#Its said how much our first relationship shape us and i can say my ex really shaped me by being into

[mrfoox]

For someone whos the most embarrassed person around, I sure say SO MUCH SHIT

[medicdoodles]

Some WheelRatch 🥚preg Dino babies, because of anyone was going to do it I guess it's me.

(Part 1) || (Part 2)

This is mostly about Wheeljack learning to accept that Ratchet could really love him and then they bond.

How Wheeljack ended up with a bot like Ratchet he wasn't really sure. It was probably not because they had the same interests, although it didn't hurt, and not because he was particularly interesting in looks either.

When he'd asked Ratchet would answer with the most beautiful laugh, claps his servos around Wheeljack and tell him it's how easily he makes him happy. Which, Wheeljack supposed is a good thing, considering he sometimes caught a strong guilty feeling about how much he changed for him.

Ratchet went from spending long nights at the bar to quiet evening cuddling on the couch. Talking with any bot who said hello, to only keeping his optics on him.

'Facing...

Ratchet used to spend most of his free time facing with any bot willing, almost anywhere, any way that was agreed upon, except spark sharing. He was adamant about that type, every time Wheeljack brought up that maybe tonight they should share energy, Ratchet would say he isn't ready to open up to him like that yet. Those nights he would wake up alone.

So when bots would congratulate him saying things like he must be so good in the berth to "tame" some bot like Ratchet he'd simply exvented in agreement because what else could he say.

"Wheeljack is something wrong?", Ratchet unfurls himself from their going to charge cuddling and flops over so he can rest his helm between Wheeljack's hip joints.

"No, just-", he ex vent turns his helm to look away. He promised Ratchet he would stop asking if he was happy with him, and he's really trying, but...

"You're feeling unsure about my feelings for you again." Ratchet shift more so his helm lands on Wheeljack's windshield and reaches to grab his face.

"Yeah how'd you figure that out?"

"You've asked me five times this week."

"Sorry I'm trying to be better about this but just I think about the life you used to live before our relationship and I can't believe you're happier this way." Wheeljack turns his focus on Ratchet's face plate. So slim in its shape, optics so blue and pure it's hard not to get lost in them. How could he ever-

"Who said I was happy before?" Ratchet breaks sight contact and rubs his helm into Wheeljack's chest plate right above his spark. "I'm glad I don't have to fight to keep any bot's attention anymore. I have yours and you don't even force me to open my plating like all those other hook ups." He kisses the center of where 'Jack's spark would be. "How can't I be happy when the bot I love enjoys me for everything else that I am."

When he out it like that Wheeljack supposes it does sound condescending to keep doubting Ratchet's choice in picking their relationship over that of any bot else. That maybe his doubt would probably make any other bot think he was trying to break it off, but no his Ratchet is stubborn. "I'm happy too. I'm glad we picked each other."

"Yeah, you better."

‐------.

When he restarts Wheeljack sees the soft light of the sun hitting his loft's window. The smokey blue haze running into the atmosphere's natural golden moring glow, it was all nothing compared to the absolute relaxation on Ratchet's face.

He runs his digits around that white helm. Wheeljack never gets up before Ratchet. Even when Ratchet shuts in longer he gets up to present himself picture perfect. Nothing like now, cheek smotched, lips parted and glossa sticking out mid lick. He drools in his sleep, Primus below them his engine even whistles. If it was possible to love any bot anymore Wheeljack was sure this was it.

Ratchet then boots up and shame fills his field, and he realizes that this is the first time he's ever felt his EM Field. He usually so self composed that he never let so much emotion slip from his frame. "Sorry 'Jackie. Let me clean that for you."

"It's just a little drool it won't kill me." He watches as Ratchet pulls out a smalls rag from his space sub and avoids looking back at him. "Hey", he grabs his servos, "It's fine, really."

There's an awkward pause. They look at each other and then, "Let's get bonded."

"Huh?!?!"

"C'mon let's get bonded, Conjunx, share spark, find other rites and do those too." Ratchet crawls to cover his frame, beautiful blue eyes look back at him and all that shame turns to a warm happiness.

"You don't have to do that, Ratch' I understand your happy how we are." Wheeljack puts his servos on Ratchet's windshield and without a nano sec passing it splits open showing the medic's spark.

It's so light that it he mistaken it as white, but the blue glow on Ratchet's face says other wise. There's small cuts that leave a dent warping what should have been a perfect sphere but still it was Ratchet through and through.

He doesn't know how or why it happens, he doesn't even remember when he sent the command to open his spark. All Wheeljack notices is the absolute joy emitting from his casing. Of two wild and frenzied energies spinning and figuring out how they should form. Where the extra energy will go and that they'll be linked for a while, but with all the love they shared with each other; Wheeljack knows without a doubt,

Forever.

[stopeatingwhales]

second chance x damon albarn

i'm surprised i haven't written anything about dilf damon yet bc i've been so obsessed with him recently wtf. anyways enjoy x

i might do a second part to this, idk yet tho

Pairing: dilf damon x reader

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 2.786

Requested by anon <3

༉‧₊˚✧

“Do you want to come over?” I abruptly asked, the silence pouring through the line deafening my ears as my fingers toyed with the hem of my shirt. The desperation and moment that led to me ringing my ex-boyfriend at what was nearing eight in the evening seemed as though it was a fever dream, the words rolling off my tongue so delicately out of apprehension only a fragment of that trance. In all honesty, I had no idea as to why I rang Damon, or to what extent the string of thoughts guided me towards the action of calling - we had been broken up for around a year, and it came as a much larger shock that I was able to muster the amount of courage to tap his contact on my phone and attentively listen to the thunderous rings as the landlines attempted to connect, instead of quickly shutting the phone off before he was able to receive a missed call alert.

“Uh, um - are you sure?” he questioned, the stutter escaping his mouth insinuated that he was just as dazed at my sudden offer as me, the demeanour of his voice accentuating the idea that he was entirely finished with the ephemeral chapter of his life which had me intertwined inside as his partner; that he had gotten over me quicker than the momentary period our relationship lasted. My heart sank, realising how indigent I sounded, as if I had never gotten over him throughout our time apart - which I did, learning to live with myself was easier than I had thought it was going to be; the weeks leading up to the breakup stemming from the distance we shared apart due to Damon consistently being on tour and never providing enough time for me, for us, to consider one another as more than romantically acquainted, though that didn’t mean the gap in my heart had been sealed shut, it was simply brimmed with other, unspecial fragments of things which could only distract the thought of him for so long, until I’d discover myself adventuring for something else to hyperfixate my thoughts upon, though he always returned.

“Yeah…” My voice trailed off, so quiet that I struggled to sustain the volume. Though we had only just spoken, the trance that he had obtained over me for all those months we were with one accord, returned in an instant, having the same rush that a recollection of memories, pastimes that were once forgotten, crumbled to dust, had been reborn; ignited into a new bloom in the height of a harvest, resulting in the scolding of yourself upon how you granted the ability to forget such a thing. It seemed as if all those thoughts, ideations convinced to the point that I had gotten over him, were myriads of masks attempting to say it enough to believe it. Without a doubt, I had never overcome the strains of the acquaintance we shared - and I could only hope he felt the same way.

I heard his throat clear itself before his voice echoed through the telephone speakers once again. “Alright… I’ll be there in a bit.” he mumbled, those words bringing a soft, yet apprehensive grin to my lips. I had no idea what I was doing, or why, but it felt right.

It felt as if only the sum of a few minutes passed when I heard a distinguishable knock on the door; one that had not rang through my ears for an interminable amount of time, one that was able to send me months back in time to a period where he had significantly been a figurehead dictating the story. As I jolted up to answer the door, it felt as if things were normal again, back to how they used to be so many nights previous; me waiting for him to come home after he spent a long day at the recording studio, crafting what could only be assumed was the pure essence of talent, unlocking the door to allow my arms to envelop into an embrace cherished with affection and warmth, proving he longed to have my presence just as much as I craved his. Once my eyes met the sight of him, my heart dropped at the overwhelming feeling of my reminiscing about what once was, the nostalgia for a moment so authentically shaped with what could only be described as true love, my body yearning to relish in the sensation of his arms protectively wrapped around my body, a feeling which could only fulfill one’s heart with all that it desires. "Hi..." I trailed off, stunned by how similar, yet different his appearance was from when we last saw one another. His hair had the same shape, though it seemed a little shorter, his eyebags still prominent on his features, though it seemed as if they had sagged down slightly, posing the idea of whether he had been sleeping alright. His torso still adorned shirts with dark colours, amplified with one of his leather jackets which only made me more attracted to him. Widening the door, he set foot into the apartment, nodding his head lightly as a greeting. Although I was very elated to the fact that he was in my apartment, it felt eerie having him back here after so long, stepping foot into the space that was once served merely as a homely and secure space where we both could simply live and enjoy our time together, no distractions included.

Once I had followed him into the living space, he took a seat onto the couch facing the television. I attempted to make my footsteps omit as little noise as possible, as if to avoid damaging the awkward silence that had been shared between the pair of us. It went without saying that neither of us knew how to break the ice, or where this was going to head. One could only hope that the outcome of this meeting was positive. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked, ushering over to the cabinet adjacent to the television, supplied with all sorts of alcoholic beverages in which I had not touched, simply there as a point of manners to offer when somebody had come over. “White?” I offered, pulling out an almost-full bottle of white wine. I knew he hated it.

"You know I’ve always hated white." he mumbled, a small smile playing upon his lips. Something about that little grin plastered on his lips made my stomach flip and turn, welcoming a swarm of butterflies to accentuate the nervous pit that had formed within myself. The intense feelings reminded me of the same bewilderment your body undergoes during the first date; there is such a raw attraction to somebody that you know far too little about, but you are so hypnotised by their presence it is as if they’re the only thing in the world that matters, to the point that they obnoxiously overtake your mind, every little thought occupied with their name, wondering whether they may like such and such, like an infection spreading without you knowing such cure for it. The atmosphere was intense, carrying the same ambience of two strangers meeting for the first time in an isolated space, though there was also a refreshing element of familiarity that neither of us wanted to admit that we appreciated so deeply.

"Red?" I asked, snatching the half empty bottle as I placed the other wine bottle back in its designated place, turning my head back to fix my gaze onto Damon, raising my eyebrows as a form of derise for the drink. Nodding his head in response, I quickly took two glasses from the cabinet, brimming them both with the alcoholic liquid before slowly making my way to sit next to him on the sofa, handing him one of the glasses as he thanked me in response. The same devilish silence echoed in the room once again as we granted the situation to truly sink in - thankfully alcohol was present. As I took a sip of the beverage, I tried to gulp down as much liquid as possible before I spoke once again. "So... how have you been?"

"Good... Just came off tour actually. Was a really successful one." he replied, his voice laced with a slight tone of doubt, edging the regret of so eagerly returning back into a place that was once so attached to his occupancy. He carried on talking about how the tour had been, my head subconsciously nodding, attentive to what he was talking about. Each time he had told me about something new they had added, or something they had changed surrounding the live performance set-up, it never failed to blow me away. Him and Jamie together, working on such a creative idea and putting it to life on stage was truly something out of rare virtuosity, disregarding the lengthy old ramblings from Damon almost every night he had returned home about how much Jamie had pissed him off, having a petty argument as if it was a be or end all in their friendship. It was actually a good form of entertainment, seeing how riled up Damon had gotten simply because of something that Jamie joked in an interview.

Once he had finished talking, our eyes connected, uncertainty clouded in his eyes as he searched for the reason behind him needing to come over. "Y/N, why did you ask me to come over?" He said, abrupt, almost as if those words had been lingering at the back of his mind the entire time we had been in one another’s acquaintance; the ease of the sting of words rolling off his tongue softly implied that, perhaps a try to prevent the harshness of the asking from offending me in the slightest. "We haven't seen each other for a year, why now?"

Both gazes never dared to break contact as if we had attempted to communicate telepathically - the ideation of instigating a conversation as awkward as how this had become, the two of us simply wanting the ground to swallow us whole. His gaze had the ability to put me into a trance upon which I wouldn’t be able to think of anything else except for the utter magnificence that was birthed into his loving eyes. Inhaling sharply, I tried to collect the thoughts in my brain that had been travelling in all directions, searching for all sorts of different possibilities that the conversation could reach. "Can we give it a second chance?" I asked absentmindedly, the realisation of what had just rolled off my tongue not settling in my mind until his eyes widened, speechless and shocked at my sudden questioning.

Sighing, he cocked his head to the side. “Love, we didn't work out the first time..." he began, my heart dropping to my stomach as the thought of him breaking my heart again entered my mind. His expression quickly softened once he saw my face drain colour, explaining all that he needed to know about how I had coped since he had left the picture. "I don't want to hurt you again."

Breaking away from the stare, I gawked at the dark shades of red that had adorned the transparent glass clasped in my palm. Holding in my emotions wasn’t going to do me any justice, and since he was here, it would not make sense for me to stupidly avoid the whole reasoning behind me needing him inside my apartment after so long. “It’s been so hard trying to get over you,” I mumbled, my voice almost inaudible out of embarrassment, though I knew he could hear me. “I need you.”

What I didn’t see from my shameful gaze at the ground, was the miniscule beam that broke out across Damon’s features. What I was unaware of, my body encompassed in such a impotent state of pure isolation, was that Damon had been as dependent on hearing those words escaping my mouth before he could admit the same to himself. Though it had all been answered to me as he softly brought his arm to caress my arm, gently squeezing the skin as a form of reassurance, implying the notion that he understood, that he felt the same way, after all this time. We broke up not because we lost feelings, but because the emotions we carried for one another were too strong to handle, too intense to progress with, that when he was gone for those long hours it had left me in such a stupor of helplessness and melancholy that it was unbearable to handle without it tarnishing my health. Unsurprisingly, at this point we knew where the conversation was headed; my desires to be swathed in his arms once again that I had tried so hard to banish to the back of my mind, to the depths of my distant memories in which by reliving such a hug came flooding back, my body leaned into his touch almost instantaneously, a subconscious reflex that I had craved, such an embrace that no other person could give, the mere side hug from him was able to banish all the pain that I had tried so diligently to mask away for the past few months.

We sat there for a short while, taking in the moment as it had played throughout, our breathing syncing together as comfort relished in the atmosphere, our minds now finally at peace while all the conflict that had battled our minds over the time we weren’t together. "Let me come on tour with you." I said, my head resting against his shoulder.

A chuckle erupted out of his throat. “It’s not that easy love.”

"Why can't it be? You're literally the frontman!" I exclaimed, lifting my head off his shoulder to connect eyes with him. "Damon, it would be so fun!" I exclaimed, attempting to encourage him.

It was as if things had mended back together, all the cracks in the pavements had been glued together to mend the time lost, as if it had never occurred. Through all the hardship I had faced trying to find the remedy to my heartache, I was dumbfounded to realise that it had been sitting in front of me, at the top of my phone’s contact list, right in front of my eyes this entire time. His eyes were calling out to me, enveloping my heart in comfort and warmth, the hunger radiating out eager to the ideation of starting anew and preserving the time in which we had lost, building new memories, unfastening the lock on the clock dictating the length of the relationship, allowing it to elongate, carry on as long as we could. My heart brimmed with homeliness - the house I was inside finally feeling normal to me once again.

"I'll see what I can do," he grins, the beautiful sight causing a small smile to erupt on my face as my body melted back into his arms once again. "No promises though."

It felt nice to wake up next to someone again the next morning, on the mattress that once was a carcass of many tears of sadness and melancholy, authentically conveyed by the essence of nihilism embodied from isolation, the kind of philosophical beliefs one could only develop an understanding towards subsequent to irrational thinking as the hours fell still, leaving you sat there, reliving the last moments from your memory bank with the significant other you had soiled ends with, a person who had supported you from the very beginning, even when things formed a bitter congestion to the relationship devoured by both participants, perhaps from the acceleration of argumentation shared, or the distance that had started to weave its way between, leaving you both stranded to conclude, as if you were both on separate, desolate islands fighting against the starvation of progressing through your lives and starting anew, departing from the old knots and attachments formed once epitomising pure adoration and love, though over time spawning to be the offspring of the devil. A person whom you knew would make your bed every morning, cradle you in his arms at the darkest hours to baptise the negativity coiled in your brain, whispering what seems like sweet nothings, merely sounding like soft raspy groans due to them being exhausted out of their mind, but you knew they were saying something to you, you could hear it, acknowledge it in a language that nobody else was able to understand. I relished in concession that he who lay beside me was the one that bestowed and epitomised all the things that I once lacked a night before. A lover.

[hushedhands]

Challenge 83

@cecilia02 @everbeenminee Astra watching Andrew's coronation.

Astra Orders set an alarm for three o’clock in the morning, but she didn't need it. She didn't sleep at all.

Her mom had invited her to watch the once-in-a-generation event with her little cousins in Illéa Palace, but Astra had refused. Kile had offered to stay the night and keep her company, but that hadn't felt right either. Her dad had suggested not watching at all, which was cute but not really a solution. It would be weeks before footage of this faded from the news, and even then there would be anniversary specials forever. Astra might as well bite the bullet and watch the coronation that had almost been hers.

She wished her parents and her boyfriend weren’t making such a fuss about this. History was full of women who'd almost married princes and then gone home to watch them become kings. Her Uncle Maxon had left dozens of such women in his wake when he’d chosen to marry Aunt Ames, though Astra didn't have the telephone numbers of any of them. She wished Andrew had enough ex-girlfriends to make a proper club like the former Selected. It might have been nice to have someone who could understand this indescribable feeling without the need for words to name it.

It wasn't that she wanted to be married to Andy. She had no doubt at all that she'd made the right decision in calling off their relationship, and that was totally separate from the fact that she was now wildly in love with Kile.

But there was something aching in her chest as she watched the aerial shots of the city of London on the little television in her apartment in Angeles, curled up in her warmest fuzzy pajamas, hair in a messy version of her ballet bun, hands clinging to her mug of tea for dear life. Today was the day that standing by Andrew's side for his coronation went from something she wouldn’t do to something she couldn't do. She'd chosen to walk away, but this was the day that the door locked behind her.

Never was a hard word to give to Andrew, even if Kile had her Always.

The camera above the crowd panned past the palace Astra had stayed in that summer, and her chest squeezed hard. Whatever else had happened there, it had been a refuge for her at a time in her life when she’d needed it most.

It all started when she had been offered an incredible opportunity to dance for the Waverly ballet company in the summer, and an opportunity to attend an elite seminar with London’s royal ballet company in the spring, and Kile, realizing that he and Astra wouldn’t see each other for over six months, had broken up with her very suddenly.

Well, technically it had been a mutual decision. She hadn’t seen him much during his first year at school, and now she was off on her own adventures, and it seemed like a terrible time to try to make a relationship work. What if he met someone amazing at university? What if she met someone in Waverly or London? Was it fair to deny themselves new relationships and experiences just because they’d always been together? Weren’t they technically together by default, anyway?

It was a reasonable question. If you married someone you’d had playdates with for as long as you could remember, and you never even tried to date someone else, it was probably a relationship by default… right?

As she got on the plane for London, it had hit her hard that she wouldn’t have a hope of seeing Kile again, maybe for an entire year. The earliest she’d be back in Angeles was the next fall, and that’s exactly when he’d be leaving to go back to school again. And this time they wouldn’t talk to each other on the telephone almost every single day, and she wouldn’t slip secret notes in the care packages his parents sent him from home, and he wouldn’t surprise her by sitting in the audience during a matinee performance after sneaking back into town without telling her...

And maybe he never would again.

It was possible she’d cried the whole flight overseas, it was hard to remember. She must have rehydrated somehow, or she’d have shriveled up and died of the heartbreak. That time was all a blur now.

But what Astra remembered clearly, sitting on her sofa four years later, was the way she’d felt walking into that little old palace on the north side of the city and realizing that it was essentially hers for the season. It really paid to have a paranoid king for an uncle sometimes, because Maxon had pulled a dozen favors with the English royal family to get Astra somewhere safe and comfortable to live for a few months. She was technically an Illéan princess by title, so he wouldn’t hear of letting her rent a crumby apartment somewhere in the city, and besides, wherever she stayed needed to have enough room for a security detail. Still, even for a small palace, it was a palace and it was hers.

The old place had plenty of full-time staff that kept it in good shape as an estate of historical significance to the English monarchy, but Astra herself didn’t have maids or butlers, or a chef to keep her fed. At night, everyone who worked to keep the palace maintained went home, so it was only her and the security detail.

But she was allowed to order takeout from restaurants around town, so on her very first night alone she ordered enough food to live off of for a while, until she could get to a grocery store. She sprawled on a sofa in the downstairs sitting room, doodling in the notebook her Aunt May had given her for her last birthday, until there was a surprise knock on the archway in the entrance of the sitting room.

“Hello.” Andrew stood there, still in his business suit from the day, though with no tie, and with the top button undone. He looked ruffled, and in his hands he carried a large bottle of red wine. “Sorry to barge in… there isn’t exactly a doorbell in this place, and without staff to handle arrivals and departures… well, I did knock.” he awkwardly concluded.

Astra, still in her tank top and stretchy pants from the plane, would have felt severely underdressed to received a prince at a palace, except this was one of her oldest and best friends, and some of the ache in her heart from leaving Kile on the other side of the world eased away just from looking at him. She hugged him, “You don’t need to knock. It’s good to see you.”

“And you.” he hugged her back. “Ah, and here. A housewarming gift.” he offered her the wine.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

“Am I?”

“It should be here soon. The finest spicy noodles and sautéed vegetables in the land. Although, if there’s no doorbell…”

“The guard at the gate will take it from the delivery driver and have someone bring it in.” he grinned.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go hunt down something to open that bottle.” she said.

A new city, a change of scenery, some delicious New Asian food, a bottle of old wine, a dear old friend… this was the recipe to get over a breakup. Astra knew it, because she already felt worlds better, just struggling to find a way into the wine bottle. There wasn’t a corkscrew in the kitchens that they could find, and this palace didn’t have its own wine cellar, which was the only other place they could think to find wine accessories. In the end, Andrew took an impressive, ancient sword off of a display rack on a wall at the top of the grand staircase and carefully poked the sharp end down until it was lodged into the cork.

Astra laughed so hard her sides hurt as she twisted the bottle out in front of her and Andrew slowly stepped backward. After a couple of tries, the cork loosened up enough that he could use brute force to pull the rest of it out.

When the food arrived, they carried it up to the top floor, to a balcony that overlooked the city, and they had a picnic of sorts.

“Where’s Lucas? You two are usually a package set.” Astra asked between bites of spicy noodles.

“Still finishing up his first year at university.”

“Oh, of course! Kile— “ She stopped abruptly, her chest squeezed tightly, her tongue fell heavy in her mouth, and she drowned the bitter taste of his name on her lips with expensive wine.

“Oh dear. That won’t do.” Andrew leant over and brushed away an errant tear from her cheek. “You mean to tell me… well, he’s safe isn’t he? He’s not unwell?”

“No, no he’s fine. He’s at school… and I’m here.”

Andrew studied her face carefully. He’d met Kile and Astra on the same day, at the same moment, so they’d been friends for exactly the same amount of time. He knew that they’d been together romantically for almost seven years now, the teenage equivalent of a sixty-year marriage. “So you’re… taking time apart?”

“We’ve decided to go our separate ways.” Astra said, the words soft and wispy in her throat. “We’re not… we’re not headed in the same direction anymore. We might never head in the same direction again. After university, he wants to see the world. And I… I might travel around for a while as a dancer, but I can’t imagine not being there for Addy once she becomes Queen… Even if that wasn’t true, we won’t have a good chance to be in the same city for at least a year… and a lot can happen in a year.”

Andrew took a large sip from his glass and then refilled hers.

“That’s really difficult, Astra… I’m so sorry. I know how much you love each other. It must be hell, knowing that you’re growing apart from the person you’re closest to in the world.”

Astra choked a sob in her wineglass and Andrew’s eyes widened, “God, I’m sorry! What a terrible thing to say—“ he sat both of their glasses safely aside and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Astra got his suit all wet from her tears, but she felt comfortable in his arms. “I’m not crying because of you, stupid.” She explained when she had the breath to do so. “It’s definitely because of him. I just… I didn’t think anyone would understand. But you do.”

“I don’t.” Andy rushed to correct her. “Not really. I’ve never experienced anything like that. The closest I can imagine is if… if I lost touch with someone in the Palace kid gang. You’re my best friends, apart from Luke, and I’ve known you forever. If I had to say goodbye to one of you, to lose you forever… it’s not even close to what you’re feeling, but just the thought hurts enough for me to know that you’re going through hell.”

Astra sniffled and collected her wineglass again, ready for more sips, content to allow herself to be comforted by her friend. “Hell has better wine than I expected, I’ll give it that much.”

“Not a bad view, either.” Andrew agreed with a small chuckle, looking out at the city.

