#This is still present today obviously though it’s less common ( from my experience anyway)

[imsosocold]

DANA YOU CAN’T HAVE BELOS BE RELIGIOUS  AND NOT GO INTO WHAT HIS BELIEFS ARE WHEN IT’S A DRIVING FACTOR TO HIS CHARACTER !!! DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DENOMINATIONS THERE ARE?!!! EVEN THOSE WHO ARE�� SUPPOSED TO BE PART OF THE SAME RELIGIOUS GROUP CAN HAVE THEIR BELIEFS AND PRACTICES VARY!!! THEY  CAN BE INFLUENCED BY LARGE FACTORS SUCH AS TIME PERIOD AND LOCATION AND SEEMINGLY MINUTE FACTORS SUCH AS WHAT CHURCH THEY GO TO!!! ONE’S BELIEFS AREN’T STAGANT AND TEND TO EVOLVE OVER TIME  EVEN FOR THE MOST DEVOUT!!! YOU CAN’T JUST BE LIKE “HE’S A PURITAN WITCH HUNTER” AND LEAVE IT AT THAT!!!!

[omiscurls]

Heyhey! I couldn’t find your rules, so idk if this is allowed or not, and if it isn’t feel free to ignore this, but may I request Childe with a reader who has depression? Thank you

tough

a/n: hi!! sorry for that, the rules are added by now, i chose not to describe depression itself, because it looks different on everyone, and you may not relate to what applies to me, but i'm hoping you'll find this enjoyable instead!!

plot: character helping the reader out of a breakdown, or a bad headspace

contains: tartaglia, kaeya

warnings: bad copying mechanisms, low mental place, nothing too serious mentioned

tartaglia

now, he's a man of action less than words, even though he's good with those, too

and to add to that, he's also a very perceptive person - if some negative vibe lingers on you for too long, he'll notice right away

however, relying on his experience, he opts to give you space to figure it out on your own, first, he wouldn't like to be making a huge deal of something that was just a worse couple of days

it's when you don't show up at your usual dinner spot, that he gets a little tingle in his brain, telling him to not dismiss it this time.

and so, he makes his way over to your place.

"ya there?" you hear on the other side of the door, followed by urgent knocking, sort of breaking you out of a trance, but you can't find it in you to go and answer it. he'll go away, you think, even better. your apartment is messy, you're messy, too, and it's not the right time to be receiving visitors. so you stay quiet.

"you do know i know you're in there, right?" he speaks up again "the blinds would be down if you weren't"

come in, you want to shout, and although no voice leaves your throat, soon the door opens anyway.

"hey, what's up, you weren't on the- oh." he stops in his tracks in the middle of the corridor, and you're already mentally prepared to a snarky remark about your sorroundings, but the only thing he says is a lighthearted "why're you sitting on the floor?"

the first thing he thinks about is to level with you, so he plops himself down right beside you, and you bet it looks funny - you in yesterday's clothes, in a big, probably smelly, mess, and then a harbinger in full military outfit right beside you.

"i-" you try to say, but your throat seems too dry and worn out, so you opt for a whisper "look at his place"

he indeed does, hinting the small note of desperation in your voice.

"what about it?"

"it's a mess!" you sigh, covering your face with your hands, out of both embarrassment, and fatigue. you take a big breath before continuing "so i wanted to clean it up, i even brought all the... all the things, but it's so much stuff to do, and i'm tired, and- and i don't know!" you choose to stop as not to snap right then and there. "i can't even do my shitty chores right like an adult" you mumble, massaging your temples.

"and is sitting on the floor helping?" he simply asks, and for a second, you're almost mad at him for not being more... cooey and fuss over you a bit more. he sounds cold.

"what are you-"

"really, is it helping?" he repeats "because from how i see it, every little thing would seem bigger if you looked at it from this angle. come on" he nudges you before standing up, and offering a hand to lift you up. you, however, shake your head.

"i really can't deal with it today, childe, i'm sorry"

"just stand up" he pleas, and the second you take his hand, he helps you up in less than a second. when you're on his level again, he sneaks both his arms on the sides of your waist, and sort of sways around a little, before speaking again. "what if, what if we do it little by little? look, we'll start over there" he puts his hand on top of yours, and lifts your arm to point to the full sink along with his. "and that'd be it for today! and then tomorrow... actually, let's not make plans. we'll just pick something tomorrow, and do it then. does the sink sound like a lot to do?" he asks.

"do you want me to be honest, or do you want me to say no" you mutter, earning the heartiest and brightest laughter you've heard in days from him.

"always honest. but come on, i'll help." he rolls you out of his embrace, causing you to feel a sudden wave of cold, it was comfortable back there, you think.

however, as he works through the dishes with you, the pile does seem to lessen, and doesn't rule over your kitchen anymore. every time he hands you a plate to dry, he smiles as wide as he can, and it doesn't seem to bother him at all when you don't smile back.

