, “it was not attached to anything, and it did not appear to have been at any point. It was tucked away in a corner.”

“Huh.” Was all that Fjord could offer in response.

“I am happy to take a closer look at it when I have fixed the acceleration compensator, but it does not seem to do anything apart from make your eyes water.”

“Yeah, I’d appreciate that. It’d be a nice thing to keep, but it might be worth a fair number of credits to the right buyer, maybe one of those collector types?”

“I doubt that I could guess the value my friend, but I can certainly study it when we are moving.” Caleb returned the object to his room.

“I would advise that you move quickly if you do not want the others to know about your hand, Nott has just informed me that they are on their way back.” He said as he was walking back over to Fjord, briefly lifting his hair to display a small contraption made of copper wire which hooked over the top of his ear.

“Right, thanks for the heads up.” Fjord answered. “If you want any help clearing that room of yours out just shout for me or the others, right? I’m sure Beau and Jester would be happy to help.”

“Of course, thank you.” Caleb called after him as he retreated once again to his room. He had barely got his glove back on when he heard the thunder of footsteps in the entrance bay.

“We’re back!” cried Jester’s voice. “Fjord, where are you? We found this really cute shop on the way back and I got you something.”

“I’m just in my room.” He called back, bracing himself as his door slammed open.

“So check this out, okay, we were walking back from the cantina and we took a slightly different route back because Nott saw something shiny and cool looking, and Nott’s really, really cool by the way I think we might be like best friends now. Not better friends than you and me and Beau, but still, like, really, really good friends. Oh, and maybe not as good friends as with the Traveller, but like, you get the idea.”

Fjord couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling.

“So anyway, we went down this little alleyway and there was this little trinket shop and we bought this.” She held up a small, glittering device on a short chain. “And look, it does this if you spin it.” She flicked it with one finger and it spun, undulating into a number of different shapes and colours. “And I thought it would be good for your room, because it’s really boring in here right now. I mean that’s cool if you like that, but it’s not very fun for anyone visiting you, you know?”

“Thank you Jester, I really like it.” Fjord replied, taking the device from her and holding it up to the little light which his room had. “I’ll find somewhere real nice to hang it, I promise.”

“You had better.” She said, crossing her lekku twice behind her back. “So what’s up with the ship, did you ask Caleb to take a look at the engine yet? How soon can we go?”

“We ain’t going anywhere in this state Jester.” Fjord sighed before continuing, “Caleb says the acceleration compensator’s out of commission. He says he can fix it, but it sounds like it’ll take a while.”

“Aw frang!” Jester exclaimed. “Did he say how long exactly?”

“I didn’t ask.” Fjord paused for a beat before blurting out “Jester, he knows about my hand.”

“Oh.”

“He found out by accident but it sounded like he might know who did it.”

“That’s really good Fjord!” Jester beamed at him. “You can finally find out what happened to Vandren, I’m really happy for you. With me and Beau’s help of course.”

“I certainly hope so Jess.”

They were interrupted by a klang from the general direction of the entrance bay.

“Can someone get out here?” Molly’s voice sounded strained through the wall between them. “We’re about to drop this thing.”

Yasha murmured something indiscernible from due to the distance between them.

“Alright, I’m about to drop this thing. A little help here please?”

Notes: Hi again folks, second update today because the feedback on The Saga Begins was so amazing. Speaking of, the lovely jmercedesd asked for a bit of a species breakdown for everyone so here we are:

Caleb & Beau: Still Human, but that might have slightly different connotations in Star Wars canon than real life so link to wiki included here.

Fjord: Falleen, although he can just about pass for a few other spiecies with the right sort of disguise.

Jester: Twi'lek, because even though there is a species in the Star Wars universe that is basically Tieflings just making her that would feel like a bit of a cheat.

Molly: Chiss. There are actually plot reasons for him being a different species to Jester, but that's spoiler territory.

Yasha: Probably Diathim but I'm still considering that one.

Nott: Yoda's Species because Star Wars handed me a goblin on a platter and I wasn't going to ignore that.

I'll reveal Caduceus when he shows up, although I do know what he is.

As ever I do not own any of the characters or concepts contained within this fic.