“Didn’t expect one of my very best friends to come with me to hell.” Astra timidly admitted.

“And I’m not leaving until I get you out of it.” he’d promised.

Andrew always did have words as sweet as honey.

They drank the whole bottle that night, between the two of them. They had as good an excuse as two teenagers needed: they couldn’t find a wine stopper. Andrew offered to stay the night with her so that she wouldn’t be alone, but now that the world was blurry and warm from the wine, Astra felt delightfully sleepy. She was going to get her first good night’s sleep since losing Kile. So Andrew left, promising to bring breakfast the next morning to check on her.

He checked on her a lot.

He brought her breakfast and dinner every day, and he’d probably have brought her lunch too, except that she was always at her dance seminar during the daytime. Astra ended every night with her body pleasantly tired from dancing, a new half a bottle of wine in her stomach, and her mind full of whatever nice, easy conversation she’d had with Andrew just before bed. Her first week in England flew by.

That Friday night, Andrew appeared in the doorway to the sitting room right on schedule, two bottles of wine in hand.

“You’re mad.” Astra giggled.

“It’s the weekend.” he argued. “You don’t have to dance tomorrow, and I don’t have any public appearances to make until next Tuesday.”

“You’re off work until Tuesday? You English royals really know how to take it easy.” she laughed. She didn’t think her cousins had taken a three day weekend in their lives.

“We’ll keep the second bottle on standby, just in case we decide we want to try it.”

But of course, they were young and it was a Friday night, they definitely wanted to try it. Somewhere after the first glass of the second bottle, refilling glasses got too risky and they started drinking straight from the bottle, passing it back and forth. There was a television show on, showing a concert happening on the other side of the city in a stadium Astra could just see if she stood tall enough on the balcony.

Andrew watched her going almost en pointe to try to spy the stadium, mesmerized by her strength and balance and grace. “Can we dance?”

Astra smiled brightly. Dancing was her favorite in the world, of course they could dance! They danced in their socks to the music on the television until Andrew collapsed, out of breath, on the sofa. Astra joined him, blood pumping pleasantly fast through her veins.

“I’m out of shape!” he bemoaned.

“I’m a professional athlete, don’t compare yourself to me. You did just fine.”

“I did? Do you think I could join the ballet?” He laughed giddily.

She’d never seen him giddy like this.

Andy carried the weight of his country on his shoulders, he always had. Addy hadn’t really started bearing Illéa on her back until she was eleven or twelve, old enough to understand what was coming for her, but Andrew had always been a future king, even when he was tiny. Seeing him now, not a care in the world, laughing about joining the ballet… Astra’s heart twisted in her chest and for the first time since breaking up with Kile, it had absolutely nothing to do with him.

He had no part of this.

Astra leant forward and kissed Andrew on the warm, red cheek.

He looked at her, stunned, smile falling off his face. “What was that for?”

“I don’t know… just because. Just for you.”

“Just for me…” he’d mused.

“For being good to me. For taking care of me while I’m here. For… for being you. Yeah… just for you.” Astra nodded, this time more certain that the words made sense outside of her wine-fogged mind.

“I should be me more often.” he chuckled.

Astra blinked.

Should he?

***

There was a version of Astra’s stay in London where she pined away for her ex-boyfriend every moment she got, and maybe poured that pain into her dancing because it was overflowing from her heart and needed somewhere to go. That’s what she’d been expecting deep down. But what really happened was, she found a favorite market to buy groceries from, she found a bakery between her palace and the dance studio that kept her in much-needed carbs, she found a park with a pond where lots of locals liked to walk their dogs, which meant she got to pet a lot of dogs, and she started falling in love with the city.

And then there was Andrew.

He knew her so well, and they’d loved each other as friends for so long, and spending those mornings and nights with him felt so easy, so smooth.

And he was handsome and kind and… ugh, handsome. Astra didn’t regret kissing him on the cheek. Not even when he stood with her on the balcony a week later, watching the sunset, and she laced her hand with his.

“Are you quite alright?” he’d asked, not because she’d grabbed his hand, but just because he was still so worried about her.

“When I got here, I thought the answer to that question would be no forever.” Astra confessed. “And listen… I don’t really know who I am without Kile, he’s been a part of me for my whole life… but these past two weeks I’ve started to find out… and I like it. I like getting to know me.”

Andrew smiled down at her and squeezed her hand.

“And I like you too, Andrew.”

His smile became pained, “Astra—“

“It’s okay. You’re the next king and blah blah blah.” he laughed, because there were so few people in the world who could blah blah blah being an heir to a throne, but Astra was certainly one of them.

“It isn’t that.” he corrected her with a shake of his head. “It’s… you’re getting out of a serious relationship. You can’t like anyone yet—“

“Yes I can.” Astra scoffed, a challenging glint in her eyes, “Watch me.”

“But we’ve been friends our whole lives, too. Wouldn’t you like to like someone different? A stranger, maybe?”

“Where would I find one of those?” Astra lamented, only half-joking. Having a king for an uncle really limited one’s opportunities to meet strangers.

Andrew peered at her closely, then seemingly made up his mind all at once, saying, “Put on a dress.”

“What?”

“Put on a dress, I’ve got a surprise for you!”

Just like that, Andrew was downstairs talking to his security team and Astra was upstairs trying to figure out what dress to wear. There was a sweet springtime yellow thing… and then there was the red thing.

Astra made up her mind quickly. She chose the red thing. She chose everything that the red thing implied.

She appeared at the bottom of the stairs and Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Is this alright? I have other dresses—“

“S’perfect—“ he muttered and then cleared his throat, “Ahem, that is perfect Astra. Let us be off.”

He formally offered her his arm and she accepted with a proud smirk at the flush in his cheeks, then they ducked into his car and his driver whisked them off across town.

“What are we doing?” Astra asked after they took a turn to a part of town she’d never been to before.

“Did I not say it is a surprise?”

“Yes, but—“

“We’ve got guards, and I’ve gone to this place before. There’s no need to worry.”

“Andrew—“

“It’s where I go when I need to meet strangers.”

Astra blinked, dumbfounded.“You? Meet strangers?”

“How else am I supposed to find a queen? ” he muttered mutinously.

Astra stared over at him for a long moment, never having given it a second thought. Addy would be free to date whomever she chose, but if all else failed she could always have a Selection to find her husband. Andrew had nothing like that to choose from.

Astra was surprised when the car pulled to a stop at the backdoor to a nightclub. Could princes of England really go clubbing? But this place looked like it had tight security, and there were signs posted prominently that there were no cameras allowed on the premises. Andrew’s and Astra’s bodyguards stayed close by as they entered the club and Astra’s ears were assaulted by music so loud she could no longer hear it. All she could hear was the beat.

Andrew took her to the bar and bought her whatever drink she wanted, and then leant in close to her ear so that she could hear him say, “What do you think?”

“It’s a little loud!”

He chuckled, “About the strangers.”

“Oh!” Astra looked around as she spun the little umbrella from her pink drink between her fingers. There were all kinds of men here. Some older than her, some younger, some looked athletic and some looked bookish, and they were all having fun, losing themselves to the same beat. “What do you think?!” she yelled at him.

He looked around at the women in the room, sizing them up, and then shrugged, “Hard to say.”

“How do we meet them?!” Astra was yelling, while somehow he was able to keep his voice low and still be heard when he leaned close to her ear.

“Honestly? They usually just come up to me…” he confessed.

Astra rolled her eyes. Royals.

Sure enough, several women came up to Andrew and threw themselves at him while he and Astra waited for even one man to make a pass at her.

“Maybe you’re intimidating them away!” Astra suggested.

“Maybe so. Do you want me to go dance?”

Did she want him to go dance with one of the strange women in the club so that a strange man might come up to her and hit on her?

Not really, no. She wanted to dance with him. She liked dancing with him. More than that, she didn’t want to dance with anyone else. And she didn’t want him to dance with anyone else. She took his hand and dragged him out to the dance floor, their bodyguards hilariously close by, and they started moving.

It wasn’t dancing the way Astra was trained to think of it. There was no choreography, no gentle swell of melody to carry her movements, this was something far more basic than that. The best part was how quickly she was able to stop thinking about anything but her own breath, the sweat on her brow, and the man in front of her.

There was nothing else in the world. For as long as they could stay with the beat, there was only the beat. Endorphins that she associated with a long hard workout flooded her body, and Astra felt good. And beyond feeling good, she did not feel sad. She did not miss anybody. Not her family on the other side of the world, and not Kile. She was complete right here. All she had to do was make this last forever.

“I am not a professional dancer.” Andrew reminded her, breath coming far too fast to get that whole sentence out without gasping for air several times in the middle.

Astra giggled at him, then hugged him close, “This place is magical!” she yelled in his ear.

“Magical?”

And just to prove the point, and to express her gratitude, she pecked his lips with a kiss.

That was it, right? A kiss of gratitude?

As first kisses went, it was silly. They were both too out of breath to do more than mash their lips together for a second and then go back to gasping for air. Andrew led them away for water and after a few minutes to recover, he was ready to try again.

Astra helped him find a way to move to every other beat instead of every beat, essentially cutting the speed of his dancing in half for him. That helped tremendously. But to help him do this, she had to wrap her arms around his neck to guide him, and once he had the beat it was all much less frantic and much more sensual. This time when they kissed, it was not a silly peck on the lips.

Astra had only ever kissed Kile before, but since that was never happening again, she didn’t allow herself to think about that. She didn’t think about how Andrew was taller than Kile, and his cheeks were softer because he shaved every single morning without fail. She didn’t think about anything except how nice it was not to feel pain. When she was with Andrew, especially when she was kissing Andrew, she felt nothing but joy.

Was she using him to feel better?

If someone made you feel better and wanted to be around you, was that even using them?

They stayed at the club until Andrew was too tired to go on (and even Astra was ready to admit she was tired), and then they climbed back into Andrew’s car and rode off into the night.

Astra’s ears were ringing with the sudden silence, and they were both flushed and dripping with sweat. Astra was ready to bet her face matched the red of her dress and her hair, and was ready to feel embarrassed about that somewhere beneath her exhaustion, when Andrew slid his hand over to hers and squeezed.

She looked over at him and smiled.

It was past 2 in the morning when they got back to Astra’s palace, and Astra couldn’t believe they’d spent so many hours getting swept away like that.

“I’d do that every night if I thought my hearing could survive it.” Astra admitted as they struggled to get up the stairs, feeling distinctly like they had overcooked pasta for legs.

Astra took an ice-cold bath and then rolled her legs out to try to avert any soreness the next morning, and then she found Andrew in one of the guest bedrooms. “Thanks for the dancing… sorry we didn’t meet any strangers.” she grinned.

“I’m not.” he admitted, with complete candor.

“Well then, no future queen for you and no non-childhood friend to date for me.”

“Perhaps you could find a childhood enemy?” he suggested, and she laughed at the dryness of voice as he made the joke.

“Yes, I’ll have to make do.” she agreed.

***

The kisses felt stolen for the first week, like they were getting away with something they weren’t supposed to, but then one day Andrew showed up with Astra’s favorite breakfast, and two paper travel cups of tea, and he pecked her on the lips in greeting and it didn’t feel stolen at all. It felt as comfortable as an old sweater, and made her feel just as warm inside.

To celebrate the end of her first month in London, Astra ordered dinner for them from the same restaurant they’d eaten at on her very first night in town. He showed up looking frazzled after a long day of talking with members of parliament, but all the more pleased to see her because that stress was over now. And, of course, he brought her the same kind of wine they’d shared that first night.

Astra had bought a corkscrew weeks ago now, so they didn’t need to resort to using ancient swords to open their alcohol, which made it slightly less interesting. Astra curled up against him on the balcony overlooking the city and kissed him every chance she got.

“You’re certainly in a mood.” he noted with a smile down at her, after their fourth surprise kiss.

“I’m just glad to be here.”

“Are you?” he seemed surprised. She didn’t blame him. It was quite a turn from her first weepy night a month ago.

“Yes. I think London’s been good for me.”

And maybe she meant the city, with her new favorite local spots and the friends she was making at the seminar, but maybe she meant Andrew. Maybe she couldn’t really tell the difference, and it was all just good for her.

“I am very glad to hear that.”

“I wish I didn’t have to go to Waverly in two months.” Astra admitted. “It’s an amazing opportunity for my career, not to mention I’ll get to visit my grandparents in Carolina all the time, but… I like London.”

This time she was blatantly talking about him.

“Well… London’s not going anywhere anytime soon, I suppose.” he pointed out, fully onto her game.

She hmm-ed into her wineglass, “I suppose not.”

“And you’re always welcome in London, you know.”

Astra giggled and shook her head, surprising him with another kiss as a reward for playing along with her silly euphemism.

Later that night, when the food was stashed away in the kitchen and the wine was mostly empty, Andrew joined Astra again on the balcony as she stood there with the springtime breeze blowing through her loose, curly hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“I meant it, you know.” he said. “You could stay as long as you like. There’s a tremendous ballet company in London, perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

Astra laughed, pressing a hand to his over her stomach and turning to look up at him. “Maybe someday.”

“You’re dead-set on going to Waverly, then?”

“Well, I’ve signed a contract.” she explained.

“Ah. They shall imprison you if you break it. I understand.”

His voice was always so serious when he joked, never giving away the game. She laughed at the thought and said, “Yes, there’s a special prison for ballet dancers who break their contracts, it’s especially brutal. I hear they make you dance to jazz all day.”

This time his lips brushed the placed where her shoulders met her neck, and her breath hitched at the sensation. “I shan’t extradite you.” he concluded, his warm lips brushing her skin. “I shall keep you here, safe and sound, far away from the ballet constables.”

Astra laced her fingers with his over her stomach and said, “They’re relentless, the ballet constables. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

His lips trailed up her neck and stopped at her ear where he said softly, “I think I can manage.”

Astra’s entire body erupted in chills, and suddenly she didn’t want to continue their elaborate, jokey banter about the consequences of her actions. She turned in his arms and pressed her lips roughly to his, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that all she really wanted was to lose herself in the taste and the feel and the smell of him. Andrew was the only person in the world who made her not care about the future, and when his lips were on her skin that was doubly true.

It wasn’t exactly real happiness she felt when she was lying in bed with him, his sandy brown hair all ruffled, his arm slung across her like he was afraid she’d disappear in the night. True, meaningful, lasting happiness was something that required a lot of factors: feeling good about the present and hopeful about the future, and at peace with the past. Astra wasn’t at peace with her past, and she didn’t even want to think about the future, but the present… the present was so good. It was one out of three. One out of three wasn’t bad.

***

If Andrew’s parents noticed that he was essentially living with Astra that spring, they didn’t say anything about it. Maybe they just assumed that, since they were close friends, he was keeping her company and enjoying a nice, extended visit. And that was perfectly true, except that they were sharing a bed and occasionally a shower, and they shared a cup of coffee in the morning and a bottle of wine at night.

They didn’t go back to that club, but they found other ways to go out together without being photographed. There were secret tables in the kitchens of restaurants, special royal boxes in theaters, private trains to private estates, and one time there was a royal yacht. Astra was surprised that Andy had so much freedom, as the heir to the throne. Addy couldn’t have dreamed of roaming around Illéa the way that Andrew was gallivanting across his future kingdom. Sure, part of it was Andrew making sure Astra was having the time of her life— he probably didn’t usually venture away from home so much— but even so.

“Will you be able to keep this up once you’re king?” she’d asked him as they sat curled up together on a train ride returning from the south. “All this rambling.” she explained at his questioning look.

“Ah. No, there will certainly be less. But my job will be nothing nearly so intense as King Maxon’s, if that is what you’re thinking. For one thing, I’ve got parliament.”

Astra wasn't exactly sure how England’s parliament worked. She knew King Eoan set the legislative agenda, but he couldn’t pass any kind of law on his own. “I can’t believe they let you have a whole train to yourself, and you barely have to work.” she teased.

His arm was wrapped around her shoulders, and his thumb began tracing her upper arm as he said, “If you think my future job’s a scandal, you should see what our queen has to do. Host parties, go shopping, appear at events…” his voice sounded as if it was a strain to remain light and carefree. As if his words were more important than he wanted them to be.

Astra leaned her head on his shoulder. Those were all things she already did for Illéa. Well, she didn’t host many parties, but she sometimes helped her Aunt Ames out when things were especially overwhelming. It was strange to think that she had experience doing the same job as the Queen of England.

“All that, and she gets to retire young?”

“Assuming that whole heir business is sorted out sufficiently early.” he admitted.

“Oh, that.” Astra giggled.

“On the whole, it’s not a terrible job.” he said.

“No, not when you factor in the jewelry.” Astra agreed, still joking.

“Precisely.” Andrew nodded with a small smile against the top of her head.

Astra wasn’t sure why he didn’t return her joke with one of his own.

***

Though Astra very much enjoyed being swept off her feet by the prince, it was the quiet nights at the palace that meant the most to her. Sometimes, after dinner and a long, hot bath, her joints would feel well enough to practice some choreography in one of the drawing rooms. Andrew would play the piano for her, putting years of lessons to use for the first time. Sometimes her joints would not feel well enough for more dancing after a long day at the seminar, and he’d rub her battered feet and ankles until she melted into a puddle at the other end of the sofa or bed, or wherever they happened to be.

She’d ask him about his work, but he wouldn’t tell her much. Maybe he was worried about protecting state secrets, or maybe he didn’t want to worry her. Maybe he didn’t want her to see him in less than a good mood, because he was only there to make her happy. And how could she not be happy?

One night, in the middle of her second month in England, as she laid awake in their bed and brushed her fingers through his unruly hair (a sight so few had ever seen: the Heir to England with unruly hair), she pressed a kiss to the shell of his ear and said softly, “What are we going to do when I have to leave for Waverly?”

Sleepily, he’d pried his eyes open, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. “What would you like to do?”

“Freeze this moment in amber. Live in it forever.”

“Be young, in love, and carefree forever?” he’d smirked.

“In love?” she’d hesitated, surprised. They’d only been attached at the lips for six weeks now, as impossible as it seemed. Hadn’t they enjoyed half a lifetime together already?

“Oh dear.” He’d lifted his head up so that he could look in her eyes, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Astra shook her head, “It’s okay. I do love you Andrew.”

“Do you?” he sounded amazed.

And she did. She’d always loved him, just as he’d always loved her. They’d grown up together, perfect friends, how could she not love him?

“I’m sorry you didn’t know that already.” she let her hand fall from his hair down his spine, coming to rest on his bare lower back. She traced the shape of a heart there with her finger and he shuddered. “You’re one of the best friends I’ll ever have, and I love you.”

He smiled and returned his cheek to her chest, listening for her heartbeat. “Yes. This moment would do just fine.”

“We could freeze this moment and allow archaeologists to discover it in a few thousand years.”

“And if we don’t like the future, we could simply freeze this moment again.” he agreed.

“You don’t think you’d be bored after a few thousand years?”

He grinned, one hand tracing her ribcage lazily, “I could find a few ways to keep myself occupied.”

***

Astra didn’t notice the first time there was a photographer waiting outside of the dance studio after her rehearsals. And then, a couple of days later, when a rumor sourced to a local food delivery driver was printed in a Sunday paper saying that he delivered Prince Andrew’s favorite kind of curry to the Palace where Astra was staying a couple of times per week. She didn’t mind when Andrew suggested they stop sneaking out to exclusive clubs or restaurants around the city, because staying in was extremely entertaining.

But it was hard to miss when Andrew nervously appeared in her doorway one evening and said, instead of ‘hello’ or ‘how was your day’, “Grandmother has asked to meet you.”

Astra gaped. Queen Cerridwen, King Eoan’s mother, had never met any of the Illéan royals in-person. Maybe she’d met Uncle Maxon back before he was King, when she was still the active queen, but maybe not even then. “Me? Wh…why?”

Andrew ran a hand through his hair and ruffled it in a way that would have been funny if he hadn’t look so stressed. He sank to his knees to sit next to Astra, who’d been sitting on the floor, using the coffee table to hold her nail polish bottles as she painted her toes. “The rumors got to her.”

“Rumors… about us?”

Andrew nodded, “I’ve had the press department squashing everything the second they hear about it, and it’s bought us some time, but the rumors have been consistent for long enough now—“

“The rumors that we’re spending time together?” Astra asked.

“Yes.” Andrew looked faintly nauseous.

Astra smiled and traced his cheekbone with her thumb soothingly, “We are spending time together. We’re not being falsely accused.”

“No, I know… I think, just… I think we need to talk.”

Those were heavy words.

Kile had been the last one to say those words to her, and the outcome had been really unpleasant.

“You didn’t bring wine?” Astra noticed for the first time.

“I wanted us to keep our heads clear.”

“Are you ending this?” Astra asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“No.” Andrew promised. “But we’ve never talked about what this is before. I’ve been able to buy us a little slice of time to ourselves, but I’ve reached the end of my tricks.”

Astra looked into his eyes carefully, noticing the strain there for the first time, “You never said you had to use tricks…”

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about it. I wanted to be… uncomplicated. Simple. After everything you’ve been through, I thought that you needed simplicity.”

“I did.” she admitted, chest suddenly aching at the thought that the simple times might be gone.

He brushed an errant curl behind her ear and smiled bracingly, “I am not here to tell you that the world is ending. Merely that people have found us out. They’re asking questions that I do not have the answers to, and in lieu of my answers, they are coming to their own conclusions. Grandmother amongst the rest.”

“She wants to meet me because she knows we’ve been dating?”

Andrew huffed a breath, “It’s her way of forcing the matter at hand. When it comes to me, to dating the English Heir, there is dating and there is Dating. Courting. Something official, not just between you and I, but between us and all of England.”

Astra looked a little creeped out at the thought, “They… want in on our dates?”

Andrew rubbed his brow, “In a manner of speaking… there comes a point when I’m meant to introduce anyone I am seeing to the people of England as a potential future queen.”

“Why? It’s not like they get to vote on who stays in your bed, or in our case, my bed.”

“No, but it’s…” he seemed so uncomfortable at having to explain this to her. Probably any English girl he dated would have seen this coming a mile away and known what to expect. Astra blushed a little, feeling inadequate for the first time all spring. “It’s a bit like a small Selection, perhaps. They get to know the person their prince is dating and they get to watch me court their future queen.”

“Oh, and your gramma wants you to do that with me?” What a relief to know she was just a confused old woman who’d misunderstood.

“Precisely. Meeting Grandmother at her estate in Scotland would signal the official start to our official courtship.”

Astra felt all the tension leave her body and she smirked at him, “Your gramma is proposing marriage to me on your behalf.”

“Basically.”

“What’s she in such a hurry for? We’re teenagers.”

Andrew let out an exasperated sigh, relieved now that he could see Astra wasn’t panicking and throwing everything she owned into a bag to haul back to Illéa on the first flight out the next morning. “I don’t know. You’re a good match, obviously. My father is close with your uncle, but it would be smart to solidify that alliance with some kind of marriage.”

“Very sexy and romantic.” Astra giggled.

“Isn’t it just?” he agreed wryly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, “I suppose she’s worried because I’ll be king in a few more years. She doesn’t want me to have to go through that enormous transition of responsibility by myself. I suppose finding a queen would be much harder as king than as prince, too. Father’s even asked me if I want to take a few months next year and devote myself to dating full time before he begins handing off responsibilities to me in earnest. As part of a formal ascension plan.”

“What a conversation.”

“You can’t begin to imagine.”

Astra collapsed into giggles, doing her best to imagine it anyway. King Eoan asking his son if he wanted to be a full-time, 40-hours-per-week dater as part of his obligations to the crown.

“It’s good you think this is funny.” he sulked, but he only partially meant it. He was genuinely glad she was laughing instead of crying.

Fairly certain her toes were dry now, Astra stood and screwed the caps on her polish, stashing the bottles in a drawer next to her vanity. She stretched, fingers reached for the ceiling, going up on her toes, and as she came down she whisked her loose t-shirt over her head.

“Astra.” Andrew cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from her lacy, pale blue and white bra, “Clear heads, remember?”

“I’m just getting comfortable.” she said in a voice that clearly told him she was not just getting comfortable.

He stood and she came over and loosened his tie for him. He placed a hand over hers when she made for his shirt’s buttons and said, “Do you want this to last past April?”

Astra gulped, “I wish April was forever.”

He stared at her, the only flicker of doubt coming from the small twitch of his eyebrow. “That’s not the same thing.”

“… I know.”

“You don’t have to answer me tonight, but we should talk about it. If we keep going past April, I suspect it will make the most sense for you… for you to meet grandmother.”

This time, when Astra continued with his buttons, it was a genuine effort to help him get comfortable, and not a ploy to see his bare chest. Seeing his bare chest was an undeniable bonus, though. She linked her fingers with his and dragged him towards her bed, and then she flopped down on her back and stared up at the top of her four poster canopy. “So what would happen after I met your grandmother?”