"remember" he starts again, after a while of comfortable silence. he looks ridiculous, doing the kitchen duties in an outfit designed mostly to look presentable and slay enemies in it, but the look on his face is dead set. "the first lesson you've gotta learn before going off to battle something, is that the best defense is always, always to fight back. and if you don't think you can manage that, well, that's why nobody ever battles alone. it's common sense to have someone watching your back. and as for you, not only are you a great warrior yourself, but you've also got the best second-in-command willing to help you out. don't forget that."

kaeya

as for him, he's also perceptive and empathic, but the difference between him and tartaglia is that he does believe people have the right to figure some things out on their own, he's a firm believer in the magic of secrets

that's probably because he himself doesn't like to share too much about his deeply personal feelings

so he'd obviously see some wave of difficult emotions coming your way, but would he immediately start worrying? probably not

the guy doesn't have healthy copying mechanisms himself, don't think he expects those of others

every other night the two of you meet up at the tavern, kaeya always ordering wine, you asking the bartender for whatever was in store today, but it's never anything alcoholic.

and just like nearly always, you're seated at angel's share, him noticing you're not particularly in the mood for talking, and choosing to entertain you with as many stories of the day that went by as he can remember.

the waiter interrupts him, asking if your minds are already made up regarding the drink. now, kaeya always has you picking first, but since he sees you're still analyzing the card (as if you expected to find anything new), he goes first with a drink he knows charles makes really strong.

to his surprise, when it comes to you, you just mumble "i'll have the same he had"

before the waiter has a chance of writing that down, kaeya tells him that actually, you're gonna need a minute or two more, and to erase the order you've both put in.

as he walks away, the calvary captain's eyes pierce through yours.

"that's a pretty nasty drink you wanted there" he starts, feeling he can't let you handle your mess this time, preparing to dig a little deeper into what's on your mind.

you shrug your shoulders.

"hey" he speaks up a little firmer, hand moving to cover yours, and even though they twitch as to retreat from his grip, you let it be. "tell me what's up."

"nothing's <up>" you accentuate. "can't i even have a drink now?"

"obviously you can" he nods "as long as i know you're trying it just for the taste, and not for the strong kick it's gonna offer, cause that's a dangerous path that only leads to nasty places." concern shines through his gaze, and an encouraging smile is wandering somewhere in his expression, however his lips are still pressed into a tight line, the same he forms when he's either fighting or arguing.

you stay silent for a good long while, before sighing.

"maybe i want the kick. good, or bad, maybe i want to feel... something."

the sentence sounds all too familiar, as he shakes his head and takes your hand, leading you towards the exit.

"what're you-"

"you're obviously not in the right state to be in a bar, of all places" he states almost coldly "so i'm getting you somewhere safer."

the two of you leave the bar, and walk out into the cold of mondstadt's street, covered in the darkness of the night. you walk past him, not leveling up to him, just tagging along to whatever he's going.

it comes as a surprise, that you're neither headed for your apartment, nor his, nor the knights' headquarters. he's guiding you in an unknown direction, until you reach a dead end.

he clims up a small building, offering you a hand and shaking off your confused expressions and questions. "you'll see" he says. the two of you walk from roof to roof, and countless times you tell him it's ridiculous, but then, he jumps onto the city's wall, helping you out with two hands this time, sitting you down right next to him on the stone surface of the wall. it's a little wet from the night's humidity, and cold, and probably dirty too, but the moon shines right at you, and from this perspective, you see thousands of lights in houses, taverns and shops, from the bottom up to the cathedral.

going up from that, a calm and peaceful lake paints the landscape blue on the left, and even from up here, you see a sea of lampgrasses shining through the leaves of wolvendom forest. if you squint, lights are still on in dawn winery, and the path to liyue and all the other lands swirls around near diluc's house. there's so much you can see, even if the night limits your vision.

"i like to come here when i need to gain some perspective over what is happening in my life right now" kaeya speaks really softly and quietly, bordering on a whisper. "it's a beautiful view, even someone as insensitive to art as i am can see that, but other than that... it's huge. and even though it is, it's also alive. every single one of those beings whose lights are dying out as they slowly go to sleep one by one, they're alive. they're not a scenery, they're their own, individual worlds. and they all coexist with each other in such a clever manner, don't you think? they have their differences, they might even hate each other, or wish the worst upon the other's name, but from up here? they fit together like puzzles of one, big picture."

"that's a nice way to put it, for sure" you whisper, looking down onto your knees. his finger pushes your chin slightly to make you face him, and he smiles at you gently, thumb brushing against the skin of your cheek.

"you know, we each have our own worlds, built from scratch from such fragile materials. we have our worlds rise, shine, and crumble before our sights. we look over the ruins of them and think, this is the end of the world. there's nothing more, it's all dust now. but from up here, you see how many other worlds there are - everyone has their own. not everything that is happening in your world is true. you see it from first person's perspective, and therefore the view might be disturbed by many different aspects. you might not see the picture, you just see the broken puzzle fragment that can't fit with the rest, and you're ready to throw away the entire picture, without finishing it. but being here, it reminds me... the world doesn't end on the ruins you see. you can always ask someone to help you build them up again, and of course, you can expect it to fall into pieces once more, but this time, you'll keep in mind, there're-" he stopped, pointing to the city's lights. "so many people to help you raise it up to the clouds."