“You’d get some secret service protection.” Andrew laid on his stomach and used his finger to draw doodles on the smooth, soft skin above her navel. His breath felt warm as it puffed against her ribs, but her skin erupted in goosebumps anyway, and he pressed a chaste kiss to them. He knew the effect he had on her, and it only made him want to cherish her more.

“I’d go back to Illéa, though. To Waverly.”

“Yes. We’d coordinate that. It would probably be a less hectic place for you than in England.”

“You think England will be hectic if you announce we’re officially dating?”

Andrew huffed one dry, humorless laugh. “When they find out I’m thinking of making you their princess… sweetheart, it’s going to be a nightmare of a circus.”

“Terrifying clowns?”

“The most terrifying.” he agreed.

Astra sighed, “Then what? How long would we get to date before they’d expect you to decide whether you want to marry me or not?”

“Given the time you’d be spending in Illéa, we could get a year.”

“A year.” Astra liked the sound of that. Sure, she’d dance until her contract was up in Waverly, but then she’d come back and get to do this with Andrew for months and months. His dad might even let him date her full-time. Morning, noon, and night cuddles.

“Yes, and then…”

“And then a fairytale proposal. Would it have to be public?”

“Gosh, no.” Andrew promised. “But it would need to have a good story behind it. Take you somewhere meaningful—“

“Like the club where we first kissed.” Astra teased, running her hands through his hair.

“No, not at all.” he chuckled.

“And would I get to wear one of the crown jewels or something?”

Andrew lifted his head to look at her. “Would you want one?”

Astra laughed. It was all so completely silly. She was an eighteen year old girl! A boy was offering her a crown jewel! She laughed some more.

“Our engagement would be six months, eight at most.” he said. “That’s going to be the hardest time for you. You won’t be royal yet, but you’ll have all the expectations. Of course, you’d have everything you’d need from us. Security, education, an allowance for your clothes.”

“Mmm, clothes.”

“And then—“

“A royal wedding?”

“Yes.”

“And a royal honeymoon?”

“Of course.” he pressed another kiss to her skin, this one not so chaste.

“And then I’m your princess?”

“Until we take our oaths to become king and queen.”

“You really think I could be queen?”

“You think you couldn’t?”

“I know how hard it is on my Aunt Ames. It’s not really the life I saw for myself.”

“It’s different in England, you know. We’re smaller than most Illéan provinces, and we’ve got parliament.”

She couldn’t continue to fantasize about marrying him without understanding what he meant when he said that. “Andy, how does parliament help you?”

“Eh… help is not the word.” Andrew admitted. “It’s more that they take certain responsibilities off the monarch’s plate. Whether they do so in a manner that helps is an entirely different question. But unlike Queen America, who assists on many matters of policy and diplomacy, my mother’s job is almost entirely ceremonial, supporting my father’s efforts.”

“So do you think I could dance if we were married?”

Andrew fell quiet, wracking his brain for a way. “Not once we were engaged… I just can’t imagine that you would have time. And you’d quickly become one of the most famous women in the world… not that you’re anonymous now, just that we’re talking about a whole different stratosphere of public interest… even if we found time for you to dance in the royal ballet, it might not be safe.”

Astra hated that answer, but it made perfect sense to her. Addy had never regularly commuted into the city for any reason. Keeping her safe during recurring, publicly open performances would have been a nightmare, and Astra supposed that would be true for her too.

Astra also knew she wasn’t going to dance forever. She probably had a good ten or twelve years before retirement, and that was only if she avoided any major injuries. In Astra’s experience, injuries and pregnancies were two of the most common reasons dancers retired younger than thirty and they were both to be avoided.

“How long do you think we could put all of this off? I don’t want to stop dancing.”

“I know. I want you to dance! You’re bloody magnificent when you dance.”

“Just when I dance?” she teased suggestively.

“Other times too.” he smirked up at her. He let his face fall gently on her stomach, breathing in the smell of her body wash and then lifting his head again, “I could tell Grandmother we’re not yet ready. You could go to Waverly and come back for visits now and again.”

“Sounds like I’d miss you.”

“I’d miss you too.”

“Sounds better to me, though.”

“I suppose it must. The people mightn’t be fooled, they’ll still expect something is happening between us.”

“They’d be right.”

“But Astra… No matter what, I’ll be King four years from now. There’s no delaying that. ”

“That’s a long time, Andy.”

“I can’t… you must understand, I’d need to know for certain by then.”

“Of course!”

“Ideally… Ideally I would be married by then so that we could share the coronation ceremony.”

“So we could have a wedding earlier that fall? You’d propose that spring? That gives us a few years. That gives me time to dance.”

“But would it be enough?”

“Three years is forever, Andy.” Astra grinned down at him.

“And you’d really consider being my queen?”

“I’d consider a lot of things for blue eyes like yours.”

“They are an important part of the benefits package.” he agreed, placing an arm on either side of her and bringing himself up so that they were eye to eye. “Along with lots of travel to exotic locations. The finest champagne money can buy. Famous designers tripping over themselves to clothe you. A handful of palaces. Lots of diamonds.” he punctuated each of these offers with a deep, heated kiss and by the end Astra was absolutely dizzy and in no state to negotiate her future job benefits.

***

By the end of the week it was not just one photographer waiting outside of the ballet studio anymore, there were dozens. They were aggressive and pushy, yelling her name and constantly demanding she tell them if she was seeing Andrew. Her Illéan security detail was not pleased. The theater that housed the ballet was difficult to secure against so many persistent intruders, and there was serious discussion about whether they could even let her finish the seminar. They also discussed calling King Maxon and asking him for reinforcements, which made Astra’s stomach feel sick. She didn’t want her uncle to have to pay money and spare resources to send across the world to her all because of her love life.

It was a tense day and a half before Andrew was able to come through with security of his own to supplement her detail. It had been a tough thing to organize, given she wasn’t officially his girlfriend, but he’d found a way for her.

If Astra knew anything in those days, it was that he would always find a way for her. That had never been the problem.

There were reporters outside of Astra’s palace now, night and day, and they marked each time Andrew came or went. Instead of lounging together on the balcony overlooking the city, Astra and Andrew had to draw the curtains closed for the sake of their privacy.

“We should just tell them we’re not really dating.” Astra said. “I can’t outright lie to them.” Andrew insisted. “I can’t break trust with my people. I don’t have to confirm we’re together, but I can’t just tell them we’re not.”

“There’s got to be a way… tell them we have no intention of courting right now. That’s not a lie, is it?”

“It’s a bit transparent.” Andrew pointed out.

“Well, I’d love to hear your better idea!”

Andrew sighed into her hair. They were dancing to the music on the television, its glow the only light in her bedroom. “Maybe we break up. And I tell them we broke up.”

“You’re breaking up with me?” Astra suddenly sounded so small and vulnerable, he squeezed her tighter, “No! Not really. Not in that way. It’s just a way we can… buy you some more time before we have to fess up to anything.”

Astra didn’t want to fake-break up with Andrew. She wanted the entire world to leave them to their peace and quiet in their little palace of domestic bliss forever. What was so complicated about that?

Andrew had the idea of staying away one night to try to relieve some of the heat, but all it did was leave Astra pacing the floor alone, listening to the rumble of dozens of people camped out on the street in front of her palace all night.

Astra and Andrew were summoned by Queen Waverly the next day and sat down together on the sofa in her office.

Everything about it was embarrassing. Andy’s mother needed to know how long they had been romantic, how far their romance had gone, how serious they were about their future together, and why Andrew had turned down his grandmother’s invitation.

“Lovey, she wasn’t trying to force your hand.” Waverly told Andrew sympathetically. “What’s happening now out there… it’s going to get worse, the longer we let the media spin itself up into a frenzy.”

Astra said, “I only have a week and a half left, your Majesty—“

“Astra.” Waverly reproached the use of her title. “We’re having this discussion as family. Call me Aunt Waverly… if you’re marrying my son, call me Mum.”

Astra gulped, looking at Andrew, lost.

“We’ve only been together a few months, we don’t know—“ Andrew spoke up, until Waverly nodded and held up her hand to silence him.

“I understand entirely.” She turned her head to the side to study a giant portrait of one of Andy’s female ancestors. “Listen you two, I know that this is a complicated situation. The only thing that will help is being forthright with the people.”

“If Astra meets grandmother, the people will be demanding a proposal by Christmas.”

“Perhaps so.”

“We’re not ready for that.” Andrew was keeping a lid on his princely composure, but Astra could tell he felt hopelessly trapped by his mother and the palace and his people beyond its walls. He was ready to rattle the cages.

Waverly nodded, “Your father and I will do everything we possibly can for you, you know that. We only want your happiness. But things are getting very intense, very fast out there. That’s happening because you’re choosing not to do things the conventional way. You must understand that.”

Very intense, very fast. That was Astra’s whole relationship with Andrew in a nutshell.

“It’s just a week and a half.” Astra reiterated. “Then I’ll be back in Illéa and the press can calm down for a while.”

“The speculation won’t stop until it is addressed by us, and it might even turn ugly.” Waverly warned. “When you stop giving them fresh photograph opportunities every day at your ballet house, when there aren’t rumors flying about sightings of the two of you all over London—“

“Not true, by the way.” Andrew said.

“Some of them could be.” Astra reminded him.

“Only the very old ones. We’ve not been out in a fortnight.”

Astra nodded.

“My point is, in a vacuum of real news, someone will invent rumors to splash on their tabloids. It will be anything and everything. Abuse, affairs, pregnancy out of wedlock, Astra will be a gold digger who broke Andy’s heart one week, the next week Andy will be a womanizing fiend who took advantage of a childhood friend. Relations between England and Illéa will be on the brink—“

“They won’t!” Astra objected.

“Only in the magazines.” Waverly replied. “But we wouldn't want any hostile nations thinking the rumors were true and attempting to take advantage of the supposed rift. You see how this could spiral?”

The room fell to silence for the first time. Astra shivered just a little, “I feel like I’ve been tossed into a tornado.”

“It gets better." Waverly promised. “Once you’re proactive about telling your own story, it gets harder for the media to frenzy over half-credible unattributed rumors.”

Astra buried her face in her hands. She’d thought she’d have years before she had to tell the media a story about her relationship with Andrew. It felt wrong that the people of England were forcing an eighteen year old girl to move so quickly.

“I just need time.” Astra said into her hands.

“Right.” Waverly made up her mind and stood, “In that case, Eoan and I are inviting you to stay here with us for the rest of your visit, Astra. We’ll tell the media that we’re very much looking forward to spending time with you before the end of your trip.”

“No, wait…” Astra looked up, heartbroken that she was losing her private little palace. Would she even get to go back and say goodbye to it?

“This isn’t a punishment, sweetheart.” Waverly sighed and then tugged Astra up to standing, pulling her into a tight hug. “You’re not in trouble. Not one little bit. You’ll have more privacy here, behind our gates and with all of our guards. You’ll have one of our cars to drive you to and from the ballet, and Andy won’t be caught coming and going at all hours of the night because he already lives here… or he did before you came to town.” she said the last part teasingly to her oldest son, who had the temerity to blush at his shamelessness.

Astra felt her eyes sting with tears, “I love that palace… it’s been a good home for me.”

Waverly smiled sweetly, “You’ll be welcome to stay there the next time you come back. If you and Andrew announce an engagement, we’ll fully staff the place for you so that it’s safer. Perhaps you and Andrew could use it as your home for the time between your marriage and his assumption of the crown.”

“Really?” Andrew looked enticed by the offer.

“You’ll need to live somewhere, dear. You couldn’t live with your parents as newlyweds, it would be unbearable.” Waverly teased. “England would never get an heir that way.”

Heirs.

Hearing the queen say that word in this palace, next to the crown prince made it feel very real and very scary. Did Astra want her kids to be heirs? She thought again of Addy and Jamesy… she loved them more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t imagine raising her children for such an incredible responsibility.

Waverly continued softly, “The main thing is, we need to be very delicate here, my loves. When Andrew becomes king, he will become the head of the church. Please understand, I do not mind what you the two of you do or don’t do, so long as you are safe and consenting.”

“Mother.” Andy squirmed.

“But it would put Andrew in a difficult position, becoming head of the church, if he was seen to have a… well a marriage-style relationship with a woman who was not his wife for too long.”

“Yes, heaven forbid I have a healthy, long-term girlfriend.” Andy scowled.

“It’s the vows to God that are the issue at hand, not heaven, and you know it.” Waverly scolded his sass quietly, but efficiently.

“So we break up.” Astra concluded. “We officially break up when I go back to Illéa, and then when it’s time, I come back to England and we publicly reunite… you don’t have any church issues, and I have time to dance.”

Waverly looked between them quietly. “It might be the only option, short of scheduling dinner with your grandmother.”

Andrew looked almost as sad as if the breakup was real. Maybe he was scared it would become real once Astra was out of the whirlwind. She laced her fingers with his and squeezed, “We’ll figure this out.”

He squeezed back twice, gently.

***

That night Astra slept in Andrew’s bedroom for the first time in their entire affair.

“The maids are gonna know.”

“Everyone knows.” he snorted into her hair. “That’s why we’re here and not across town in our own palace.”

“Your parents are in the building.” she complained when his hands began wandering her body.

“Not close enough to hear anything.”

“Still… what if they have to walk by for a glass of water or something?”

“You want me to keep my hands to myself tonight?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, so shall we see who can be quietest?” he brushed his fingers across her ribs and she quietly shrieked a giggle. “You are so bad at this, darling.”

“Oh yeah?” she got her revenge with vicious tickles, exploiting every sensitive spot she’d found on his body the last few months.

***

Living in the English palace was an easy adjustment for Astra. She'd grown up in Illéa Palace which, as the functioning capital building of one of the largest nations in the world, was larger and had a much bigger staff. The English palace was certainly ancient and stately, but Astra had grown up visiting the place, so at least she wasn’t too dazzled to see this for what it was.

There was no more delivery from local restaurants once those palace gates were closed, but the royal chef made sure that Andy and Astra had everything they wanted delivered to one of their rooms each night, so that wasn’t actually too much of a change. Not only that, but the maids were discrete and only came onto their floor when Andrew was at work and Astra was at the ballet for the day, so it was almost like their bedrooms magically tidied themselves up each day.

Really, the biggest change for Astra had been weeks before, when rumors had started flying and she and Andrew had stopped venturing out into London. Andrew still appeared in her doorway just in time for dinner, looking handsome and happy to see her. They still shared good meals and long baths, and a warm bed each night. But now the illusion that time didn't exist and that they could continue peacefully, blissfully existing in their little bubble forever was burst.

Since the royal palace hadn't released a statement about the gorgeous young foreign princess living in the same palace as their handsome young future king, salacious headlines were beginning to trickle from tabloids to increasingly reputable news sources. Astra and Andrew's private affair wasn’t so private anymore.

Some part of Astra had been hoping that the rumors would die down once she and Andrew had retreated into the palace, even though she knew better. But on her second-to-final rehearsal before her big seminar performance, photographers started camping out overnight at the stage door to the ballet, not just hounding Astra but harassing her fellow dancers, too. It was humiliating to think that these world-class performers, some of whom Astra had idolized for years, were getting manhandled on their way to and from work every day because of Astra’s love life. She wasn’t sure her reputation in the industry would ever recover from this. Who would want to work with her when her very presence could cause such a disruption?

She cried in the backseat of the car on her way back to the royal palace that day, but she had big sunglasses on, and at least no photographers caught her moment of weakness.

“I don’t want to be the girl who’s dating the future king. I want to be a damn good dancer.” Astra said that night, her cheek pressed to Andrew’s chest as he drew swirling designs on her bare back with his fingers.

“You are both.”

“You don’t understand… you literally can’t.”

“What?” Andrew wasn’t insulted, which was the great thing about him. He was always humble about his own limitations. “Why can I not understand?”

“Have you ever looked up to someone who was truly excellent at the very thing that you wanted to be truly excellent at?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“King Maxon.”

Astra rolled her eyes and lifted her head so he could see her at it. “You met him when you could still count your age on one hand.”

“So?”

“So most people never get to meet their idols, and if they do it’s because they’ve worked extremely hard to become very good at something. There are choreographers and dancers at this seminar that I’ve admired for a decade. And now my presence is turning their workplace, a place I consider to be sacred, into a hostile circus.”

Andrew frowned down at her and said softly, “Did I not promise you terrifying clowns?”

“I don’t want to bring chaos to every stage I cross.” Astra pouted.

Andrew nodded and said, “So we should announce our breakup immediately. I’ll release a statement tomorrow, and ask a friend of mine to appear in public with me tomorrow night… a woman. It won’t cure everything overnight, but it would surely alleviate some of the pressure.”

Astra stared into his eyes, then studied the line of his nose, the cut of his cheekbones, the curve of his jaw. “That’s a lot of trouble to go through just for me.”

“Astra, are you joking? You’re the one going through trouble for me.”

Astra nodded, but she dropped a kiss onto his lips anyway. “Okay, but the breakup is fake.” her lips danced over his.

His teeth gently teased her lower lip as he replied, “Yeah. I noticed.”

***

As warm and inviting as the arms holding her were, Astra had a difficult time staying asleep that night. She was nervous about returning to rehearsals the next morning, nervous about their final performance, now only a couple of days away, nervous about her new relationship with Andrew, and nervous about being nervous about her new relationship with Andrew.

At around four in the morning she slipped out of bed and tiptoed back to her suite, where she found a pitcher of water and a tray of snacks waiting for her. She spent so many hours of her day exercising that sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night ravenously, painfully hungry, so she’d requested that she be left some snacks just in case. She picked at a scone, lost in her anxieties, and her stress about not being able to sleep, until the telephone next to her bed rang so loudly and shrilly that it caused her to jump and splash some of her glass of water onto her night shirt.

“Hello?” Astra picked up the phone, hoping to hear an Illéan voice on the other end of the line. She hadn’t spoken to Addy in a few days, and it had been almost a week since her Aunt Ames or Uncle Maxon had phoned. She hadn’t spoken to her parents in longer than that, but they’d be arriving in London in less that twenty-four hours so that they could watch her final performance, so she wasn’t too desperate to speak to them.

And while the voice on the other line was Illéan, it definitely wasn’t one she had been expecting.

“Hey.”

Astra’s stomach clenched and her body flooded with adrenaline. She reminded herself to behave like a normal person and not like a lunatic when, as casually as she could, she replied, “Kile? Is that you?” like she didn’t know. Like she wouldn’t know his voice anywhere, anytime, under any circumstance. She knew his voice better than she knew her own.

“Sorry, I know it’s the middle of the night over there. …You don’t sound like you were sleeping, though.”

He would know.

Astra gulped hard, “I needed a snack.” It was a lie, but it was close enough to the truth.

“Hm. Is he there then?”

Astra felt defensive anger flare up in her chest, and only later realized that the anger was covering a sense of guilt. “So what if he is? You broke up with me—“

“Astra—“

“No, it’s okay. I’m not saying that in a mean way. I’m stating a fact. We are not together because you broke up with me, so why do you care if he’s here?”

There was a long pause and then a low groan on the other end of the phone. Astra heard a brush of fabric over his microphone, as if he’d been rubbing his face and his sleeve caught on the receiver.

“I want to know if he’s there, because I want to talk to you when you’re alone. It’s why I’m calling so late… or early, I guess.” Kile said.

Astra’s traitor heart beat faster. What did he want to talk to her about when she was alone? Was he going to apologize? Was he going to ask for her back?

It was too late, obviously. Astra had obviously moved on. Obviously. “He’s not here.”

Kile sounded relieved when he said, “Good.” and that annoyed Astra. He had no right to be relieved that she wasn’t in bed with another man. He’d hurt her in a way she’d never known she could hurt before.

She lashed out, “I didn’t want to wake him up with my snacking. But he’ll probably notice I’m gone soon, so you should hurry up and say what you want to say.”

The pained sound that snuck out of his throat with his next exhale was not as satisfying as Astra had hoped it would be. She regretted her words already. Maybe now he wouldn’t ask for her back… not that she wanted him to.

Kile said, “Let me ask you something…”

This was it. He was going to ask for forgiveness. He was going to ask her to come back to Illéa and be with him.

“What do you want more than anything in the world?” Kile said.

What was he expecting her to say? That she wanted him? She was dating the Crown Prince of England!

“Astra?”

“What do you mean, Kile?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? For our whole lives you’ve always wanted one thing more than anything in the world. What is it?”

Oh. Astra replied almost mechanically, her voice barely above a mumble, “I want to be the Prima Ballerina for the Angeles Ballet for at least a season, maybe two.”

“And you wanted that enough that you didn’t even think about moving closer to my university, because it would have taken you away from the Angeles ballet. And not for a good reason, like that invitation you got to dance in Waverly. For no reason. For me.”

“You’re not no reason—“

“No, I’m just not a good enough reason.”

“Kile—“

“You can’t argue with that.”

“You said you wouldn’t promise to look for apprenticeships and internships in the cities where I was dancing. You said you don’t want to live in Angeles when you grow up!”

“I don’t. I’m going to go where I can do my best work.” he said plainly. “I still think you and I made a good choice to split up.”

Hearing him say that was hard. She wanted him to regret it. She wanted him to miss her like she had missed him before Andrew had swept her off her feet. Losing him had changed her and she would never be the same as she was before, and he wasn’t even sorry.

Kile continued, “I’m just saying… what was the point of drawing a line in the sand about you and me if you were just going to walk all over it for Andy?”

“What?”

“We both know that you’ll never be prima anything if you marry Andy. You told me yourself, every waking hour of a prima’s life is devoted to dancing or preparing to dance. There are no hobbies, no vacations, no date nights. There definitely isn't time to be somebody’s princess.”

“I’m already an Illéan Prin—“

“Cut the shit, Astra, you know what I mean.” Kile sounded exasperated, and she knew why. She was trying to miss his point, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle about it so dodging it was proving impossible.

“Maybe I want something else now. Maybe I want to marry Andrew.”

“Look… Andy’s not a bad guy—“ Kile admitted through gritted teeth, “But there will be plenty of not bad guys waiting for you after you retire. So if you pick him, do it because you want the life he’ll give you more than the life you can earn for yourself. And be ready to bury your dreams of being a prima ballerina forever, if you do. I know you, and I know you’re getting swept up in this—“

“Don’t talk about me like I’m some helpless little… little damsel, Kile.” Astra snapped.

“Think about it logistically. Do you want to move to the other side of the world from your parents and your little brothers? They’ll visit you as often as they can, but your visits to Illéa will always be to the Palace, to King Maxon and Addy. You won’t be able to go home again. Do you want to have to keep a royal schedule, planned months and years in advance? And you can forget being around from Addy once she becomes queen, you’ll be trapped on the far side of an ocean.”

“Kile—“ Astra tried to interrupt him because she wanted him to stop making sense.

“What about the little things? What about the weather? You’re an Angeles girl, are you going to miss the sun? You know they use different numbers for temperature over there, right? How’s it going to feel to wake up in the morning and have some maid tell you that it’s twenty-five degrees outside, so you’d better stay in the shade to keep cool?”

“Kile.” Astra laughed.

“I’m serious. You’re not just choosing a career here, Astra, you’re choosing a life: from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep.” Kile paused and let out a tired sigh. “I just don’t want you to make a big mistake that you can’t undo. I know how badly you want to dance. You’re not ready for this, and even if you were, this wouldn’t be the right choice for you.”

“I’ve changed, Kile.” she wanted to add that he’d changed her. That losing him had made her someone new, someone she didn’t even know yet, but she kept that part to herself. Listening to his voice for so long that night… suddenly she found that she didn’t want to hurt him anymore.

“It’s barely been three months, Astra. You haven’t changed that much.” he promised.

Astra wasn’t sure. Sometimes change was gradual, sure, but sometimes change was all at once. Traumatic change was a sudden shattering of what came before, such that one could never go back again. That was what losing Kile had been like.

But did that mean she wanted to give up dancing and become Andrew’s princess? His queen? His wife and the mother of his heirs? Did she want to leave Illéa forever and eventually move into this palace?

She wanted all of that when she was wrapped up in Andrew’s arms.

But here, alone in the middle of the night when she had her wits about her…

She climbed back into bed and woke Andrew up with steady, gentle kisses. Everything about the love they made that morning was slow and desperate, and even though she hadn’t meant it to, in the end it felt like goodbye.

***

Astra was gone to her final rehearsals before dawn, but later that morning Andrew was true to his word and made a big announcement that he and Astra had both been secretly dating, and were now publicly broken up. He made a good show of wandering around London looking sad that day, and that night he went out to dinner with a fashion model friend, who did not mind the publicity one little bit.

There were still plenty of photographers salivating at the chance to photograph Astra looking dismal at having lost the chance to become an English princess, but at least they were leaving the rest of the dancers, and everyone else associated with the ballet, in peace.

Astra’s parents arrived at the royal palace in time for dinner that night, and Astra had a lot of explaining to do to them. King Eoan and Queen Waverly seemed to find Astra’s discomfort at explaining her affair with Andrew to her parents over roasted asparagus incredibly amusing, and possibly reminiscent of the beginning of their own relationship. It wasn’t fair, though. Andrew missed all the “fun”, making sure it looked like he was rebounding with that gorgeous model.

That night, Astra was too nervous about her impending final performance to wait up for Andrew to get back to the Palace. She could go to bed early or never at all. She drank some tea laced with a little bit of melatonin and fell asleep soon after dinner.

She woke up in Andrew’s arms, her cheek pressed to the side of his bare chest. She listened to him breathe deeply and evenly for a little while and tried one last time.

She could quit dancing.

She could leave Illéa forever.

She could raise her children to be heirs.

Her children could raise their children to be heirs.

When she died, her bones could be interred in a big old church.

Her whole life could be that easy.

God, it would be so easy.

“Andy?” she whispered.

He didn’t stir.

“Andrew?” she tried again, this time pulling away from him and sitting up in bed.

He didn’t hear her, but he reacted to the loss of her warmth, and eventually his heavy eyelids fluttered open. “Astra?”

“What time did you get in last night?”

“This morning.” He admitted, yawning widely. “I expect the tabloids will be plastered with headlines about their debaucherous future king today.”

“Was it any fun?”

“Yeah. Ellie’s great; she’s always happy to be photographed on my arm. Missed you, though.” he added, as if suddenly awake enough to worry that she was jealous.

She wasn’t the slightest bit jealous. Well, the slightest bit, but not for the reasons he would assume. Astra was jealous because Ellie could keep being photographed on Andrew’s arm for as long as she pleased, with no consequences.

“Maybe you should marry Ellie.” Astra suggested.

Andrew laughed, and it turned into a yawn. Then he explained, “Ellie’s too focused on her career right now. And anyway, she’d be far more interested in you.”

“Now that would be a tabloid headline.” Astra joked weakly.

“What’s the matter? Are you nervous for your performance? Is it because you’re leaving England this time tomorrow? Is it because you told your parents what’s been happening between us—“

“I’m not nervous.” Astra said, even though her stomach was in knots. Those weren’t nerves. That was grief. “Andy… I want to be a ballet dancer.”

Andrew sat up in bed now and rubbed the sleep from his eyes so he could focus on her. The words were familiar, but her tone was alarming. “Of course you do. You are a ballet dancer, and you’re bloody brilliant.”

“I want to be a prima ballerina.”

“Okay.”

“That sort of excellence takes years to achieve.”

“Good job you’ve been dancing since you were four years old, then.”

“Shh.” she pressed a finger to his lips so that he would stop talking back and listen to her. He complied. “I won’t be ready to be a prima for seven or eight years. I have a lot to learn. And when I’m ready, I want to be a Prima Ballerina for at least one season, maybe two. That’s every waking hour devoted to dance for two years straight. Then I want to live in Angeles and stay close to Addy in the first few years of her reign. I want to be there when she gets married and has babies, because she is great at putting on a brave face and absolutely terrible at processing the emotions that are scaring her into needing to be brave. She’s going to need me, and I’m excited to be there for her. I can’t live on a different continent than my dad. There can’t such a huge time difference between me and my mom. I can’t be a foreign queen. I don’t want to be foreign at all. Andrew… I can’t marry you.” Her cheeks were wet and her voice cracked, but she didn’t know when, in that little breathless tirade, she’d started crying.

Andrew stared blankly ahead, hugging his knees to his chest around their blanket. He didn’t look surprised. He’d known she was too good to be true all along. Finding his queen could never have been so easy, so perfect. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.

“Andy, none of those reasons I gave have anything to do with you. I love you. You’re a good man, and a great partner, and you have no business being such a talented kisser when you’re so handsome. It’s overkill.” she waited for him to smile. She waited for him to do anything. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Andrew. I just can’t marry you. I’m eighteen years old, I just got control of my life. I’m not ready to sign it over to a monarchy. I would love to be your wife, Andy, but I would hate to be your queen.”

Andrew blinked hard, then looked over at her. His voice was too casual, his words were too easy when he said, “I understand entirely. I can wait.”

Astra furrowed her brow, trying to hold his far off gaze. “Wait? What do you mean, wait?”

“You want to be a prima ballerina, and you said it would take you nine or ten years to accomplish your goal. Fine. I will wait, and when you’re ready I’ll ask to marry you.”

“No, Andy—“

“I don’t mind ruling on my own for a while.”

“That’s more than a while! You’ll be king in four years—“

“It isn’t a problem.” he insisted.

“Did you hear the part about what I want to do after I retire? About living in Illéa, about staying close to my family?”

“Astra, once we’re married, you can do whatever you like.”

“But queens have responsibilities.”

“We can redefine the role to mean whatever you’d like it to mean. I don’t care. I love you, Astra, and you’re the best future queen I could ever hope for.”

Astra paused, blinking hard against the tears in her eyes. It hurt to hear him say that. It hurt to realize that he didn’t believe he deserved any better. “Andy, that’s not true. You deserve a wife who will stay by your side. You deserve a wife who adores you and would be willing to sacrifice her own ambitions to serve England. I’m not good enough to be your queen.”

“Then no one ever will be.”

“Andrew—“

“Let me wait for you, Astra, please.” His voice broke on that last work, his eyes finally meeting hers and betraying his anguish. “Let me hope. It’s all that I have left.”

Astra couldn’t figure out what would be crueler, to let him hope when she’d made up her mind, or to take that hopeless hope away from him.

So she wrapped him up in her arms and they laid down. She combed her fingers through his hair and he brushed his thumb against her ribs until her alarm clock rang and her last day in London began.

***

In retrospect, Astra should have chosen a happy, upbeat, peppy song for her exhibition. She could have flounced all over the stage and spun a ridiculous number of times on her toes, and allowed her partner to toss her all over the place with an enormous smile on her face.

Instead, she’d chosen an exhibition from a ballet about a woman mourning her dead lover, dancing with his ghost. She’d been thinking of Kile when she’d chosen it, hoping it would help her work out her feelings about their doomed childhood romance. Now she was about to take the stage of the royal ballet, with Andrew and his parents in the royal box, watching her close enough that she could see the pained look on Andrew’s face as clear as anything.

Astra and her dance partner, Geoffrey, took their place while the stage was lit in nothing but the darkest of blue lights. He laid down across on their only set piece, an enormous fake rock, and Astra settled over him in a dramatic pose of despair, arm flung over her forehead.

The first part of the dance was hers alone. Her grief, her agony, her desperation. None of it was fake. When Geoffrey arose, as a ghost, and began dancing with her, the bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow was easy to tap into. Nothing brought her more joy than dancing, and nothing brought her more sorrow in that moment than Andrew watching her live the life she’d chosen over him.

When Geoffrey faded back into the fog upstage and left Astra alone again in the center of the stage, all the passion and desperation fled with him. The rest of the dance was small and slow, painfully precise movements timed with the orchestra just so that if she made the slightest misstep, it would be immediately, embarrassingly obvious.

But Astra did not have to fake the exhaustion and resignation her character was feeling. If she allowed herself to second guess her decision to break away from Andrew now, she’d second guess it forever. The roar of the audience as the last tremulous notes from the string section died away seemed to make a deafening contrast.

Astra was surprised to find tears had started pouring down her cheeks somewhere during that performance. Geoffrey returned and took her hand, and they bowed. As was customary for this exhibition, several members of the audience threw flowers onto the stage. From the third row, Astra’s dad threw a whole bouquet, and a little teddy bear. Astra laughed as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Then she turned to the royal box to curtsey, perfectly observing royal protocol, and was startled to find that Andrew had been crying, too.

He tossed her a single white rose with a beautiful red satin ribbon tied around the stem, but the look on his face was resignation. He could love her with all of his heart for all of his life and still never be able to give her the kind of affirmation she got from a packed theater full of an adoring audience. He’d seen her dance dozens of times in her room at her little palace, and hell, he’d even danced with her himself. But seeing her like this in front of them…

He could wait until the oceans ran dry and the mountains fell flat, and every single star in the sky flickered into darkness… Astra was never coming back to him.

Astra spent that night with her parents, letting them gush over her and spoil her with presents, and help her pack up the life she’d made in London for the last few months. She hoped Andrew would come and say goodbye once her parents went back to the suite they were staying in, but he never appeared, and Astra didn’t chase him down because she thought he deserved to set the terms. That dance had been her goodbye to him. It was up to him whether he wanted to say goodbye in return.

The next morning, Queen Waverly was the only one in the entrance hall waiting to see the Orders family off as they left. The English Royal jet would take them as far as Carolina, where they would visit James’ family for a little while.

Astra imagined Andrew’s private car speeding out onto the tarmac to stop them. She imagined him dashing from the backseat and waving his arms to alert the pilots that they couldn’t leave until he’d said his farewells.

He didn’t come. It was easier this way.

Kenna and James stayed with Astra’s grandparents for a few days, but James had to go back to work and Kenna needed to get back to the Palace. Aunt Ames had five children, two of them under the age of six, and though they had plenty of help in that Palace, Kenna was their primary nanny, their aunt, and she missed them like crazy.

Astra stayed with her grandparents for a couple of weeks, until her contract at the Waverly Ballet began. The media frenzy around her got much better in that time, though it was impossible not to notice that things were staying hectic around Andrew as the English tabloids seemed to catch on to how severely he’d had his heart broken.

Astra wished she could take some of that public shame away.

She wished she could take some of his pain away, even as she was mending her own broken heart. Her weeks in Carolina were good for that purpose. Her grandparents spoiled her rotten, and she gave her body a much-needed break from dancing. Instead, she spent her days learning needlepoint from her grandmother, and her nights stargazing out by the pond where her parents used to sneak off on dates before Gramma Magda gave up trying to convince Kenna to marry someone from a higher caste.

When Astra packed her bags to take the short flight up to Waverly to begin yet another new life with another new ballet company, she was still wearing the beautiful red ribbon that Andrew gave her as a parting gift on that rose, tied around her wrist.

And when, years later, she sat on her sofa and watched him become King of England in front of the entire world, her fingers traced that now slightly frayed red ribbon, Andy’s last gift to her, in a familiar, much-practiced gesture.

It would have been so easy to say yes, to give in to the pressure and let herself get swept away by the English people, the royal traditions, the prince’s staggering blue eyes. It would have been a good life, too. A perfectly fine marriage.

But Astra didn’t want to be queen, and now she wouldn’t have to be, and the freedom she felt watching Andrew bear the weight of that crown was all the reminder she needed: she made the right decision. And now, despite the dull ache of longing in her chest for he boy she’d loved and left behind, she was happy. Truly happy. She was at peace with her past, content in her present, and excited for her future.

When the coronation coverage ended, Astra got ready to return to bed. She was surprised when her phone rang, but she knew exactly who it would be.

“Mom?” she said, before the person on the other line could say a word. Her little cousins would have had just enough time to be tucked back into bed by now, if Aunt May was helping. Kenna would have rushed to the phone as soon as she got the chance.

“Sweetie? How are you, little bug?”

“I’m fine, Mom, I don’t need the pet names.” Astra grinned, rolling her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Kenna double-checked.

“Yeah. I wish Andrew wasn’t alone up there. I still love him, I don’t want him to suffer. But I was nothing but relieved when they put that crown on his head and I didn’t have to put one on mine. I made the right choice.”

“I know you did, honey, but just because you did the right thing doesn’t mean you have to feel perfectly fine about it. Especially not on a night like this.”

“Honestly, Mom… my time in London feels like another life. One I’m nothing but grateful for, but not one I want to relive.”

At first, Astra’s spring with Andrew felt like it had never really happened, or like it had happened to someone else, or like it was all a fever dream: too hot, too heady, a surreal hallucination more than a fairytale fantasy. But now, with some time and space, Astra could see it for what it really was: a romantic affair with someone she could have chosen to marry, but who ultimately was not the right fit for her. On the one hand, Astra and Andrew loved each other, and their marriage would have been fine: they’d known each other forever and they each fully understood the challenges of the royal life they would have been embarking on together.

On the other hand, Astra had known what she wanted out of life since she was a very small girl. It was a hard thing to ask an eighteen year old to walk away from a guaranteed royal wedding for a chance to work very hard to one day, possibly, make her dream come true. If Astra hadn’t grown up in Illéa Palace, she might not have made the same choice. But everything she got out of her life from now on was truly hers, she was the captain of her own fate, and even if she failed and never became a prima ballerina, at least this way she’d have had the chance.

“But Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t ever tell Gramma Magda that Andrew proposed to me and I turned him down. I think she would disown me.”

[vennilavee]

dubious hearts

pairing: levi x reader summary: [based off of this prompt request from this list] "i don’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. i just need you. all of you." with the muses showering/bathing together for tbah!levi? warnings: feelings of insecurity, some kissing

When Levi first met you, all of those years ago, he didn’t expect for you to become as ingrained in his life as you currently were. Of course, he expected it to some degree- after all, you worked in the same small non-profit and his friends and colleagues were now yours. However, the lines of professionalism and friendship became blurred. And then by the time it was your fifth anniversary of the company, you and Levi were finally dating. As your colleagues always said- it was about damn time. It’s been around six or seven months since you first started dating officially.

And yet. Levi is well aware of how different you and him are. He recalls your previous girlfriend from about two years ago- he recalls some of the romantic gestures she had done for you. Sometimes she’d swoop in right before lunch and take you out on a spontaneous date. Sometimes she’d stop by with a large, rather obnoxious bouquet of flowers. Just because you liked them. Your wrists and your neck always had some form of gold dripping across your brown skin. 

He had been so sure that most of those gifts were simply not you. He had been certain that you weren’t the type of person who liked being bought like that, with material gifts of grandeur. Levi also recalls overhearing a small argument between you and your now ex-girlfriend, about how you didn’t want all of the material possessions. He had been so sure that you didn’t need any of that.

And yet. He sees you ogling a pretty necklace while you’re walking down the street after dinner. And then, you gush over the grand way that Mike had finally, finally asked Nanaba out to dinner after years of pining. He had cooked her favorite meal and created a path of rose petals leading from his entryway to the kitchen for her to follow. And then, you’re so excited over Nanaba and Mike’s anniversary trip to the other side of the Wall. It’s a couple’s retreat, complete with all of the things that makes Levi’s nose wrinkle in irritation. Four months? Really? 

How were you and him even together, if you liked all of the things that he didn’t? Levi thought he had a good read on you, a great read, in fact. It seems like you’re both on different pages. Do you want something else from him? Something he doesn’t know how to give you?

Levi is not a romantic. He never has been- he’s never been one to show grand displays of affection or grand displays of romance like that. But you knew that, you had to know that. Right?

You were swirls of pink, red, and purple. He was just grey. These thoughts swirl around in his mind incessantly for the next few days, and you notice. But you say nothing, not wanting to push him before he’s ready. You don’t want to prod and annoy him.

You’re still navigating your label of girlfriend to his boyfriend. But really, he just feels like your best friend that you get to make out with whenever you want. You hang on to that as you find it in yourself to ask him what’s wrong. You’ve noticed him pulling away from you subtly- his eyes don’t quite meet yours with any of its former fondness and his touches, even when you’re alone, are minimal.

It makes you uncharacteristically sad. His touches are your favorite thing in the world, and you can’t seem to understand why he’s pulling away from you. Is he losing interest in you? You wouldn’t blame him. Maybe the honeymoon period of your relationship has ended and he’s realized-

No. You won’t go down that path again. Not with Levi, not with anyone. 

With that, you’re determined to figure out what is going on with your boyfriend before you lose him completely.

It turns out, you don’t need to poke and prod him to tell you what’s wrong. Levi has always been a straightforward, blunt person, which you’ve always appreciated. 

You’re at your apartment, curled into him on your faded pink couch. A blanket covers both of you as you both chat about your days and about your plans for the upcoming weekend. But even as you talk, his touches are barely there and minimal. Levi’s grey eyes are guarded and his jaw tight.

“Why are we together?” Levi asks bluntly, suddenly and you’re immediately alert. You pull away from him abruptly, confusion splitting your irises apart.

“What?” 

“I’m not a romantic,” Levi says, eyes narrow and nearly crushing you, “I’m not like- I don’t like all that stuff you like.”

“All what stuff?” You ask, genuinely wondering where this was coming from. This is why he’s been pulling away from you the last few days. You slide your hand into his and squeeze.

“The way you react when people at work tell you about how they share their feelings in that way- with petals on the floor, making food into the heart shapes- I mean who does that, just eat it-” Levi says, nearly faltering when your lips begin to turn downwards into a frown, “You like that. And I don’t. I’m not like that.”

I can't be the guy you want me to be. You hear it, you can read in between the lines, even if he doesn’t say it.

Dark eyes are wide and unmoving as you stare at him, trying to understand him. You’re silent for a few seconds and it starts to unnerve Levi. Finally, your lips pull apart and he feels as if the sun has parted storm clouds in the sky.

“Come with me,” You mumble, taking his hand and tugging. He quirks up an eyebrow but says nothing, only following you to your bedroom. “Take a shower with me?”

“What? I just told you that maybe we’re not compatible and you want to shower with me?” Levi asks incredulously. 

“Yeah. If you’re gonna break up with me, let me at least see your hot bod one last time,” You say dryly, “Please? Just shower with me, baby.”

He acquiesces, because that’s what he does. When it comes to you.

The hot spray of the water feels nice against his skin, even if you’re both cramped in your shower. Your bathroom is much smaller than Levi’s and it’s a tight fit to have both of you under the spray together. But you need him to understand something. 

You stay silent for the most part, lathering your body wash over his skin and rubbing gently over his muscles. Pressing kisses randomly- over his shoulders, his clavicle, his chin, his navel. 

“I can’t believe I made you feel like what you do for me isn’t enough for me,” You mumble, a tinge of sadness in your voice. 

Alarm bells go off in his head.

“What? No, I see what you want. And that’s not me,” Levi protests and you dig your nails into his upper arm.

“What I want? What do you know about what I want?” You murmur, sadness gone and replaced with annoyance. 

“All of those grand gestures of love! I see how wishful you look when you hear those stories,” He says, sounding frustrated, “I can’t give that to you! I’m not that guy.”

“I never asked you to be that kind of guy, Levi,” You say, narrowing your eyes at him, “You know me better than that. I know you do. So what is it?”

Levi is quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. Your eyes are wide and watery, a deep frown marring your pretty face. “You’re too good for me,” He finally spits out, the words hanging in the air uncertainly, “And I’m afraid I can’t be what you need. Or want.”

How do you make him understand how much you feel for him?

“This is my favorite part,” You murmur, tugging his hand in yours and massaging his palm with your thumb, “Touching you like this. And when you touch me the same. Nobody’s ever let me touch them like that. Nobody’s ever touched me like that. Do you know how I feel when you touch me? I feel like… I can do anything. I feel like I am everything. The way I feel when I’m with you… whether we’re alone or with our friends. At home or out… I feel like the center of the universe when I’m with you. I feel like the center of your universe. You make me feel so good, Levi.

"Levi, honey,” You sigh softly, rubbing his chest and pulling him closer to you, “I don’t need grand gestures or declarations of love. I just… need you. All of you. And I have you. And you have me. Everything else is just… extra.

“You’re everything I want, and everything I need. And I’ll spend however long I need to convince you of that.”

Levi’s throat is dry, cheeks flushed (from the heat of the water or from the sudden rush of emotion, he doesn’t know). He cups your neck with a little pressure from his fingertips and yanks you closer to him for a deep kiss. You nearly slip at the sudden movement but his hands are wrapped around you so tightly, that he’s there to hold you steady. Levi deepens the kiss quickly, drowning in your golden light and wanting to have some of it for himself.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that he’s golden, too.

“I just-,” Levi presses his forehead to yours when he pulls away, “Okay. I believe you. I’m not good at this.”

“Me neither,” You murmur, hands in his damp hair, “But we’re good together. So we’ll figure it out, honey.”

“Oh, and who said you’re not a romantic? Just because you don’t like those things, doesn’t mean you’re not a romantic- I mean, you make me tea when I’m stressed or in a bad mood, you always know what to say, you always make sure I’m safe and protected. If that’s not romantic, I dunno what is.”

Levi buries his head in your neck and squeezes your waist to get you to stop talking. His face is warm, his ears hot and you’re giggling at him. His heart lurches at your syrupy words. It’s unfamiliar but he leans into it.

“You’re my prince charming, sweetheart. Get used to it.”

tags: @simpingmaize​ @captainchrisstan​

[bettsfic]

hi betts! i got very interested in your posts esp the implied author. i wanna ask a question (if you dont mind!). so about the implied author, i always feel like that my writings though beautiful always lack mentioned maturity and read very... YA-ish? its not something im trying to achieve. i want to make it more mature and 'classical'. do you have a tips for this? im not aware enough of what to improve on to achieve that, basically. thank you in advance!

this is a great question! unfortunately, though, i don't have a handy dandy term like "implied author" to thoroughly encapsulate my possibly abstract answer.

first, while i understand your goals, i think beautiful prose, and the focus thereof, is still a very important pursuit. there's also nothing wrong with being YA-ish; the implied author comes from a book called the rhetoric of fiction, and the title implies that it's a study of fiction in interaction with an audience. so different readers get different things out of what they read (i wrote about this more in my june newsletter). possibly your perspective is something someone else hasn't seen before, and you've offered them something new without even knowing.

that said, i absolutely understand the drive to have a wider perspective, and write things that you find more complicated and challenging. however, the only way i can answer this is with metaphors couched in narrative, of how i learned about how to approach my writing differently, and which presumably, maybe widened a reader's sense of my implied author (but since i can't be a reader of my own work, there's no way to tell for sure).

so, i once took a creative nonfiction seminar during which i read a whole bunch of memoirs, and the final project was either a research paper or a personal essay. obviously i chose the personal essay. i decided to write about my ex-boyfriend, with whom i'd broken up five years earlier, and i was still very fucked up about it even though we'd been broken up far longer than we were together.

looking back on that essay, it reads like a sales pitch, ten pages of me just pleading with the reader to see my side of the situation, to see how i was the victim, sympathize with me and not him. he's the evil one. hate him with me. please please please.

it was not a good look.

there was a lot of unprocessed grief in that essay, a lot of anger. it was clear i had no wider perspective of the situation other than wallowing in my own narrow feelings about it. i was telling the reader what to think about me, about him, about the situation, rather than conveying the situation as it truly was and allowing them to draw their own conclusions.

in nonfiction, that's terrifying, because it potentially paints me in a negative light. a reader may see my actions and think poorly of me. and honestly, looking back, they should. i was as toxic to my ex as he was to me. i was not good to him at all.

but see, that's an example of me telling you what to think. in the essay, i am pretty much saying outright, "he is evil. hate him." i want to force the reader to be on my side. but after a mental breakdown and a lot of trauma therapy, i was able to step out of the situation and my feelings thereof, and see it from a much wider perspective, and instead of putting my actual emotions on the page, i'm able to illustrate honestly the emotions i felt at the time. i am no longer in the story. i'm outside of it.

here are the events as they actually happened: one night, he didn't come home. i texted him. i tried to call him. i waited a couple more hours and called him again. he came home as i was looking up numbers to nearby hospitals, around four a.m. he wouldn't tell me where he'd been. the next day i found a bunch of hickeys on his neck. i was hurt, and angry, and i pushed him. i told him to get out of my house. he still denied it, and kept denying it for hours longer, until finally admitting he'd been dating someone else for months. i couldn't find it in myself to blame him. to me, it was my fault for not being good enough for him, for not fitting into the shape of someone he could love.

there was more to the story than that; he was financially dependent on me, he was no longer attracted to me and felt trapped in our relationship, my father had just died and i couldn't even begin to grieve over the loss of someone whose life mine revolved around.

but an essay -- or a short story, a novel, a poem -- can't ever render reality exactly as it is. we as writers are always just curators of experiences, images, sentences. there's a lot of fear in that, of leaving out details, of being misunderstood. but that's the inherent risk of art.

the lesson i brought back to fiction is this:

it's not my job as a writer to place judgment on my characters, but to simply convey the story as it happens. my characters may have biases, misperceptions, judgments, and opinions, but they are not mine. widening the implied author, so to speak, is a process of removing yourself from your prose.

obviously you will make characters who are like you in some ways, and so they may share traits with you. they may be identical to you in every way. but they are not you, and cannot be you. possibly the implied author is the absence of ego. or maybe it's an embrace of the self and the world as things that can't be fully known.

i think about films that have a wide implied author versus a narrow one (in my opinion; see above point about fiction as rhetoric). to me, pacific rim has a very wide implied author. even though all the characters in the movie take the events therein very seriously, i know that the mind creating this story knows it's kind of ridiculous, even though it's not a comedy. they know this wild, over-the-top conceit is a vehicle for the more complicated and nuanced experience of intimacy and trust.

a narrow implied author would be zack snyder's justice league. that film leaves me with no evidence that the mind behind it is capable of truly understanding experiences beyond their own, or using their medium to render a nuanced portrayal of being. that doesn't mean snyder isn't, in reality, capable of those things, or that the movie isn't enjoyable on an aesthetic level, but that i found no evidence in the text of, well, themes. it's just...characters doing things. i see no exploration in it, no question that the narrative addresses.

which leads me to my second point, which is that i think the widest implied authors are the ones who are vulnerable enough not to have an answer or conclusion, to simply discover and explore larger questions.

so, what questions do you have? what things do you not know? what are you most afraid to convey or admit?

in some ways, my answer to your question is that you don't have to worry about it, because the implied author is the experience of the reader, which you can't control. however, i think all of us, myself included, can work toward a greater perspective of ourselves and our world, to understand things to a more complex degree. and beautifully, writing helps us do that, at the risk of exposing the things we don't know, the questions we can't answer, our true colors which may be darker and uglier than we'd like to admit.

[woman-loving]

I’ve been reading some articles about lesbian identities in Indonesia, from the late 80s to the 00s, and wanted to share some quotes that highlighted a couple trends that I’ve also noticed in reading about butch/femme communities in other countries.

1) There are different expectations about sexual distinctiveness and marriage to men are attached to butch and femme identities. There is a greater expectation that femmes will marry men, and femmes more often do marry men, though some butches do as well. Marriages to men seem to be for convenience or in name only, and women may continue to have female lovers.

2) Distinctions are made between real/pure/positive lesbians (butches) and other lesbians (femmes) who are “potentially normal.” This shows the flexibility of lesbian identity, where they can be gradations and contradictions in what it means to be a lesbian (e.g. a woman being a lesbian but not a “real lesbian"). The category has cores and peripheries, rather than everyone being equally lesbian or else completely outside of it.

3) There are disagreements between members, which cross butch/femme lines, about the meanings of these identities and whose lesbianism or community involvement should be taken seriously. The first passage describes femmes as engaging in a “more active appropriation of lesbianism as a core element of their subjectivity.” The boundaries of lesbianism can potentially expand or contract as people struggle to define it.

4) People don’t always meet the community expectations attached to their identity.

I think these passages help complicate the picture of what lesbian identities can look like, and some of these same tensions and debates are common features of lesbian identity in many different cultures. I also think these issues--the (differential) weight given to relationships with men, the notion of positive versus negative lesbians, and the active appropriation of lesbianism by peripheral members--are relevant to bisexual interest, since these questions also shape bi women’s engagement in lesbianism/lesbian communities. (And we can say that without claiming that any particular women in these narratives are “really bisexual.”)

Anyway, without further ado... (this first one picks up right in the middle of a passage because I couldn’t get the previous page on the google preview :T)

From “Desiring Bodies or Defiant Cultures: Butch-Femme Lesbians in Jakarta and Lima,” by Saskia E. Wieringa, in Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices Across Cultures, eds. Evelyn Blackwood and Saskia E. Wieringa, 1999:

“[...]negative lesbians. We are positive lesbians. We are pure, 100% lesbian. With them you can never know. Before you know it, they are seeing a man again, and we are given the good-bye.”

Father Abraham, who had entered during her last words, took over. “Let me explain. … Take Koes. Again and again her girlfriends leave her. Soon she’ll be old and lonely. Who will help her then? For these girls it is just an adventure, while for butches like Koes it is their whole life.”“Yes, well, Abraham, … my experience is limited, of course, but it seems to me that the femmes flee the same problems that make life so hard for the butches. So they’d rather support each other.”

“In any case,” Sigit added, ‘they have become active now, that’s why they’re here, isn’t that so?” And she looked questioningly at the three dolls behind the typing machine, Roekmi and my neighbour. The most brazen femme had been nodding in a mocking manner while Sigit and I were talking.

“So we’re only supposed to be wives? We’re not suited for something serious, are we? Maybe we should set up a wives’ organization, Dharma Wanita,[23] the Dharma Wanita PERLESIN? Just like all those other organizations of the wives of civil servants and lawyers?” …

“Come on, Ari,” Sigit insisted, “why don’t you just ask them? You could at least ask them whether they want to join?” Ari found it extremely hard. Helplessly she looked at the other butches.

“Do you really mean that i should ask whether our wives would like to join / our / organization?” One of the butches nodded.

“Ok, fine.” She directed herself to the dolls.

“Well, what do you want? Do you want to join us? But in that case you shouldn’t just say yes, then you should also be involved with your whole heart.”

“You never asked that of the others,” the brazen femme pointed out, “but yes, I will definitely dedicate myself to the organization.” Roekmi and the two femmes at her side also nodded. (Wieringa 1987:89-91)

The above example is indicative of the social marginalization of the b/f community. it also captures in it one of its moments of transformation. The defiance of the femmes of the code that prescribes the division of butches and femmes into “positive” and “negative” lesbians respectively indicates a more active appropriation of lesbianism as a core element of their subjectivity. At the same time it illustrates the hegemony of the dominant heterosexual culture with its gendered principles of organization.

Yet, however much the butches conformed to male gender behavior they didn’t define themselves as male; their relation to their bodies was rather ambiguous. at times they defined themselves as a third sex, which is nonfemale[…]. [...] [Butches’] call for organization was not linked to a feminist protest against rigid gender norms. Rather they felt that nature had played a trick on them and they they had to devise ways to confront the dangers to which this situation gave rise. Jakarta’s b/f lesbians when I met them in the early eighties were not in the least interested in feminism. In fact, the butches among them were more concerned with the case of a friend of them who was undergoing a sex change operation. They clearly considered it an option, but none of them decided to follow this example. When I asked them why, all of them mentioned the health risks involved and the costs. None of them stated that they rather preferred their own bodies. Their bodies, although the source of sexual pleasure and as such the object of constant attention, didn’t make it any too easy for them to get the satisfaction they sought or, at least, to attract the partners they desired.

From "Let Them Take Ecstasy: Class and Jakarta Lesbians," by Alison J. Murray, in Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices Across Cultures, eds. Evelyn Blackwood and Saskia E. Wieringa, 1999:

Covert lesbian activities are thus an adaptation to the ideological context, where the distinction between hidden and exposed sexual behavior allows for fluidity in sexual relations (“everyone could be said to be bisexual” according to Oetomo 1995) as long as the primary presentation is heterosexual/monogamous. It is not lesbian activity that has been imported from the West, but the word lesbi used to label the Western concept of individual identity based on a fixed sexuality. I have not found that Indonesian women like to use the label to describe themselves, since it is connected to unpleasant stereotypes and the pathological view of deviance derived from Freudian psychology (cf Foucault 1978).

The concept of butch-femme also has a different meaning in Indonesia from the current Western use which implies a subversion of norms and playful use of roles and styles (cf Nestle 1992). In Indonesia (and other parts of Southeast Asia, such as the Philippines, Thailand’s tom-and-dee: Chetame 1995) the roles are quite strictly, or restrictively, defined and are related to popular, pseudo-psychological explanations of the “real” lesbian. In the simple terms of popular magazines, the butch (sentul) is more than 50% lesbian, or incurably lesbi, while the femme (kantil) is less than 50% lesbian, or potentially normal. Blackwood’s (1994) description of her secretive relationship with a butch-identified woman in Sumatra brings up some cross-cultural differences and difficulties that they experienced and could not speak about publicly. The Sumatran woman adopted masculine signifies and would not be touched sexually herself; she wanted to be called “pa” by Blackwood, who she expected to behave as a “good wife.” Meanwhile, Blackwood’s own beliefs, as well as her higher status due to class and ethnicity, made it hard to take on the passive female role.

I want to emphasize here that behavior needs to be conceptually separated from identity, as both are contextually specific and constrained by opportunity. It is common for young women socialized into a rigid heterosexual regime, in Asia or the West, to experience their sexual feelings in terms of gender confusion: “If I am attracted to women, then I must be a man trapped in a woman’s body.” Women are not socialized to seek out a sexual partner (of any kind), or to be sexual at all, so an internal “feeling” may never be expressed unless there are role models or opportunities available. If the butch-femme stereotype, as presented in the Indonesian popular media, is the only image of lesbians available outside the metropolis (e.g., in Sumatra), then this may affect how women express their feelings. However, urban lower-class lesbians engage in a range of styles and practices: some use butch style consciously to earn peer respect, while others reject the butch as out-dated. The stereotype of all lower-class lesbians whether following butch-femme roles or conforming to one subcultural pattern is far from the case and reflects the media and elite’s lack of real knowledge about street life. […]

The imagery of sickness creates powerful stigmatization and internalized homophobia: women may refer to themselves as sakit (sick). An ex-lover of mine in Jakarta is quite happy to state a preference for women while at the same time expressing disgust at the word lesbi and at the sight of a butch dyke; however, I have generally found that the stigma around lesbian labels and symbols is not translated into discrimination against individuals based on their sexual activities. I have been surprised to discover how many women in Jakarta will either admit to having sex with women or to being interested in it, but again, this is only rarely accompanied by an open lesbian (or bisexual) identity. I have found it hard to avoid the word “lesbian” to refer to female-to-female sexual relations, but it should not be taken to imply a permanent self-identity. It is very important to try and understand the social contexts of behavior, in order to avoid drawing conclusions based on inappropriate Western notions of lesbian identity, community, or “queer” culture.

From “Beyond the ‘Closet’: The Voices of Lesbian Women in Yogyakarta,” by Tracy L Wright Webster, 2004:

Most importantly a supportive community group of lesbian, bisexual and transgender women is essential, given that these sexualities are thrust together in Sektor 15. Potentially, a group comprised of women from each of these categories, that is lesbian, bisexual or transgender, may prove problematic to say the least, given that the needs and issues of each group are different. Clearly the informal communities already in existence in Yogya are indicators of this. Any formal or organized groupings would certainly benefit by modeling on current, though informal organisations. In the lesbian network, transgendered women (those who wish to become men or who consider themselves male) are not affiliated, however many ‘femme’ identified women who have been and intend to be involved in heterosexual relationships in the future, are among the group in partnership with their ‘butch’ pacar (Indo: girlfriend/boyfiend/lover).

Organisations of women questioning sexuality have existed in Yogya in the past. A butch identified respondent said she was involved in the formation of a lesbian, bisexual and transgender network in collaboration with another Indonesian woman, who also identified as butch, 20 years her senior. The group was called Opo (Javanese:what) or Opo We (Jav:whatever), the name highlighting that any issue could be discussed or entered into within the group. Members were an amalgam of both of the women’s friends and acquaintances. The underlying philosophy of the group was that “regardless of a woman’s life experience, marriage, children…it is her basic human right to live as a lesbian if she has the sexual inclination”. The elder founding member of this group, now 46, married a man and had a child. She now lives with her husband (in name only), child and female partner in the same home. Although this arrangement according to the interviewee “is rare… because the husband is there, she is spared the questions from the neighbours”. Here I must add that it is common in Java for lesbians to marry to fulfill their social role as mothers, and then to separate from their husbands to live their lives in partnership with a woman. This trend however is more common among the ‘femme’ group.

From "(Re)articulations: gender and same-sex subjectivities in Yogyakarta, Indonesia," by Tracy Wright Webster, in Intersections: Gender and Sexuality in Asia and the Pacific, Issue 18, Oct 2008:

Lesbi subjectivities Since gender, for the most part, determines sexuality in Java, sexuality and gender cannot be analysed as discrete categories.[64] For all of the self-identified butchi participants, lesbi was the term used to describe their sexuality. This is contrary to the findings of two key researchers of female same-sex sexuality in Indonesia. Alison Murray's research in Jakarta in the 1980s suggests that females of same-sex attraction did not like the term 'lesbian'[65] due to its connection with 'unpleasant stereotypes' and deviant pathologies.[66] In 1995, Gayatri found that media representations depicting lesbi as males trapped in female bodies encouraged same-sex attracted women to seek new, contemporary descriptors.[67] The participants in this research, however, embraced the term lesbi as an all-encompassing descriptor of female same-sex attraction and as Boellstorff has noted in 2000, Indonesian lesbi tend to see themselves as part of a wider international lesbian network.[68]

The term lesbi has been used in Indonesia since the 1980s, although not commonly or consistently. Lines, les, lesbian, lesbo, lesbong and L, among others, are also used. Female same-sex/lesbi subjectivities in Yogya are not strongly associated with political motivations and the subversion of heteropatriarchy as they were among the Western lesbian feminists of the 1960s. By the time most of the participants in this research were born, the term lesbi had already become infused in Indonesian discourses of sexuality among the urban elite (though with negative connotations in most cases), and has since become commonly used both by females of same-sex attraction to describe themselves, and by others. Most learnt from peers at school and through reading Indonesian magazines.

However, public use of the term lesbi and expression of lesbi subjectivity has its risks. Murray's research on middle to upper class lesbians suggests that females identifying as lesbi have more to lose than lower class lesbi in terms of social position and the power invested in that class positioning. This is particularly in relation to their position in the family.[69] Conversely, her work also shows that lower class lesbi 'have the freedom to play without closing off their options.'[70] As Aji suggests, young females, particularly of the priyayi class may not be in a position to resist the social stigma attached to lesbianism and the possible consequences of rejection or abuse. Yusi faced this reality despite the fact that s/he had not declared herself lesbi. Hir gendered subjectivity meant that s/he did not conform to stereotypical feminine ideals and desires.

With so much at stake, many lesbi remain invisible. Heteronormative and feminine gendered expectations for females in part explain why lesbians may indeed be the 'least known population group in Indonesia.'[71] Collusion in invisibility can be seen here as a protective strategy. The lesbi community or keluarga (family) is what Murray refers to as a 'strategic community' of the lesbian subculture.[72] The strategic nature of the community lies in its sense of protection: the community provides a safe haven for disclosure. Invisibility, however, also arises through the factors I mentioned earlier: the normative feminine representations of femme, their tendency to express lesbi subjectivity only while in partnership with a butchi, and their tendency to marry. Invisibility, as a form of discretion, however, may also be chosen.

Gender complementary butchi/femme subjectivities [...] Due to the apparently fixed nature of butchi identities and subjectivities and their reluctance to sleep with males, they are seen as 'true lesbians,'[79] lesbian sejati, an image perpetuated through the media.[80] Similar to the butchi/femme communities in Jakarta, in Yogya, butchi are identified by their strict codes of dress and behaviour which include short hair, sometimes slicked back with gel, collared button up shirts and trousers bought in menswear stores, large-faced watches and bold rings. Butchi characteristically walk with a swagger and smoke in public places. In her research in the 1980s, Wieringa noticed that within lesbi communities in Jakarta the strict 'surveillance and socialisation 'may have contributed to the fixed nature of butchi identities.[81] In Yogya, this is particularly evident in the socialisation of younger lesbi by senior lesbi (a theme I explore elsewhere in my current research).

The participants held individual perspectives on butchness. Aji's butchness is premised on hir masculine gender subjectivity and desire for a partner of complementary gender. Yusi expresses hir butchness differently and relates it to dominance in the relationship and in sex play. The participants who told of the sexual roles within the relationship emphasised their active butchi roles during sex. As Wieringa suggests, this does not necessarily imply femme passivity as femme 'stress their erotic power over their butches.'[82] It does, however, indicate one way in which the butchi I interviewed articulate their sexual agency.

Femme subjectivities, on the other hand, are generally conceived of as transient. As many of the interviews illustrate, femme are expected by their butchi partners to marry and have children: butchi see them as bisexual. In public, and indeed if they marry, they are seen as heterosexual, though their heterosexual practice may not be exclusive. In the 1980s, Wieringa observed that femme 'dressed in an exaggerated fashion, in dresses with ribbons and frills...always wore make up and high heels.'[83] In the new millennium, the femme I met were also fashion savvy though not in an exaggerated sense. Generally they wore hip-hugging, breast-accentuating tight gear, had long hair and wore lipstick and low-heeled pumps. Their feminine representations were stereotypical: it was through association with butchi with in the lesbi community that femme subjectivities become visible.

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-One

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-One: Heartbreak

Adrien hadn’t intended to eavesdrop.

His only aim in coming above deck was to ask Luka what he wanted to make for dinner, since it was their turn to cook for the family.

In the upstairs living room, he found Luka and Xavier-Yves, curled up conspiratorially on the couch and looking like they were having a serious discussion.

Not wanting to interrupt, Adrien turned to go, but, just then, he caught XY saying, “I wrote a song about you”. Adrien froze, interest piqued.

“Er…actually, about us. Our relationship,” XY revised sheepishly. “Would you wanna hear it?”

Adrien certainly did.

He mentally kicked himself for never thinking to serenade Luka before as he began to fret over what his love rival had come up with.

“You wrote a song about us?” Luka chuckled, wide-eyed with delight and looking thoroughly touched at XY’s romantic gesture. “That’s so awesome, Xavier-Yves. Of course I want to hear it.”

XY perked up, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

Luka nodded. “Yeah.”

That was all the encouragement Xavier-Yves needed. He whipped out his laptop and cued up the song.

Adrien hadn’t listened to XY’s music much over the years. Chloé had a fondness for it, so he’d heard some when he was in his early teens, but after XY and Bob Roth’s stunt of stealing Kitty Section’s song, Adrien had made a point to avoid XY’s music when at all possible.

The song Xavier-Yves played for Luka now didn’t really resemble what Adrien remembered. It was still electronic, synthesized music, but it was nothing like the brain-rotting drivel Adrien had listened to with Chloé five years previously.

It was still repetitive, but instead of being relentless and grating, it put Adrien more in mind of the work of Philip Glass. There was a point to the repetition. It grew and changed subtly, building on what had come before and evolving with each layer XY added.

It was amazing to witness how transformed XY’s music was from what Adrien had heard previously, and the debt Xavier-Yves owed to Luka’s influence was obvious. With Luka’s guidance, XY’s music had become complex and sophisticated even.

The song started with a tense passage in the strings with percussion striking like thunder and flutes playing slippery, serpentine melodies reminiscent of lightning fliting across the sky.

“This is when we first met,” XY narrated, nervously watching Luka’s face, tracking his reactions.

The storm in the music quickly abated and took on a bouncing quality as a new theme was introduced.

“And this is us becoming friends,” Xavier-Yves informed, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

The passage kind of reminded Adrien of the chorus of Sweet’s Fox on the Run. It was an odd shift, but XY’s song was filled with weird juxtapositions of genres and styles like that that somehow managed to blend together and work to tell the story XY wanted.

Adrien tensed as an electric violin played a leitmotif that sounded exactly like Luka’s laugh.

Luka recognized it too and, caught off guard, started to laugh, only highlighting how exactly XY had captured the sound in his song.

“That’s brilliant, Prune. You got it just right,” Luka praised, clapping XY on the back.

Adrien tried to quell the spike of jealousy that shot through him, but it was so hard to fight the negative feelings when it felt like XY’s success was at Adrien’s expense.

The melody gradually morphed again, slowing down and taking on an achingly vulnerable pining quality.

A light crease developed between Luka’s brows as he struggled to place the emotion in the music and then tie it to something in his relationship with XY.

Adrien recognized the emotion right away, though. It was soul-baring longing so raw and honest that Adrien couldn’t help but be moved by it.

He wished he could be so honest with Luka about his own feelings.

Before Luka could puzzle out what that part of the song meant, the music changed again.

A shimmering, breathtaking piano solo emerged from the pining theme and took off at a run, its heart so full of hope that it brought tears to Adrien’s eyes.

The melody broke free and soared triumphantly until it disappeared over the horizon, sparkling out of existence with a graceful flourish.

Luka was left speechless as a single tear trickled down his cheek.

XY smiled tentatively. “…So…what did you think?”

“Xavier-Yves…” Luka breathed, “…that was truly beautiful.”

XY’s hesitant smile bloomed into a wide grin of pride and delight. “Yeah? You thought so?”

Luka nodded emphatically. “I loved it. I just… What was…what was that last part? What came after the part about us becoming friends? I’m not sure if I…”

He bit his lip, trailing off as he searched XY’s face.

Xavier-Yves’s grin softened, and a warm look came into his eyes. “That was me falling in love with you.”

Luka’s breath caught in his throat.

“I really like you, you know?” XY explained, reaching up to cup Luka’s cheek.

Adrien willed his feet to move and his voice to come unglued from where it was stuck in his throat, but he found himself mute and fixed in place like a decorative sculpture.

“People don’t really treat me so good,” XY elaborated earnestly. “I mean, I know I’m kind of dumb and obnoxious, but…but you’ve always been kind and patient.”

“Xavier-Yves…” Luka whispered, still dazed at this revelation and trying to sort out everything he was feeling.

“You believed in me and told me I could amount to something when my dad said I was useless and stupid and talentless,” XY stressed passionately. “You made me think there was something good about me after all…so I don’t think it’s weird, me falling in love with you.”

Luka’s eyes zeroed in on Xavier-Yves’s lips as their faces slowly drew nearer and nearer.

Adrien watched as Luka’s eyes slipped shut and he closed the distance between them.

Adrien felt something crack inside of his chest. It was a lot like being impaled.

Silently, he backed away and slipped back below deck. He made a beeline for his cabin, deaf to Plagg’s attempts at comfort as he buried his face in his pillow and sobbed.

It had been hard enough to accept that there was no future for him and Marinette. Being star-crossed a second time felt too cruel. He didn’t think he had it in him to put himself back together and fall in love a third time.

His shattered heart couldn’t take it.

 Luka was just about to deepen the kiss when his brain caught up with his body.

He pulled back with a gasp.

“Sorry. Did I do something wrong? I’ve never done this before,” Xavier-Yves hastily rushed to explain.

Luka shook his head, mentally cursing himself for screwing everything up. “No. No, you’re a great kisser. That was awesome. I just…”

He winced. “I’m sorry. I can’t do this. There’s a part of me that wants to. I mean, I really do like you, but… It’s complicated,” Luka finished with a groan, looking up, ashamed, at XY, his eyes pleading for forgiveness. “I think we should just stay friends. I’m sorry.”

A wry smile curled up the corners of XY’s mouth. “Because of Adrien?”

Luka’s whole face went red, but he forced himself to look Xavier-Yves in the eyes as he nodded. “Not for the reason you think, though.”

XY quirked an eyebrow, settling back against the couch cushions. “Oh, yeah? Are you going to try to tell me that you’re not in love with him? Because, if you’re gonna turn me down, Six Strings, I’d like you to be honest about it.”

Luka’s face scrunched up in a grimace. “No. I wasn’t going to lie. I do have feelings for Adrien. I have for a long time, and, I mean…I do get the sense that he might be starting to reciprocate at least a little, but that’s not the reason I’m saying no to you. I’m not picking him over you. It’s not like that.”

XY nodded, seeing that Luka truly believed what he was saying. “Okay. So? What is it like?”

“Adrien’s been kind of rough lately with everything that’s happened. He’s in no shape to be in a relationship anyway, even if I did tell him how I feel and he felt the same,” Luka explained. “Adrien doesn’t have a whole lot of people he feels like he can count on in his life, so I really need to focus on being there for him. I can’t date right now, Prune. Not anyone.”

XY hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I mean…it’s kind of messed up to put your whole life on hold for someone like that, but…I get it.”

Luka blinked, surprised that this conversation was going so well. “Wait. What? You do?”

XY nodded. “I know how you are. You always put yourself last when someone you care about needs you. You’d do the same if it was me having the meltdown or one of your sisters or your ex, Jacob, or whoever, you know? You’re just like that.”

A sheepish smile gradually made itself at home on Luka’s lips. “I do have a bit of a martyr complex, don’t I?”

XY held up his thumb and pointer finger, bringing them so that they were only a few centimeters apart. “Just a teeny, weenie bit…but I’d put my life on hold for you too, so…I get how you feel about Adrien, even if I don’t like it.”

Luka winced again as guilt weighed down on him. “Prune, I’m so sorry. I—”

XY held up a hand. “Just answer me this: could you love me, do you think?”

Luka bit his lip, not wanting to lead his friend on but not wanting to lie either. “Xavier-Yves, I don’t want you waiting around for me.”

XY shrugged. “Tough. Sometimes you don’t get what you want. Isn’t that what you taught me? Just answer the question.”

Luka sighed. “Oh, all right. Yes, but please don’t wait around for me.”

“I do what I want,” XY snickered. “I know you’re picking Adrien, but there’s no telling when he could screw it up and give me a chance to sweep you off your feet.”

“Xavier-Yves,” Luka groaned.

XY tussled Luka’s hair with an affectionate smile. “All joking aside, I hope you change your mind about me, but I just want you to be happy, Six Strings. Okay?”

Luka’s eyes narrowed as he tried to discern any hint of deceit.

He found none.

“For real?” he asked in amazement.

Xavier-Yves nodded. “For real. So…can we still be friends? How does this work?”

“Absolutely,” Luka assured vehemently. “I never want to lose what we have, Prune. If we could just go on like we have been…?”

XY nodded in agreement. “I’d be down with that. Besides, who knows? Maybe one day I’ll get lucky and you and Adrien and me can be a threesome. The kid’s kind of cute when he’s not being a brat.”

Luka burst out laughing.

He shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Adrien’s cute especially when he’s being a brat.”

“You can have him when he’s in brat mode, then,” XY snorted, starting to pack up his things. “But I should skedaddle. I’ve got to meet up with my dad to talk about my next album. Want me to text you when I’m done?”

“Please,” Luka responded, leaning in to press a whisper of a kiss to XY’s cheek. “Thanks, Prune.”

Xavier-Yves grinned, winking as he got to his feet. “Sure thing, Six Strings. Check ya later.”

“Later,” Luka echoed, waving after XY as he went.

As XY disappeared from view, Luka took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to process everything that had just happened.

He sat for a few minutes, waiting until he felt more grounded to get up and head for his room. He needed an instrument to help him sort through everything. Maybe his guitar or violin. He always processed best through those.

He stopped in the narrow hallway just outside his door when he thought he heard something.

Frowning, he listened hard, and it wasn’t long before he heard the muffled, choked sound again.

He took a few steps and stopped outside of Adrien’s cabin door to listen again.

It was now more apparent that the strangled sobs were coming from within.

“Adrien?” He knocked perfunctorily before opening the door and finding Adrien curled up in a ball around his pillow, bawling his eyes out.

“Adrien,” he breathed, rushing to his beloved’s side. “Hey, what’s the matter? What happened?”

Adrien gasped, sitting up and gawking at Luka in horror.

“N-Nothing. I—Nothing,” he insisted even as he gritted his teeth in his effort to stop the tears.

His lip trembled, unable to help itself in Adrien’s distress.

“Oh, P5,” Luka muttered, kicking his shoes off and climbing up onto the bed with Adrien. “Come here.”

He pulled Adrien onto his lap and squeezed him tightly, cooing, “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Just let it out.”

To both of their surprise, Adrien did.

He clung to Luka as a fresh wave of grief washed over him.

Dutifully, Luka held him, rocking him from side to side and making reassuring noises. He didn’t let go until Adrien had worn himself out.

Adrien didn’t have the strength to fight as Luka gently cleaned up his face for him afterwards. He also found himself unable to protest when Luka tugged him into the main cabin and snuggled up on the couch with him.

It barely registered when Luka started Castle in the Sky, and Adrien remained nearly catatonic through dinner.

The fog of misery only cleared at bedtime when Luka tried to herd Adrien into his own cabin, saying, “Why don’t you come sleep in my room tonight?”

“I want to be alone,” Adrien insisted petulantly, trying to pull away.

Luka’s grip on him tightened. “I don’t think that’s the best idea right now.”

“I said I want to be alone,” Adrien growled, finding the strength within him to break away.

He turned on his heel and fled to his cabin, taking refuge under his covers from the world.

His solitude only lasted a matter of minutes.

Luka entered and silently made up a sleeping bag on the floor as Adrien glared him down.

“…I’m sorry,” Luka finally sighed, taking a seat on top of his blankets and meeting Adrien’s hostile gaze. “I won’t talk to you or anything, so just pretend I’m not here.”

“What do you want from me?” Adrien demanded half testily, half sulkily.

Luka shook his head. “Nothing. I just want to make sure you’re all right. I’m really worried about you, Adrien.” He hesitated before adding, “Whatever’s going on, I’m here, okay? I love you. I hope you know that.”

It was too much.

Tears spilled freely down Adrien’s cheeks, and he quickly absconded back under the covers.

Half an hour passed in relative silence as Adrien struggled to get his emotions under control and Luka stared up at the ceiling, feeling helpless.

“…Orpheus?” Adrien called, voice raw and plaintive as he peeked out from under the covers.

Luka sat up. “Yeah? What is it? Are you okay?”

Adrien swallowed audibly. “…Could you come up here and just…just hold me, please?”

Luka breathed out a sigh of relief, smiling indulgently as he climbed over Adrien to take his place by the wall.

“Happy to help,” he assured, slipping under the covers and pulling Adrien close.

Adrien wrapped himself around Luka like a vine, burying his face in Luka’s neck. “Sorry. And sorry about the way I’m acting. I’m not being fair. It’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

“It’s okay,” Luka replied reassuringly. “Thank you for the apology, though. I appreciate it…. Do you maybe want to talk about it?”

Adrien shook his head definitively. “No. Thank you.”

“Okay,” Luka agreed, backing off the issue.

In the morning, if Adrien still didn’t want to talk, Luka would encourage him to go see Nino or Marinette or check with Doctor Katsuragi to see if she had an opening for them to discuss Adrien’s sudden turn for the worse.

“…I…I love you too,” Adrien hiccupped.

Luka squeezed him tighter, giving his hair a nuzzle. “I know. Don’t worry, Angel. I’m not going anywhere. We’re going to get through this together, all right?”

Adrien nodded, but his tears started to fall faster.

[actualbird]

nobody asked but here is every unraveled episode (as of may 2020) as how they’d be as a lover | a 2.5k word long post written in the style of an unraveled about unraveled and also love

Ah. Unraveled. Polygon’s golden boy of a video series where Brian David Gilbert is beckoned into a suit, lured into a blackbox studio, and is only granted escape after he has explained to three cameras whatever batshit video game adjacent thesis he has been cursed with this time. Unraveled is a wonderful video series, and we all love it.

But what if it could love us?

If you’ve ever asked this question to yourself, boy, do I have some content for you, because for the past 2 days, I’ve been working on this post where, for entirely too long, I explain to you how each Unraveled episode would be as a lover. And more importantly, which ones would be the best lovers.

Before I fall deep into this unhinged hole and take you down with me, I need to explain some things.

First: I want to make it clear that I am not categorizing BDG as he portrays himself in each Unraveled. I am instead taking each Unraveled episode as a fully formed being, the story, performance, etc, and letting that shape a character of its own. This character is where I extrapolate details from to create an Unraveled episode’s qualities as a lover. What I’m basically doing is anthropomorphizing Polygon dot com video content. And then making you date them. If this doesn’t make sense, don’t worry, it will as you read along. And if it helps you to visualize the Unraveled Episode As A Lover, I invite you to just imagine whomever it is you are most attracted to---or for those who don’t experience attraction, whomever it is you find most aesthetically pleasing---and then just add in the wild personality traits I describe through the course of this post.

Second: I know what you’re thinking. “Avian, the characteristics of what makes a good lover is subjective!” And I wholeheartedly agree. I’ve been through college, and I’ve witnessed my friends whom I love so dearly enter relationships with some of the most wack ass motherfuckers I’ve ever met. I know that people are into different things. But do I judge them for it? Well, kinda, yeah! Yes, what we want in a lover is subjective, but I’ve consumed a metric fuckton of romance media over the course of my life and am also in a wonderful relationship with my own girlfriend, and thus have my own personal idealized ranking for what makes a good lover. Feel free to disagree with my rankings of Unraveled Lovers, but also, I’m writing this post. I say this with as much love as I possibly can, but if you disagree with me, make your own post. If you don’t wanna make your own post, you’re just going to have to trust me for 2.1k more words.

With that out of the way, let me take you on a journey through the 23 Unraveled Lovers, from worst to best.

BAD TIER: I would probably advise you to break up with these Unraveled Lovers as soon as you are emotionally capable of doing so.

Hoo boy, we’re starting at the bottom. The perfectionists, the nitpickers, the emotionally unavailables. These Unraveled Lovers would have good intentions, but just have aspects within their personality that will wear you and your relationship together down until both of you can no longer take it.

“Ranking all 200+ Megaman robots” is a lover obsessed with the concept of “is this worth it?” They would unknowingly but inevitably rank parts of your own personality on a scale of ‘worth the trouble in this relationship’ and ‘not worth the trouble’. Any lover who deals with you with this kind of dichotomy is somebody you should not be with. You should be accepted and loved for all your parts, the beautiful and the ugly.

“How to make the perfect E3 press conference” is a lover who spent years consuming romance media and has a list of what makes the perfect relationship. So not only do they have unrealistic expectations for what a relationship is, but they will be obsessed with reaching that unreachable perfection. That will definitely put a strain on your relationship until the veneer of desired perfection crumbles away, leaving you both tired and sad.

On a less deep note, “How to tell apart all 596 Fire Emblem characters” just won’t remember any of the names of your friends or family. Sure, they’ll try, but they’ll give up in like 15 minutes and you’ll never be able to take this Unraveled Lover to a family reunion or a party with your friends. Probably not a dealbreaker, but as the Spice Girls said “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.” This Unraveled Lover will not. Next.

“No one asked but I found Mortal Kombat’s best cuddler” and “I wasted 3 weeks of my life finding Castlevania’s hottest monster” are two Unraveled Lovers with a similar problem: they both won’t shut the fuck up about their exes. Mortal Kuddler constantly brings up all the other cuddles they’ve experienced and Castlevanias Hottest Monster will tell you you’re beautiful, but also bring up like 69 other monsters they think are also beautiful. This might not be a red flag, but personally, this would tire me out, always being thought of in comparison or contrast to others.

That ends the BAD TIER and brings us to the OKAY TIER where a large chunk of the Unraveled Lovers fall into, so much so that I had to create more specific sub tiers under the OKAY TIER.

So let’s get into the OKAY TIER: These Unraveleds Lovers are alright, you’ll just have a sublimely weird relationship.

These Unraveled Lovers will treat you right but they’re also just very peculiar. Nothing wrong with that at all, but I’m here to explain to you just in what ways these okayest lovers are bizarre. Let’s start with the first sub tier.

OKAY SUB TIER: College Students who are way too into their major

There are a lot of Unraveled Lovers under this subtier, and this shouldn’t surprise you, because Unraveleds are inherently nerdy. These are lovers that will be good to you but also just never fucking shut up about what it is they’re studying.

“I read all 337 books of Skyrim so that you don’t have to” and "Understanding Kingdom Hearts (and every other story" are Creative Writing majors obsessed with analyzing every single thing they read. As a Creative Writing major myself, I would advise you to never date a Creative Writing major unless you are a Creative Writing major yourself. I think that’s the only way the relationship can be ethical. Being sent essays from the New Yorker every day would be torture if you didn’t actively enjoy it.

“We made all 78 Breath of Wild recipes in one day” is a Culinary Arts major and, score, they’re gonna wanna cook for you! A lot! Beware though, because it’ll be a hit or miss on whether or not the food will be good, but you must admit, that there is nothing quite as attractive as your lover making you food (let’s just hope the food doesn’t harm you).

“Smash Bros. owes millions of dollars in OSHA violations” is going to law school and that should be a dealbreaker in itself, but I’ll be a bit lenient because they’re always working towards the safety of everybody. This Unraveled Lover will always remind you to put your seatbelt on and also tell you exactly what laws you are violating.

“Bowser’s military hierarchy” is a Political Science major, and Political Science majors scare me. So I’ll just say they’re okay, and leave it at that.

“Which Dark Souls Boss is the best manager?” is a rare non-evil Management major because they actually truly care for the welfare of employees. They just will always talk about it, even when you guys are on a date. I know worker’s rights are important, but it’s not exactly what I want to talk about in between kisses, yknow?

“I fixed Fallout’s music by creating a totally new genre” is a Music major who keeps accidentally making Ska love songs to you. You didn’t know Ska love songs could be a thing. This Unraveled Lover makes it a thing.

“Scientifically Calculating the Game of the Year” is a Math major so you will never have to worry about calculating bills because they can do it for you.

“Calculate your pet’s HP with my 100% legitimate formula” is a Veterinary Medicine major so if you’re an animal lover, this Unraveled is the one for you! Just beware, because this Unraveled Lover will also spend a lot of time observing you from afar to quantify your health points, but both of you will inexplicably find this activity strengthens your relationship.

And last but not least for this sub tier, “When can Mario retire?” is a disillusioned Accounting and Finance major who chose this line of study to get a job and, through the years, realized what a hellscape capitalism is. You may have to deal with a lot of zoning out and staring off into the distance, with this Unraveled Lover, but a lover who hates capitalism sure is a good egg.

That brings us to our next sub tier!

OKAY SUB TIER: Cultists or Conspiracy Theorists (AKA...College Students who are way too into their extracurriculars)

These Unraveled Lovers are alright! They’re just a little bit off the shits.

“Every Sonic game is blasphemous” will get really really worked up about things and probably try to start a cult. For most, that’s a definite dealbreaker, but what makes Sonic Bible an okay lover is that they eventually calm down from the cult outburst and apologize. So this Unraveled Lover will treat you well, you just have to be ready to ground them when they get a little bit bonkers.

“Solving the Zelda Timeline in 15 minutes” is very similar to Sonic Bible, except instead of starting a cult, every once in a while they’ll just sit you down on a chair and explain to you their latest obsession while slowly and intensely stripping. Which, hey, that could make for a fun night, if you’re into that kinda stuff! Definitely okay in my book.

That brings us to our last okay sub tier.

OKAY SUB TIER: Your Unraveled Lover might need to schedule some sessions with a therapist, and that’s Okay

Listen, we all have baggage. We all have problems. These are Unraveled Lovers who want to be the best for you, but at the same time have issues of their own, and you’re going to have to support them when they pop into their local psych clinic to make themselves better people.

“Waluigi” is an Unraveled Lover who is going through some identity issues. They want to be good for you, but they don’t even know who exactly they are. They may feel as if they are tricking you into being in this relationship, that they aren’t who you think they are, and while these fears are irrational, they wholeheartedly believe it and will never feel fully secure in this relationship until they have made peace with themselves. If you love this Unraveled Lover, you’re going to have to stick with them as they learn more about who they are.

“Kirby” is an Unraveled Lover who, for some reason, is obsessed with the constant quest to make things make sense. This need of theirs bleeds into every aspect of their life and can definitely affect your relationship. This Unraveled Lover may sometimes perhaps cite that they don’t deserve you because they can’t seem to figure out a logical and objective answer for why you are with them. This issue of treating everything like a puzzle to solve is an issue they will have to work out and recover from, and they will be receptive to this process of recovery because they cherish the relationship they have with you and understand that not everything has to be solved; some things can just be felt. If you choose to stay with this Unraveled Lover, you must be prepared to support them when they take a mysterious but needed soul searching journey in the woods. You must be prepared to sit with them along the shores of the beach and reassure them that life is about living, not about answers.

And that, dear readers, ends the OKAY TIERs. Now it’s time for the tier you have all been waiting for.

Drumroll, please!

GOOD TIER: Pop open the champagne, bring out the strawberries dipped in chocolate, and let Spotify play Careless Whisper, baby, because we’re in the Ideal Lover zone.

Welcome to the Ideal Lover Zone. Here, we have three Unraveled Lovers who are just extremely good fellas.

“I used the Sims to perfect my apartment” is an Unraveled Lover who will work their hardest to be the best for you, but unlike the BAD TIER perfectionists, it will naturally dawn to them that perfection is unattainable. After this realization, they will find comfort and happiness in your romantic relationship and the other healthy relationships they have with other people. This Unraveled Lover will be sincere with you when the time calls for it, but will also not be afraid to be goofy for it. Above all, this Unraveled Lover will ask for help when they need it. They may often be shy, at first, but they understand their limits and will openly communicate to you when situations call for it. Communication is the bedrock of any good relationship, and this Unraveled Lover will never keep you guessing.

“The Perfect Pokerap” is similar to the Sims, in the sense that they will at first strive for perfection in the honeymoon phase of your relationship but then understand that that isn’t possible and then set more reasonable and realistic goals. What sets this Unraveled Lover out from the crowd though is just how much they cherish you. How devoted they are to you. The love you will feel in this relationship will be transcendental, and, even if you do break up, this Unraveled Lover will never forget you.

And finally. Who---according to me, a mildly delirious 21 year old rando on the internet---is the most ideal Unraveled Lover?

It’s “Find your Kojima name with my simple 11 page form.” Why? Because this Unraveled Lover wants to know you. They want to know everything about you, the parts you like and the parts you don’t like. This is a lover who will not shy away from any aspect of yourself, but instead, embrace you for who you are as a full fledged person.

They’ll also give you a whack ass pet name, and boy, isn’t that romantic?

Well, there you have it. All (as of May, 2020) of the Unraveled Episodes as 23 Unraveled Lovers. What did I learn from this endeavor? That romantic love is complicated, but if you’re into it, it is definitely worth the trials and tribulations.

...As long as I’m not dating the Castlevania Unraveled. Seriously, when we’re making out, I don’t wanna hear about how sexy the Hyena With Gun is. Learn how to read the room, dude.

(Thanks for reading.)

[otterskin]

Inverted Mobius, Mr. Tesseract and The Avatar of Truth

The mystery of the weird collar has deepened, thanks to @nebulousfishgills​ - by which I mean they totally solved it.

To those just joining me, I noticed this in my previous breakdown of the Loki trailer here.

Mr. Mobius, played by Owen Wilson, has an ‘inverted suit’. His collar is an indentation in his suit, rather than going on top of it.

So, first, a scene from Endgame that I seriously did think of when we learned there was a character called ‘Mobius M. Mobius’ in Loki (played by Owen Wilson). And yet I didn’t put this together. Thanks again to nebulousfish for making me realize that these things might not be coincidences.

When Mr. Stark is inventing time travel, he asks his AI to create a depiction of a Mobius Strip, inverted.

Which gets him this:

Anyway, what is a Mobius Strip, and who is Mobius M. Mobius? (Not to be confused with Morbius the Living Vampire, though wouldn’t it be funny if he was mistaken for Mobius M. if this show gets big first?)

I am not a quantum theorist or comic book aficionado by trade, so let’s do a Wikipedia-Fu on it.

In mathematics, a Möbius strip, band, or loop (US: /ˈmoʊbiəs, ˈmeɪ-/ MOH-bee-əs, MAY-, UK: /ˈmɜːbiəs/;[1]German: [ˈmøːbi̯ʊs]), also spelled Mobius or Moebius, is a surface with only one side (when embedded in three-dimensional Euclidean space) and only one boundary curve. The Möbius strip is the simplest non-orientable surface.

An example of a Möbius strip can be created by taking a strip of paper and giving one end a half-twist, then joining the ends to form a loop; its boundary is a simple closed curve which can be traced by a single unknotted string. Any topological space homeomorphic to this example is also called a Möbius strip, allowing for a very wide variety of geometric realizations as surfaces with a definite size and shape. For example, any rectangle can be glued left-edge to right-edge with a reversal of orientation. Some, but not all, of these can be smoothly modeled as surfaces in Euclidean space. A closely related, but not homeomorphic, surface is the complete open Möbius band, a boundaryless surface in which the width of the strip is extended infinitely to become a Euclidean line.A half-twist clockwise gives an embedding of the Möbius strip which cannot be moved or stretched to give the half-twist counterclockwise; thus, a Möbius strip embedded in Euclidean space is a chiral object with right- or left-handedness. The Möbius strip can also be embedded by twisting the strip any odd number of times, or by knotting and twisting the strip before joining its ends.

A Möbius strip does not self-intersect but its projection in 2 dimensions does.

Uh....right. Well, that clears everything up, doesn’t it?

Let’s crib off someone else’s work. Thanks to Thomas Wong on Medium, I was able to understand this a little better.

A Möbius strip is just a strip of paper, turned and taped together. It it only has one side, so an ant walking along the strip eventually returns to where he started. If we metaphorically interpret the ant, not as returning to a point in space, but a point in time, then it alludes to time travel.

...

As previously discussed, after a measurement, the quantum mixture (half born and half never born) becomes a definite state (born or never born). Finding the “spectral decomposition” is to find all the possible energies (eigenvalues) and states. Using these, one can determine how a quantum object evolves with time.

Combining this with the metaphoric interpretation of the Möbius strip, it could be that Stark found how to make quantum objects evolve such that they revisit a point in time, hence time travel.

Okay, that’s a little easier to understand. So how does this relate to the character Mobius M. Mobius, aside from him being named after the strip and the (apparently antiquated) ideas about time travel?

Well, he was based on Marvel Comics Legend Mark Gruenwald, a guy known for his passion for the lore of the comics, which he knew in innate detail. He even wrote the Official Handbooks and whatnot. Likewise, Mr. Mobius is a stickler for detail and one of the few members of the TVA even allowed a face - although it is off the rack, as he’s one an infinite number of clones (god I love the TVA so much already, it’s heaven for a Douglas Addams fan like me).

Despite being a clone, he rose through the ranks and is nearly the top guy, serving only underneath Mr. Alternity (and I am not familiar with these comics so feel free to correct me). Mr. Alternity has almost no comics history, but is based on editor Tom Brevoort.

There are several other misters, all of them near-identical to ‘Moby’. Mr. Orobourous, Mr. Paradox, Mr. Tesseract (!) and Mr. Oburos. They are also minor characters, but let’s look at all these names.

Clearly they are named after quantum theories of some-sort or another.

Mr. Mobius: Mobius Strip Theory - the idea that, essentially, is about the shape of time itself and the theory of traveling along that shape.

Mr. Alternity : Alternative universes

Mr. Ouroboros: A divine figure representing the beginning and the end of time in an endless cycle of death and rebirth.

Mr. Oburos - I’m not sure, but I think this is a variant of Ouroboros. 

Mr. Paradox - Temporal paradox, causal loops - ex. The Grandfather Paradox

Mr. Tesseract - An object that exists in 4 dimensions. Time is often called the fourth dimension.

Obviously that last one is interesting, considering how the Tesseract will be the start of our adventure. The Cosmic Cube was renamed for the MCU, and in the comics has no relation to this minor character.

But what if it now does?

What if Tony has caused a change in the very appearance of Mr. Mobius when he inverted the Mobius Strip - literally inverting his clothing because he changed the shape of the Mobius - does that mean that these seemingly human-looking misters are in fact some sort of avatars for aspects of time itself? And if Mr. Tesseract is representative of how space and time intersect in the fourth dimension, wouldn’t a rogue god twisting space and time with the device that shares his name cause him some affect? Perhaps why the TVA noticed something was amiss to begin with.

This would be a departure from the comics, but the characters have almost no history there. They are ripe for new ideas.

Or, then again, since Loki will be working for the TVA - perhaps he’s the one who becomes ‘Mr. Tesseract’?

But continuing with that ‘Avatar of Aspects’ idea, let’s get away from this sausagefest for a second and visit my next newest favourite character -

I’m guessing she’s one of the Justices of the TVA. What gives it away? The imperious look, the giant oaken table, or the fact that I’m suddenly self-conscious when she looks at me? It’s the last one, of course. She’s a natural judge.

Of the named TVA judges, there’s :

Justice Goodwill, Justice Hope, Justice Liberty, Justice Love, Justice Might, Justice Mills, Justice Peace and Justice Truth.

Could they also possibly be avatars of their respective aspects?

If I had to guess, I’d say this is Justice Truth, as pairing up Loki with an avatar of Truth seems like it’d be a smashing good time, similar to how he was paired with Verity Willis in the comics. She might even be a composite character with Verity.

Verity’s power is detecting and seeing through all lies and illusions. I think this powerset will be given to Justice Truth, except instead of deriving it from a magic ring that she swallowed, she’d simply be the actual ‘Embodiment of Truth’ - and let’s get real here, when I said ‘Avatars of Aspects’, I was using that clunky phrase because the more obvious one - God of - is already ‘taken’. So Justice Truth may well be the ‘God of Truth’, as it were.

I think she’ll end up in something of a buddy-comedy with Loki, giving him someone to bounce off against who literally cuts through his carefully crafted veneer.

I’m reminded of a great quote from Taika Waititi when he was talking about what he wanted to do with Loki in Ragnarok:

“(He’s) someone who tries so hard to embody this idea of the tortured artist, this tortured, gothy orphan...It’s too tiring trying to be like that,” he says. “And, most humans, we get over ourselves, we get to that point where we’re like, ‘man, being a tortured artist is actually, like, a lot of work. Maybe I should just be real and present, and just be me, and I don’t have to be a tortured artist to be interesting, I can just be a f*cking weird New Zealander and that’s enough.”

...I think Taika is a living Loki, tbh, ha ha. No wonder he gets it.

Waititi, Yost, Pearson and Kyle did great work to cut through Loki’s illusions, both with dialogue and the visual allegory of his projections being dispelled by handy thrown objects, culminating in the very sweet ‘I’m here,’ scene at the end of the film. Loki seems to be much more open and expressive at the end of that film, and it seems like a weight has lifted off his shoulders.

But while this new Loki (Loki 2.0? Loki’s Show’s Loki? Loki II? Lokii? Lokii.) is shown a clip show of Ragnarok (one I previously theorized will be deliberately incomplete), that’s quite different from actually experiencing it, and he’ll be as performative as he was in Avengers and Thor 2. Instead of processing that ‘lack of presence’ as he did in Ragnarok, which came about as a result of Thor finally seeing through Loki’s illusions (guess he doesn’t fall for it anymore) as a result of their long history together, I suspect the band-aid will be torn off much more harshly by a total stranger who nonetheless simply sees through him.

Loki in general has a bad relationship with the truth (see the famous Vault Confrontation scene), and literally putting him on trial before the Truth Herself would certainly be enough to get him to switch from this phony expression:

To this one:

That’s not much of a facade there.

It’s not the same character arc as Ragnarok, but it does get us to a similar place, albeit in a darker and less healing way for Loki. I mean Lokii.

Anyhow. That’s what I got out of this thing.

[dutchdread]

What is Love? Baby don't hurt me.

This article sets out to define different types of love in a meaningful way, and argue why the specifics surrounding Aerith and Cloud makes it so that the commonly accepted romantic version of the emotion can't apply. __________________________________________________

Whenever you talk to anyone, it's important to be on the same page, and one of the most important parts about that is making sure that you're speaking the same language. I am sure we've all had moments where we were arguing with someone only to discover that you both believed the exact same thing, but that you simply used a different word to describe said thing.

"That's what I've been saying" "No, that's what I've been saying!" "Well what are we even arguing about then?!"

When that happens, you're not arguing about the topic itself, you're arguing about semantics, about language.

An argument about whether or not what Cloud, Tifa, and Aerith felt for each other would fall under "love" is a debate about language, not FFVII, and I am not here to have a conversation about language. Unfortunately, before I can actually have a conversation about FFVII, a conversation about language is apparently needed.

Love is an incredibly broad term, used to express what we feel about our family, our pets, our friends, our "lovers", and even our favorite songs, weather, and food. So why the hell do we ask "who did Cloud love" as if love is some singular binary system?

I can never prove that what a character feels isn't love, I can only assert that I personally wouldn't use the word "love" to describe said feeling, and explain why I wouldn't. When we ask "does Cloud love Tifa or Aerith", we are presupposing a concept of "love", and asking who it applies to.

"I pity you, you just don't get it at all, there is nothing I don't cherish"

But it applies to both, and it applies to Barret, and Marlene, and Denzel, and everyone. Because love is far too broad a term to start with, it's a catch-all. Instead of starting with a preconception of what love is, and seeing who has it, we should describe what people actually have, and see what their individuals shapes of love look like.

Even so, I will do my best to describe what I mean by romantic love, as opposed to a crush, or infatuation, or attraction, so that when I say "Cloud and Aerith don't (and can't) romantically love each other", that it's clear what that assertion means to me.

I'm going to tell you a story, a story that, admittedly, doesn't make me look good, but which will hopefully provide context for what I think love is and why.

When I was younger I wasn't the most popular kid, back then I assumed I was unattractive, as an adult I realize its because I was socially awkward as fuck (I was actually cute as heck if I do say so myself). However, by the time I got to highschool I had made a best friend and had managed to figure out and fake social conventions enough that I could at the very least solve my issues through humor instead of violence. The change from typical village kids to a wider pool of potential friends also enabled me to finally find people who were more like me. Even so, the whole social outcast part was still ingrained deeply enough in me that I was mostly putting on an act in front of people, saying whatever I needed to say in order to get a certain reaction, in order to be liked, rather than just being myself. I had had crushes before, when you're alone it's easy to really fall for someone, and hell, I was always a sucker when it came to love stories, but my childhood had basically left me too nervous that I'd say the wrong thing to ever actually say the right thing when I really liked a girl. However, generally being the life of the party left me with a string of girlfriends I didn't care too much about. Even so, I eventually met a girl that I was instantly smitten with, the most attractive girl I knew and somehow I managed to start dating her, and hell, I even thought I loved her. I dated said girl for several years, but without going into spoilers I'll just say that I left that relationship pretty jaded and and disillusioned with the concept of love. I felt like I had done everything I could and love in general was bullshit and was honestly pretty done with women in general. Ironically my new pessimistic attitude made me much more successful with women than I had ever been before, by that time I was known as someone who was fun to party with, and unlike the majority of people my age I was in incredible shape and still had all my hair. However, while I enjoyed my newfound popularity there was a part of me that really resented it because I realized that what women seemed to react positively to wasn't what I imagined love to be like and I hated that. I hated that when I used to be kind and filled with notions of "true love" no one was interested, but now that I was disinterested and clearly manipulative women seemed to throw themselves at me. During that time I basically stopped looking for a meaningful relationship and just decided to have fun until my life would, inevitably, fall apart.

Eventually though I got a girlfriend who I didn't deserve and was much too good for me. However, when I did I was no longer interested in building a relationship and I was pretty certain that it would eventually fall apart anyway like everything else. As a result I mainly cared about what I could get from her, I didn't act like a proper partner and I when I thought about "fixing the relationship" I was thinking mostly about what she could do to be a better girlfriend, honestly, part of me actually resented her for not being my ex. When talking about our issues the general terms were "I'll do this, but only if you fix that". Without going into details, the general gist is that we had a horrible start to our relationship and that affected everything that came after it.

Eventually though this girl who I once mainly saw as just another temporary part of my life became something more to me, she became a more complete person. I mellowed out, and started appreciating her more, I decided to get us to work on the relationship but the damage was basically already done. She'd given up on me ever wanting to settle down and had started distancing herself from me emotionally and eventually I became sick of fighting for the relationship by myself and we broke up. Afterwards, free of pressure, I sat back and l evaluated what I wanted in life, I thought about myself, and her, REALLY thought about her. The good parts, and the bad. And I realized that all the things I was annoyed about were honestly absurd. I decided I was going to fight for her, not just "try to fix the relationship" by figuring out what worked and what didn't, but I just decided I was going to properly appreciate her, be the best boyfriend I could be, and not ask for anything in return. And let me tell you, that change in mindset changed EVERYTHING for me. Within months I became absolutely smitten with her, when I first started the relationship I was honestly annoyed if we met up and didn't have sex, now just sitting on the couch under a blanket with her became the highlight of days, even the things I once saw as negatives became a precious part of the puzzle that made her her. My biggest regret in life is still that I couldn't be the person she made me back when I first met her. (and concerning looks, she is honestly so much more gorgeous than the ex it's not even funny, how did I not see that?). The point of all this is that love isn't automatic, it's not something that happens without your consent, it's the result of actions, of decisions. When you choose to take the time to look at your significant other, and soak up and appreciate who they are and what they do, when you put in the effort, that's when love grows. I've gone from being sick and tired of someone I had been with for years, to being absolutely infatuated with them, simply by making a decision. I could not have made that decision had I not been myself, that decision would have been false. Looking back, all those earlier girls I've been infatuated with, that wasn't love, I didn't even know who they were, I barely knew who I was. No matter how much passion I felt in the moment, no matter how much fun I had in the times we spent together, now I don't even remember their names.

Love isn't your heart beating faster, it's not that instinctive nervousness that comes with talking to a cute girl you just met. It's a complete and deep appreciation of a person, un understanding of who you are, who they are, and what that means to you. Love is what I feel for my brother, who is as much a part of me as my own arm, without whom I would not be me. Someone who isn't just another person in your life, but is a part of what you consider to be your life, without them your life could not be the same, because they're an absolutely crucial part of it. That doesn't happen in a week, because you can't really learn who someone is in a week, even if you could see all of it, you couldn't internalize it. You can always imagine living without them, because you were, just last week. There are people who meet their soulmates sure, and say they knew within a week, but had they never seen that soulmate again, they would not still be pretending they were "the one" years later, and if they were, their friends wouldn't be saying "that's love", they'd be saying "that's an unhealthy obsession". Cloud and Aerith barely knew each other, both when it comes to time, as well as to how much they actually knew about each other. Cloud had no idea of who he was or what was important to him in life, he was unable to be honest with others or even himself, so how would he ever be able to meaningfully make an informed decision to make the kind of emotional commitment that's the cornerstone of love? He didn't know himself, nor did he know Aerith, to whose feelings he was canonically oblivious and whose entire life was a mystery to Cloud. How can we say that Soldier Cloud is capable of knowing who he loves when he's not even aware of the the gigantic Tifa shaped area of his identity. Can Soldier Cloud determine what he values and why without the knowledge of what he's gone through in his life? Sure, but can Soldier Cloud make that determination for the real one? No. Soldier Cloud, and his emotions, have no relation to that of the real Cloud. The real Cloud must determine what people mean to him all by himself. And when it comes to real Cloud, it is pretty obvious who is the biggest part of his life, the person who defined it from the time he fell for her as kid, right through when he became a soldier to impress her, and up to and past the moment he started raising children with her. For Cloud it's pretty obvious who he has the deep personal understanding with, the girl who filled his sub-conscious, and was literally in his head with him, the girl who is stated to understand him best, and who has a shared story with him, having experienced both the good, and the bad, alongside him. Who was there with him when he was a child, who was there with him in Nibleheim, who found him when he lost his identity and gave him a new one, who was with him when Aerith died, who was with him when he broke, who was with him when he was catatonic, who was with him and helped him find himself again, who was with him during the last night underneath the highwind, who was with him at the end in the north cave, who he started living with afterwards, who waited patiently while he went to find himself, and welcomed him back with a smile. I am sure Cloud liked Aerith....but he LOVES Tifa.

[pawpadink]

Art Feedback Session - Spookydoesstuff

"Our task was to make a mock intro to a show using our own original stories, either ones we had in the past or ones we made in class. I used Adobe Animate, which isn't very traditional for art to begin with.

I wanted something dramatic and more anime-esqe (inspirations being Persona 5's 2D animation, as well as the Cowboy Beebop intro.

The render itself didn't turn out as high quality as I had hoped, but that's on me for not figuring out how to render in a higher quality. With my time crunch (I had put off working on this until I had 1 1/2 days left, on top of a project for another class.)

I feel this could have been better? But I'm satisfied with it. I just wished someone had said something, even just asking about my characters (I dont generally ask here, at least about these specific ocs, just because I've had them so long and I want to give out more of their story through context and art. But in that class no one had seen them before and I would have loved explaining their story better than just 'alien cats')"

-- Spookydoesstuff

So! Let's start with the good. The color contrast is lovely, the bright red against the monochrome is a classic high tension color combo that really sells the adversarial stress of the scene. The characters themselves each have their own unique silhouettes, which means if you just filled each of the characters in with pure black and then showed me their reference sheets I could easily identify which character is which. The line work here is very crisp and clear, which for animation lends very well to streamlining and simplifying things. Your style itself applies very nicely to an animation style, again, thanks to its general simplicity will make the whole animation process much easier than a more detailed or complex style or design.

When thinking of areas of improvement, the first thing that is brought to my attention is expression. With the four-eyed cat in the second image, at a glance it's hard to see he's furrowing his brow a bit and his current expression comes across more as a neutral expression than a concerned, worried, or frustrated expression. I would recommend here adding a bit of emphasis on the expression with the eyelids or eyebrows so that it goes into the general shape of the eye instead of just above it or add a stylized eyebrow so it is more visible against the dark fur. Due to the thin line art, the line that marks where he's furrowing his brow is hard to spot.

Your art would also benefit from expression through body language! Cats, in particular, are incredibly expressive through body language. The ears in particular here are showing no emotion- Cats when anxious, scared, or angry will pin their ears back. Perhaps a bit more emphasis on bristling fur too- in the nape of the neck and the tail. Fluffing of tails is not just fear, but also aggression when raised high or thrashing. When curved it's fear. The nervous cat in the second picture might want to be keeping her head a little lower, as nervous cats will duck down, especially if submissive. Of course, since these are not standard cats, you are welcome to take these cat behaviors and alter them to your alien culture's standards! Go wild!

Also, look into playing with the line of action a little more. Even with characters that are standing still, exaggerating some curves in their body will add a hearty dose of personality. Plus, look into the 'law' of stretch and squish- I use the term law here loosely, it's more of a guideline.

(Here are some image scans from a book called Cartoon Animation by Preston Blair, and there's a lovely tutorial on expressions from the comic Lackadaisy here!)

Next I'd like to mention the shading. There is a bit of an inconsistency between the way you shaded each character. Although lighting direction was ignored for style here, the particular techniques used for each piece should remain the same throughout each frame of an animation, each panel of a comic, or between related images in general. In the second photo, the highlights on the four-eyed cat almost looked like fur patterning, so maybe refining that highlight by making it a little darker would make it more obvious it was a highlight and not a change in fur color?

I think if you were given a little more time you would have managed with the shading, but still something of note to keep in mind for the future~

Finally I would like to address the environment... or the lack of it. The bright red background is lovely, especially in this grey scale-pop style of colors. My only issue is that it feels like they're floating in some red void- you have the darker red to denote the ground, but it doesn't feel very consistent with where the characters are placed and there's no shapes in the background to denote any kind of environment- no tree silhouettes, no building silhouettes, or any other objects that could denote where the characters are.

Above is an example from Persona 5 which kind of shows what I'm talking about. Looking at some perspective tutorials will actually show you a way you can manipulate the floor or gradients to help add some solidity to the ground. With this style I wouldn't even say you would need to add nearly as much detail to them as Persona 5's art- just some dark shapes and perhaps a gradient of sorts to give a sense of location to the scene would help.

Overall, wonderful job! My first impression was 'Oh hey this looks like something from Persona 5!' so you really got that feel you were looking for. You also immediately get a sense of relationship here- from an outsider's perspective with zero previous information on who these characters are or how they are related. You can clearly tell the four eyed cat is protecting the female cat in the back, and there's a sense of either accusation from the one-eyed cat or threat, and that the other two almost seem to be distressed as if they were once close to this character.

Keep up the good work, don't feel discouraged with the lack of feedback from your class. I really feel with a bit of practice in terms of expression and body language you can really make some great waves with your art! You have a great foundation.

In terms of art program recommendations, my wife and I both use Clip Studio Paint. You need the EX version for feature length animations unfortunately, but the PRO version is much cheaper and lets you do some very short animations however it is a very powerful illustration and comic tool as well. Krita is a totally free program that will let you animate as well and has a pretty robust illustration feature itself, but I'm not sure if it has anything specific for comic making.

A big thank you to Spookydoesstuff for being our first review and for being so pleasant to speak to! Please check out more of their art and their blog by clicking here to go to their tumblr!

[murdereraisuha]

Classpecting TWST: Octavinelle

Time to assign Homestuck classpects to the fish mafia!

Spoilers for chapter 3 and some of the trio’s personal stories. No knowledge of Homestuck required to read.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Azul, the symbol for the space aspect, and the words “Azul Ashengrotto: Thief of Space”]

For Azul, I think it’s easier to narrow down what his class is first.

To get back at his childhood bullies, Azul developed his unique magic “It’s a Deal,” which lets him make contracts with others. 

He uses clever loopholes and tricks to shift his contracts in his favor, letting him reap the magic and abilities of his victims. 

However, despite his power and skills, he still has self-image issues. 

In chapter 3, he overblots during a desperate magic stealing spree to make a more perfect him who isn’t a “stupid, clumsy octopus who can’t do anything by himself.”

What I get from this is that he steals from others, he worked hard to shape himself into a successful person, and he perceives fault in himself. Based on this, I think his class is either thief, the active theft class, or knight, the active exploitation class.

With that in mind, what exactly does he steal/exploit, and what do his insecurities relate to? Rather than concepts like luck, freedom, or the soul, Azul seems centered on concrete objects. In his childhood, he was tormented due to his physical appearance. In the present, he carefully controls his diet to maintain a slender physique. He also hoards things like coins and his contracts. 

Based on these things as well as the creativity he exhibits in his elaborate schemes (exam notes, beans day, investigating Scarabia, etc.), I think that Azul’s aspect is space, the aspect of physical attributes, creation, and patience.

So, thief of space or knight of space? After research into both, I think that thief fits the best. First of all, though Azul has amazing abilities on his own, he relies a lot on maintaining a hoard of contracts. Rather than working with what he has, he constantly seeks out more: more power, more profits, more restaurant locations. Similarly to how Azul’s downfall in chapter 3 stemmed from trying to steal too much (Yuu’s house & the photo), the 2 thieves in Homestuck also get into trouble for being too overconfident. Finally, while a knight generally protects and shelters those around them, Azul isn’t afraid to do stuff such as wring Floyd out like a towel to use his eel slime for developing a beauty product. Therefore, Azul is most likely a thief of space.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Jade Leech, the symbol for the light aspect, and the words “Jade Leech: Rogue of Light”] 

To figure out Jade’s aspect, let’s consider some facts about him. 

His unique magic, “Shock the Heart,” forces a person who looks him in the eye to truthfully answer a question he asks them. 

He dislikes predictable things, which is a reason why he loves his chaotic brother and enjoys growing unknown plants. 

He prefers to stay in the shadows while Azul/Floyd takes the spotlight.

Based on these factors, Jade seems well suited to either the void aspect, the aspect of secrets, confusion, and irrelevance, or its opposite the light aspect, the aspect of truth, awareness, and importance. Now, how does he interact with his aspect?

Though Jade, Azul, and Floyd are equals, Jade still usually acts in a supportive role to them. For example, in his ceremony robes story, Jade gives the list of the new students’ private Magicam accounts to Azul for him to use instead of using the list himself. Therefore, I think that Jade probably has a passive class.

Jade does not have a deficit of light/void and he does not have a destructive relationship with light/void, ruling out page and bard. He doesn’t truly embody either aspect, ruling out heir, and he doesn’t seem to do much creating/healing of light/void, ruling out sylph. That narrows it down to seer of light, seer of void, rogue of void, and rogue of light. 

Though I originally thought he was probably void and just kept the light option open just in case, Jade might actually be a rogue of light. A rogue, the passive theft class, invites theft of their aspect and through their aspect. Jade reveals knowledge (ex. contract violations & the Magicam accounts) and then leaves Azul and Floyd to do with it as they please. Also, Shock the Heart is activated using his eyes, and eyes are a symbol of the light aspect in Homestuck. 

Furthermore, the rogues of Homestuck often have trouble coping with having their aspect, correlating with Jade being uncomfortable with having people’s attention on him. He also has problems with giving information/the truth about himself. For example, his exaggerated fake tears after Idia doubts his wish during the Wish Upon a Star event strengthens Idia’s belief that Jade's wish is insincere, even though Jade might have really wanted to use his wish for Azul and Floyd’s benefit. Though Jade is pretty different from the typical descriptions of rogues of light I have read, I think he probably is a rogue of light.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Floyd, the symbol for the blood aspect, and the words “Floyd Leech: Bard of Blood”]

For Floyd, I have an aspect already in mind.

Breath represents freedom and flexibility. From his general refusal to wear his uniform properly or take on responsibilities to specific events like trying to play dodgeball during basketball club, Floyd certainly exhibits freedom. His unique magic, “Bind the Heart,” references the concept of freedom/captivity in its name. By deflecting any magic aimed at him, it basically ensures his freedom from injury and other harmful effects like Riddle’s” Off with Your Head!”

Just so we’re not narrowing our focus too much though, I’d like to point out that the rage aspect is also a possibility. Rage represents negative emotions, defiance, and persistence. For Floyd, he rebels against conformity and also exhibits some stubbornness in his teasing of Riddle. Floyd’s aspect might also be the opposite of breath or rage, blood or hope, since each aspect and its opposite are just 2 sides of the same coin as we saw with Floyd’s brother.

Anyway, on to class. First off, thief and rogue are out since he doesn’t do much theft. He doesn’t hide behind any masks or act very pessimistic, so knight, page, and prince are out, and he doesn’t seem to struggle with knowledge of things, so mage and seer are out. Of the remaining classpect combos, I was thinking witch of rage, bard of rage, heir of breath, or maid of breath. However, as I just said, the aspects blood or hope might also apply. After looking into god tiers of those aspects, one stuck out at me: bard of blood.

Bard is the passive destruction class, which invites destruction of their aspect or through their aspect. Bards and princes, the active destruction class, are notable in how they exhibit traits of the opposite aspect since they destroy their own aspect in themselves. In Floyd’s case, his abundance of freedom & spontaneousness can also be seen as an absence of commitments & responsibilities.

However, a bard doesn’t destroy all traces of their aspect, which is how I can find evidence that Floyd’s aspect is actually blood rather than breath. In Homestuck, those of the breath aspect tend to be rather emotionally detached or passive. For example, John handles shocking revelations with ease and Tavros uses sleep to escape sadness. On the other hand, blood players tend to be emotionally explosive and assertive. Karkat and Kankri are well known for being rather... cranky. Now, for Floyd,

I don’t think an emotionally passive person would have a murder mode face like this. There’s also the fact that Floyd specifically hates shackles, while a breath player would probably take their freedom more for granted. Anyway, going to how being a bard would interact with Floyd’s aspect, as a bard his actions lead to destruction of bonds/responsibilities. However, a bard’s aspect is still a part of them/an inevitability even if they try to act like it isn’t.

Let’s take the one big example of anguish within Floyd that we have: his school uniform story. While Floyd is having a blast riling Riddle up and trying to bait him into a game of tag, Riddle remarks that Jade doesn’t bother with this sort of mischief and he’s completely different from Floyd even though they’re twins. This causes Floyd’s mood to take a 180 and he abruptly leaves. Even though Floyd does stuff like steal Jade’s clothes or shove work on him—things that might suggest Floyd doesn’t care about Jade—Floyd actually doesn’t want their bond with each other to break. This also holds true for Azul: though Floyd explicitly says in chapter 4 that he and Jade will leave Azul if he becomes boring, that seems like a half-truth: with Azul being the person he is, how likely is it that he would ever become boring?

Floyd is a genius, talented in everything from academic subjects to music to sports. However, as noted by some other characters, his mood swings and flippantness prevent him from being the even more terrifyingly powerful person he could become. His personal challenge may very well be to find a middle ground between running from and depending on his bonds/responsibilities. Therefore, based on Floyd’s values, attitude, and faults, I can say that he is very likely a bard of blood.

-- Final notes --

Firstly, If you actually read through all this and enjoyed it, I recommend checking out mia-pon289’s Octavinelle theories and Dahniwitchoflight’s classpect stuff since this post drew a lot of inspiration from those. 

Secondly, I am going to flip my shit if Ace’s aspect turns out to be blood too once I get to analyzing Heartslabyul. Is basketball club just gonna become blood club?

Thirdly,

[Image description: A venn diagram with 2 circles. One circle is labeled “Animal with 8 legs” and contains “Vriska” in it. The other circle is labeled “Aquatic” and contains “Meenah”. The intersection between the circles contains “Azul”. The whole diagram is inside of a rectangle labeled “Thief”]

[youcantfiremebecauseiquit]

idk if u care but crispin gray recently had an interview about his entire career and it kind of changed my perspective of queenadreena…idk if for better or for worse lol. it was weird to see him so dismissive of a lot of his catalogue w katie except for ‘love your money’ just because that was the only remotely chart successful song. i get you want to be able to sustain yourself but jeez him and katie really had a weird back and forth relationship

Sorry i'm replying late, i've seen the interview pop up on Youtube but honestly i was too invested in university shit recently & generally not in the good mood for that but i'm planning to watch. How did it change your view on Queen Adreena, did he say something mean specifically on QA or Katie? I mean i gotta watch it but honestly? Not surprised in the slightest. A few years ago he was asked to describe fave songs he recorded throughout the years and he listed more of Daisy Chainsaw ones than anything else, with Love Your Money as number 1. The differences in their points of view are real something, Katie Jane absolutely HATED Love Your Money, same as Daisy Chainsaw. Kinda apparent he wanted bigger fame but DC dropped fast and QA failed to live up to their predictions.

i had a time when i liked to dig up old Queen Adreena interviews that are lost in the old internet & generally not available for years (which i planned to post on is-she-suffering but my investment in that site is... varied in its intensity). Also that was back in the days when i wrote Queen Adreena book during manic phase and tried to sell it but lost motivation Well since i don't do anything with that knowledge anyway i'll put what i know here as i love fan discussions

So they sure had/have odd back and forth love-hate relationship & that's the reason why their career went how it went. There's been a huge tension between them at some point. I'm sure you know she had a major mental breakdown (probably schizophrenic episode) after Daisy Chainsaw, or even beginning before her leaving, and then she went into isolation and lived with an old woman in Lake District for awhile. She left Daisy Chainsaw cause Crispin didn't want her to come up with her own songs (all of DC was by Crispin except for Lovely ugly brutal world by KJ).

They almost split up as Queen Adreena after Drink Me. The material for The Butcher and The Butterfly was written at different times, originally it was meant to be called Atom Bomb at Bikini but it was constantly delaying and they eventually recorded everything they've got live. So that's obvious right? But i was surprised to find out they were writing songs separately. Some of them (i forgot which though) were written by Katie Jane and Pete Howard's sons band (they're even credited) + some with Melanie Garside, Richard Adams + some other musician. Katie Jane didn't like it. They intended it to be their last album at the time. She also hated live at ICA show but they released it cause they were broke

But that's a digression. I just wanna say that at this point they were done with each other but kept pushing it. Katie had her own art projects and stuff, Crispin started Dogbones with Nomi and i just remember how vaguely pissed at Katie he waas in the interviews. Like he stressed that Dogbones is his number one priority and if Katie wants to do something with Queenadreena, she must wait til Dogbones have a break first or something, and it sounded oddly bitter.

RaCH and Djinn era are just so weird, they had opportunities but let them go in a way. I don't think many people know but they were huge demand in Japan. They entered album charts and were interviewed by 11 magazines and 6 (!)TV stations there (wtf happened to that material i want to know???). But they only played 5 times or less.

Katie said she considers the band dead but they decided they can try to play for a couple more months. But aside from that she 100% lost the interest in the band around Djinn. There's an interview where she says "the overall image is Crispin but the shape will change again at rehearsals". And you can hear it, it’s more blues rock than anything. IMO it's their worst production wise. Instruments are fine but Katie's voice is so badly produced that sometimes i find some songs fucking irritating, cause they didn’t cut out her breaths and the vocals are TOO LOUD, to the point of distorting. As if she stands too close to the mic. The album is fine but it feels unfinished.

And here we come back to Crispin... here's what he said after the QA split:

Why the Dogbones started? “I needed to work more than the previous band I was in was working, the previous band who shall remain nameless, haha… um… Queenadreena. I wanted to work more than the singer of Queenadreena wanted to work… so that’s why it started. Fine by me… but I really like to be in a band, I’m not a solo project kind of guy. The last album (‘Djin’) did come out in the UK, but it was so low key because Katie kind of disappeared so there was little point in promoting it. Personally it’s my favourite by far so it was a shame but there you go… So here are Dogbones, it’s not been an easy ride but we are trying very hard.

Ok so the bitterness is kinda apparent isn't it. I think there were two reasons why they argued so much, first musical differences. Katie at some point lost interest in loud rock music for some years and went the folk way in Ruby Throat. I have a theory that Taxidermy and Drink Me are more influenced by Katie Jane and Butcher and Djinn are more Crispin. During first albums i think Katie more actively took part in music composition and choosing arrangements. She wrote lyrics, melodies but also composed a lot of songs on some little electronic keyboard thing and 4 track (Heavenly Surrender, Pray for me, My Silent Undoing, all Lalleshwari +more). Plus she wanted more peaceful/dreamy sound on Taxidermy than full on rock, Crispin complained about it in some 00's interview, that he'd like it to be more rock. Then there are 2 versions of Drink Me, the original has rough and alt versions of songs (it was sold by Katie and it's leaked on FB and probably YT). Crispin Gray apparently really hated the final Drink Me. Now next album is The Butcher & The Butterfly and it's more standard blues rock, no more crazy dreamy things of previous albums etc., Djinn is even more blues rock but darker. Djinn was his favourite at some point while KJ hated Butcher, not sure about Djinn. So i think they had different views on where they should go, Katie made her weird simplistic creepy tunes (like Lalleshwari) and folk melodies adding that strange things to noise rock. Crispin probably wanted blues & rock.

Other than that, i’m convinced they are bitter exes, lol. There’s been rumours about them dating during Daisy Chainsaw for years, plus Katie had a history of dating band members. Crispin wrote X-ing off the days about her. I don’t know if they dated again in Queen Adreena. Then there’s this interview, timeline is unclear, either The butcher & the butterfly or later:

„Katie writes all the songs herself and often looks for melodies and structure with the drummer. With Crispin - her husband or ex-husband, which is not entirely clear to me - for almost three years she has no longer been in a room. "Sometimes we send him a letter with a new song and that's all we can do. All we have are our lungs and our musical talent and we have to do with it. It is repugnant difficult life, I know most of the time how I should deal with it." But Queenadreena will still remain even exist? "I think so, we are now pretty busy and I see where the ship aground.”

I always wondered what exactly happened after Djinn, i’ve seen Katie Jane say „i think they gave up on me” while others said she disappeared. Other times CG said there’s no bad blood between them but at the same time there’s been some weird tension.  As of recent i thought they reconnected somehow through the internet and had a good relation but who really knows.s

I get why Crispin gets irritated when people compare everything he does to „stealing from KJ” but honestly, he gave them good reasons, at least in the 90’s. I can believe Starsha Lee singer isn’t copying Katie cause she’s from Brazil or something and she didn’t know Queen Adreena before. But everything else… Crispin’s problem is that he doesn’t know what he wants. He spent 90’s chasing something, tried singing himself, had girl singer replacements and even one KJ copy. Dogbones was ironically his most original non-Katie band, even with all their grunge influences. In a way he wants to be a frontman and at the same time doesn’t. Idk if he’s very controlling, but Daisy Chainsaw shows he valued his songs/lyrics first & in Queen Adreena he had to step back a lot, cause Katie’s condition was she would be in charge of the lyrics. I don’t think he realizes how strongly Daisy Chainsaw issues affected Katie, i mean from her own words you can read that aside from media attention/hate, her being unable to write lyrics had a role in her breakdown. I think she now let go but for years she hated remembering Daisy Chainsaw and she felt kind of worthless cause she was only somebody else’s mouthpiece. I’m not trying to say he’s cruel or anything, but i firmly believe rock lyrics writers should sing their own songs or else there are problems.

They both were writers-composers with different vision and i have impression they struggled a lot while shaping their songs, cause they both stuck to their ideas. Hence 2 versions of Princess Carwash maybe. Katie once said that he „gets terribly upset with her” cause she writes her songs on a simple wind organ and uses a few chord buttons only. Clash of writer ways/personalities/egos and at some point they had to let go.

Maybe he prefers music/bands where he was 100% in control including lyrics (note he wrote/sang some lyrics in Dogbones too). Daisy Chainsaw achieved bigger success US and UK wise as they were offered to play Top of The Pops, and they’re more well liked/remembered by „general alt public”. Queen Adreena however is way more valued as a cult band, with cult following and admiration in UK & France. Most people think Pretty Like Drugs and other QA songs are his best work and he probably finds it irritating cause truth is, he never managed to be more successful than Daisy Chainsaw/Queenadreena. Love Your Money is ironically the least Crispin Gray/DC/QA sounding song in my opinion. I kinda find it irritating that he downplays Queen Adreena cause it was probably his best work in this band but whatever

So yeah sorry for the word spill, that’s what i can think of it right now but as i said, i haven’t watched the interview yet, it’s just this kind of treatment is in a way consistent for him

[onlytaylor]

Drarry + Facing Demons and Finding Family

Tw: mentions of symptoms of depression, anxiety, ptsd, and child abuse. All are resolved with a happy ending.

Draco Malfoy walks the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley, and it’s different now. The way it had bustled with a vibrant vivacity in his younger years is long gone now, replaced by the mediocrities that come with running errands and making stops for work. It had been repaired, for the most part, after the war, but something about the shadows of buildings that used to be constructed just a little bit different haunts Malfoy in his steps.

He turns to glance over his shoulder when the sound of a child laughing fills the spaces between bustling bodies and adult feet. A familiar tuft of blue hair comes dashing forward, and Draco feels a momentary reprieve from his own hollow dissonance. His face lights up as the boy throws his arms around his neck, crying “Cousin Draco! What are you doing here?”

And behind the vivacious grin is the humble one of Harry Potter, the boy who really did end up saving the world. Draco doesn’t hate him; how could he? If it weren’t for the testimony of the man standing there now casually in his Muggle plaid shirt and ripped-up jeans, Draco wouldn’t be walking these streets.

“Malfoy,” he puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth a bit on his feet. “What sort of business are you up to these days?”

“Oh, just... dropping off a package for the boss. You know.” He shrugs, suddenly vacant. His momentary reprieve shrinks into a daunting reality.

“Wanna come get ice cream with us?” Teddy’s toothy grin eats at the edges of his impending monotony.

“Oh, well, I wasn’t-“ he starts, but Harry Potter has stepped his foot forward.

“No, please. If you’re not too busy, we’d love to catch up. Teddy misses you.” And, allowing the package to feel a bit lighter in his coat pocket, Draco turns on one heel and heads to the parlor with them both.

***

Having Teddy Lupin run through his life is like chasing a tiny piece of dynamite. You never know just when it will explode, and when you’ve got it in your fingers it seems to roll invariably to the floor. Draco’s been waiting now for quite some time for his own destruction, but his regularly timed meetings with Harry (wow- really on a first name basis now) and his cousin had brightened his steps countably.

It seemed that the sparking fire may just never come.

***

Draco Malfoy doesn’t visit Malfoy manor, and its empty rooms are surely hung with cob webs and dust mites and other small creatures that have made it home. The stone exterior is beginning to succumb to a green vine that twists its way up the foundation, and apparently small children dare each other to knock on the door of the “Death Eater House.”

Draco doesn’t have to visit Malfoy Manor to know which ghosts roam its halls, apparitions of tortured souls and the results of his own mistakes. If only he’d stood up to his father. If only he’d run. If only...

Draco swallows, once, then twice, before straightening his stare ahead. Harry’s coming over soon, and this time Teddy is at the Burrow. They’ve never hung out like this, quite alone and unsupervised by Teddy’s string of home-made knock knock jokes. He’s not sure why, but he’s nervous.

***

After the war, Draco had considered himself a work-in-progress. He’d ventured through the stages of grief, mourning his losses and wishing he could change the past. He’d also picked himself up off of the floor, vowing to start new. None of this was easy. Panic followed him around every corner, but around every corner was the reassuring laugh of Teddy; smile of Harry. If he’s honest with himself, he’ll admit their great assistance in his own healing.

But that doesn’t stop the nightmares. Or the constant feeling of dread. And when Draco Malfoy is alone, his guilt consumes him. Why hadn’t he done the right thing? Why hadn’t he stood up to his father?

***

When Draco was eight, he’d drawn a portrait of his family. It was an assignment by his private tutor, a sort of busy-work while she prepared more practice for magical theory. He’d drawn them, stoic and cold, using shades of gray and black to fill in the spaces between them. They didn’t touch, didn’t love. Lucius told him that artists didn’t make any money in the Wizarding World. Draco ripped up the drawing and threw it in the rubbish bin.

***

When Draco’s lease on his London apartment is near its end, Harry finds him with a nervous twitch of his lips.

“You know, Draco, you don’t have to move into another building. I know you hate your neighbors because they remind you of your family. Our flat is large enough for a third member.”

Draco had almost immediately rejected- his first instinct was to scoff at any such attempts at pity. But Teddy’s eyes had met his, bright and foretelling- and his pleas almost melted Draco’s shoes to the asphalt.

“If you really want me to,” Draco smiles, “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

***

Draco hadn’t realized that his ghosts would follow him here. But as he watches the shadows dance upon the walls of his very own room, he knows he’s not dreaming. It’s his father, reminding him that he will never be good enough.

It’s his mother, watching with irrefutable silence.

It’s himself, pointing a wand at Dumbledore. Leaving with Snape. And abandoning his dreams to follow in his father’s foot steps.

It’s a portrait of Draco’s family, stone cold and frozen against the frosted window pane.

He doesn’t realize he’s screaming.

Not until the door is thrown open, and Harry’s there, sporting nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a concerned purse of his lips.

He’s on the bed, and now Draco is crying. Yelling. Laughing hysterically. Because he’s fucking insane, sitting in a bed half-naked with Harry Potter and telling himself to shut his fucking mouth before Teddy wakes up.

But Harry is gentle. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and whispers “I know. But it’s not true. None of it is real.”

And Draco sobs, without really knowing how to stop, and Harry’s skin is warm against his own. It’s the first time he’s ever really felt whole.

Hours pass, though the clock reads otherwise. And Draco tells him that he needs to go back to bed. That they’ve both got work in the morning, and Teddy is visiting Andromeda...

But, no, Harry whispers, this is more important. You are more important. When had their relationship morphed into this... whatever this is?

Draco Malfoy allows himself to be held, and it is surprisingly wonderful.

***

Working for the ministry is like working in one of those Muggle cubicles. He should be grateful for the opportunity, but Draco hates his job. His boss is monstrous, a poised figure that reminds him far too much of his father.

He gets a bit panicky when requests are made, unable to say no. Draco Malfoy never thought he’d become a push over, but his inherent desire to please, to win, to have a second chance is tumultuous.

He doesn’t know how to live without it.

***

Teddy is spending the night at the Burrow, and Draco and Harry are doing their usual dance of washing and putting away the dishes.

“Fancy a movie?” Harry asks, and something soft flutters in Draco’s chest.

“Sure.”

***

It’s midnight when Draco feels the gentle presence of Harry slumped against his shoulder, his quiet snores a rhythm that he begins to memorize.

He doesn’t move, and the stillness is what allows him to feel the sporadic twitches that begin to ripple through Harry’s body.

“No, no,” he murmurs, “Please, no. Hermione... Cruciatus...”

Draco freezes, and he immediately understands the inner workings of Harry’s psyche.

He was there when his aunt Bella inflicted near irreparable damage to Hermione Granger. He didn’t stand up. He didn’t stop her.

There’s a tightness in his chest, and it fluctuates with his heart rate. Harry is having a nightmare, and it’s all his fault.

“You’ll never make up for what you’ve done,” he hears his father say, and the words are a gun to his head.

“Harry,” he whispers, desperately running his fingers along the side of his arm to calm him. If he couldn’t go back, the least he could do is aid his sleep.

Harry settles, and Draco breathes a sigh of relief. His father is laughing at him.

Ghostly shadows dance along the walls, flickering in the dim light of the TV. The world seems to grow around him, and he is infintismal.

His palms are sweaty as the guilt settles, rotting a hole in his stomach. And then there’s a whisper, a subtle word that shifts everything: “Draco.”

He glances at Harry’s face twice to make sure he’s not imagining the slight tug at the corner of his mouth. He said Draco’s name. And, from the depths of his slumber, he’s smiling.

Draco’s eyes are prickly, and he’s not sure why there are tears surfacing at such an inopportune moment. Perhaps he’s gone completely insane... or maybe...

“Not your father, Draco... amazing... need you... love you...”

A light seems to dissipate the shadows, which morph and expand into unidentifiable shapes before they slowly vanish. Draco’s hands are still clammy, but his mind is on overdrive.

The Savior of the Wizarding World is dreaming about him. Believes in him. Maybe, even...loves him?

And the remaining shadows come crashing down, spirits that find rest in redemption. If Harry Potter, with his stupid scar, and his stupid broomstick, could think highly of Draco Malfoy, the ex-death eater... maybe he could forgive himself.

Maybe... and then there are images flashing through his mind. Of stone family drawings and cruel and unjust punishment.

Of the desire to please, so much, that if his father pointed a wand at his throat he’d beg for forgiveness. Of pretending to have dignity for so long that he’d lost his own along the way.

And then, another sleepy rasp from Potter: “not your fault...”

And something snaps inside him.

“Not my fault,” he repeats, barely audible, yet it rattles an earthquake that cracks the floor. The ground faults, and everything he’s ever know crumbles before him.

“You are pathetic.” The voice of his father shakes the walls, breaks the foundation. Rips open the fortress of his solitude, jagged lines coursing through his very being and down to his core.

There’s a wand at his throat.

Harry isn’t here. Here, it’s a Malfoy’s paradise, and Draco’s skin crawls at the realistic image of his father before him. He’s so fucking life-like, the drawl of his criticism dripping with the poison of a basilisk. He’s smiling, and that hurts. It’s malicious.

But then, another whisper. A distant proclamation that rings through the periphery of his hearing. “Draco... always... good enough...”

Fuck. Harry?

“Good enough,” he repeats, the syllables a solid reality, just like the man before him. And, in a sudden fit of realization, Draco realizes the epitome of his salvation.

“You’re not real,” he says, and the words are a bit shaky as they permeate the air. His father’s face twists into something unreadable, a cross between a scowl and utter shock.

“You’re not real.” The wand lowers. His brow narrows.

“You were never real. My father is in Azkaban. You are just the ghost of what he did to me.”

His hands are drifting into the atmosphere, like grains of sand dissipating toward the floor. His expression morphs into utter fear, and, for once, Draco feels powerful.

It was never about defeating him. He could have dualed his fractured subconscious for years, constantly bettering himself, only to fall again. And the wand would always be pointed at his throat

But Harry, Harry said he was good enough. And he can hear the distant titter of Teddy’s amusement, the padding of his socks as they bounce along the hardwood floor of their flat. Of their home.

Harry cares. Loves. And so Draco must love himself.

“You could never kill me,” he says to the air, as the whisp of Lucius Malfoy’s presence fades into nothing. “It was just me, all along. Hurting myself because you trained me to. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my fucking fault.”

There’s a sudden whoosh, and the room is spinning. And then it’s not. And Draco Malfoy is sitting next to a blissfully sleeping Harry Potter in a London flat.

The movie is over, and all that remains of the last few minutes is a line of scrolling credits.

The shadows, they’re gone. And somehow, Draco is no longer haunted. The house is peaceful, and a serenity seems to fill it’s every crevice, binding the cracks that once cleaved the walls. He pulls Harry closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. Taking a risk he’d never had the confidence to execute.

Harry smiles, stirring a bit before turning his green gaze upward. “That’s nice,” he says, and Draco chuckles.

“Yeah, it is, hm?”

“Hey Draco?”

He doesn’t reply, but meets that vibrant stare of his with irrefutable honesty.

“Thanks for being a part of our family.”

“Family?” The word nervously slips his lips. He’s never done this before.

Harry nods. “You, me, and Teddy.”

His eyes are prickly again, and he swallows a hard lump in the back of his throat. “I love the sound of that. Of family.”

“Good. Because I’ll hex you if you go anywhere. Old habits do die hard, you know.”

Draco laughs, hearty. Whole. Harry snuggles into his shoulder, falling asleep lightly as he thoughtfully plans his next project.

***

The next day, Teddy enters to find Draco drawing a picture of his family at the kitchen table.

“Whatcha doin’?” He asks curiously, hopping onto Draco’s lap as he sketches.

The picture before them is a family, a blonde, a brunette, and a tuft or blue hair between them. There are no spaces, no empty holes between their bodies, and the sky is a vibrant array of purples and oranges.

“Let’s hang it on the fridge!” Teddy exclaims, grasping it and running to attach it to the front of the surface.

Draco eyes the picture smiling, and it is the best he’s ever felt.

[mejcinta]

So You and Alien Girl...

This is another one of my gems from a03 that I found fun to write and read. Imagine Hank and Dick learning to be more civilized with each other? Giving each other relationship advice? Not always at the verge killing each other😄??? Well, that happened in this story. Check out my a03 for more Titans TV fanfic, y'all!

*“For fuck sake, Grayson—relax!”

Dick stopped to glower at Hank, only just noticing that he had indeed been pacing.

Really, he didn’t get how Hank—or anyone else in the Tower—could do it: waiting on others, without wanting to pull the hairs off their heads. Only this time, it was not a mission Kory was out at. She was out to just enjoy herself but Dick’s head had taken several trips down ‘Worry Street’ as it is.

Hank poured himself some juice into a glass, his eyes on Dick glinting with curiosity.

“Two hours,” Dick explained with a sigh, swinging open the fridge to fetch himself a beer, “and not a single update from Kory.”

“And Dawn,” Hank emphasized, as though Dick had gravely ignored her. “The girls can handle their time alone if that’s what got you in a shitty mess.”

Hank’s gruff comment took Dick by no surprise. The enormous man looked a tad bit odd drinking juice, and perhaps Dick had not helped his bad mood by pulling out a beer.

“Or is that why you sent Conner with them?” the non-drunken outburst went on. “Sure makes a fucking good referee.”

Dick unscrewed the top of his beer bottle against the edge of the island with more force than he had intended.

“I’ll act like you just didn’t say that,” he blew out, before taking a seat across from Hank.

“It’s no secret some things needed clearing up between Dawn and Kory. A common dick, for one.”

Dick took a long swig of his beer before he could say anything he regretted; before he could wound up disappointing Kory again.

He had come too far, had done away with too much of Robin’s thorny baggage, to go running back to his short-tempered ways. After all, and understandably so, Hank was not as adept at embracing change as Dick had in a matter of a few weeks. So Dick braced himself for another fire shot as Hank leaned his weight against the island.

The ex-quarterback seemed contemplative as he stared down at his bruised fist. When he finally glanced up at Dick, though, he looked wounded and worn. Like a stray dog. “Sorry,” came the word, a yelp of self-humiliation.

Dick put his beer down. “Forget about it.”

“No. I don’t want you sending phantom girl and Tiger boy after my ass. Trust me.”

Hank’s attempt at a joke was a joke in itself, and it had Dick’s ribs tingle a bit despite of himself. “Who’ll I have game night with, assuming that I do?” Dick laughed, light and genuine.

There was something small but tangible growing between Hank and him and he had made an oath with himself to nurture and maintain it, just as he was doing with Jason. It was difficult at times, nonetheless, because that meant remembering all the gritty details of his past failures as a friend and leader.

Oh, thank God for Kory—now more than ever! After Donna and Deathstroke, she had taught him persistence and hope in achieving positive change just by her mere existence; by the way her graceful form walked the Tower up and down in an effort to hold together, and bring back whatever life and fire had been stolen from her since her sister happened.

Things would never be the same after the mistakes Dick had committed in the past, but they certainly didn’t need to get any worse either.

“So, alien girl and you…” Hank had his eyebrow shot up, smirking.

“Kory?” Dick gulped, “Friends, is all.” He tried to sound dismissive, sound. But the panic of Hank poking holes at his privacy was just this close to make him want to bolt to the control room.

“Man, I don’t know,” Hank sung, whirling the juice in his glass like wine. “The way she looks at you, and from the way she works it, you can’t tell me you never wanted to—”

“Maybe I do like her!” Dick blurted out. Kory was already getting enough unwarranted attention from Connor of late. To have Hank add to his list of ‘competition’ was just too much.

Besides, he couldn’t take Hank’s insinuation that Kory was just another mere ‘drive-through’ (like most of the women from his past) lying down. Kory was worth more to Dick than anything he would ever imagine on this planet, and if Hank now knew his secret—fuck it.

“He speaks!” Hank’s grin was wide and smug as he held up his glass. “Grayson’s whipped! Let’s cheers to that.”

“I know what you’re up to,” Dick chuckled breathily, keeping his bottle down. “You’re trying to get me drunk and it won’t work.” The memory of one particular woman in thigh-high boots and a magnificent fur coat came to Dick’s mind, and his smile literally grew out of his face. “Ask Kory.”

“Warning in advance.” Hank slumped his shoulders. “No double dates for me. I’ll scare off Dawn.”

Dick sat straighter. He had gotten none—if very little—chances to talk with either Hank or Dawn about their apparent separation.

“How’re you holding up?”

“She hates me,” Hank replied, his voice low. “How do you expect am holding up, Dick?”

“She still loves you, Hank. Maybe she just needs space. Maybe she’s not at her personal best in life.”

Thinking of Kory and how he had not been there for her in her hard times drew a sigh from Dick. His guilt was a far cry from over but that didn’t mean that he should not encourage others.

“It’s been a pretty rough couple of weeks, anyway,” he added, giving a small smile, “Took a toll on all of us naturally.”

Hank snorted. “I’m guessing Kory told you all that?”

“No, just observed her,” Dick admitted. He clenched his jaw as the back of his eyes stung. “Kory and I…we haven’t really had a chance to talk since the funeral. I’ve been a dick to her—no surprise there,” Dick looked to find Hank still with him, his face surprisingly soft. “But here we are, aren’t we? We’re healing. Maybe soon, when our lives have taken some shape, she’ll come to me. See where we can go from here.”

“For real this time,” Hank held his juice up and Dick agreed, clinking bottle with glass.

“Cheers.”

They drunk in companionable silence until Hank cleared his throat huskily. “Kory’s one heck of a woman!”

“Don’t say that too loud,” Dick blushed from behind the top of his bottle. “Dawn might hear you.”

“Well, I’m a single man, Dicky.”

For the first time in his life, Dick found himself in complete peace with Hank. Selflessness had its rewards, he guessed. And being there for his friends, just as Bruce had said, turned out to be the remedy he had needed…longed for…all along.

This time he was the one to lift his bottle and offer cheers. “To your happiness, anyways, Hank. Everything’s possible.”

Hank frowned, looking positively revolted. “God, who are you and what’ve you done to Dick Grayson?” *