"your metaphor is really complex" you chuckle, but his face stays still.

"it's not the end of the world if your puzzle piece is broken. and the ruins are not unfixable if you feel too tired to build them up all by yourself. if anything, that's a start." his hand travels up to keep the hair from getting on your face, since the wind blows pretty hard on this height. "what do you say we start your puzzle once more, toghether?"

-

your friendly reminder that you can request things [here]

[keanureevesisbae]

But professor... - c.1

Summary: Penny Townsend is going to attend her first criminology class. What she didn’t expect was professor Walter Marshall.

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of murder and blood

A/N: I hope you enjoy this Professor!AU -- can you imagine? Walter Marshall as a professor? 🤤

Masterlist // But professor... masterlist // Next chapter

✎ ✎ ✎

My parents hoped that I would become a doctor. I get it—being friends with a lot of successful parents with equally successful children, must’ve raised their standard for me. They however must’ve known that medicine wasn’t it for me and going to law school isn’t my forte either. It must’ve been hard on them, knowing I wasn’t that intellectually gifted, though they tried their best for me to be.

They did a lot for me. At the ripe age of two to five hours, I was placed at the entrance of a church in Maryland. The pastor and his wife discovered me and brought me to the hospital, only to found out I wasn’t just a couple weeks premature, but also had a lot of heroin in my system.

My birth parents barely gave me a chance the second I was born (probably when I was conceived, but okay) and that is why I am so grateful that my adoptive parents care so much about me.

And that’s why I want to make them proud and studying psychology is my best chance at being the successful daughter they deserve, but man does it feel wrong to be here. I know there is another student out there who deserves to be here, who actually wants to do this, yet here I am taking their place.

Psychology wasn’t the greatest choice already, but having to take criminology was an even bigger mistake. I walk into the lecture hall for the first criminology class. My hands shake because of the nerves, they’re even clammy. I’m not good at making friends, so seeing those cliques that has formed after only two weeks of university, makes me slightly jealous and really alone.

I never really fitted in. My teachers would describe me as a sweet young girl, who is painfully shy.

That, of course, is if they even noticed me at all.

It can be hard to fit in, especially when you feel out of place the second you enter a room, like I have felt since I can remember.

‘Take a seat,’ I hear a deep voice say and I look up, to meet the eyes of the professor. He is unlike all of my other professors. He isn’t in a suit or at least some decent slacks. His denim jeans hugs his thick thighs, as he wears a sweater on top. His curls are disheveled and slightly frizzy and his beard is asymmetrical. A deep frown in between his brows.

‘Me?’ I ask in a soft tone.

He nods. ‘You,’ he confirms.

I walk passed him to choose a seat in the back. I take place and look around me, only to meet the eyes of the professor again. While I wonder what made him choose teaching, since he doesn’t look like someone who was born to teach, I also ponder about the fact he is looking at me again.

Why would he do that?

I grab my laptop and open it, opening a new document. I’ve been going to NYU for two weeks now, yet this is my first criminology class. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing up the glasses on my nose bridge.

‘Okay everyone,’ I hear the professor say, when it’s time for the class to start. ‘There is a sheet going around. Find the spot you’re sitting now and write down your name. If I find out you are messing with me, you have failed your class immediately.’

He is not beating around the bush.

‘I’m detective Walter Marshall. I have worked for the MPD, the Minneapolis Police Department. For this semester there are three subjects we’ll cover. Victimology, crime analysis and the psychology of criminal behavior.’

This is not at all what I want to learn. This is too gore for me. I should’ve stood up to my parents and go to cosmetology school like I originally wanted. It’s better for me anyways.

I’m so stupid.

The paper ends up on my table and I try to find my place on it. I write down ‘Penelope Townsend’ and slide it to the person two tables over. Professor Marshall explains how we have a weekly lecture of two hours and how he is available for questions every Friday, since he’ll be in his office.

‘Does anyone have any questions?’

A guy raises his hand. ‘Why aren’t you working for the MPD anymore, sir?’

Professor Marshall sits on the edge of his desk, crossing his muscular arms in front of his chest. ‘I was put on leave.’

‘Why?’

‘There were some issues,’ he says. ‘Between me and suspects.’

I have no idea what he is implying, but the silence in the classroom is so thick, that I have a clue what types of issues came with said suspects.

‘Really?’ the guy asks.

The professor only raises his eyebrows, which obviously means he isn’t joking. You don’t need to have studied Psychology to figure that out. ‘Any more questions?

‘Do we work in pairs for the assignment?’ a girl asks.

He shakes his head. ‘No, individual works only.’

I let out a sigh of relief. Thank the stars, I don’t want to work with others. Really, I don’t.

‘Okay, if that’s all, let me start right away. What do these women have in common?’ He presses a button on his presenter and the screen behind him changes. Three pictures of women appear on the screen. It’s their driver’s license photo.

‘They’re women,’ a guy says, causing a few to laugh.

Professor Marshall grabs the paper with names and says: ‘Does anyone have something less obvious to comment than mister Fitzgerald?’ He seems not amused at all by the words of Fitzgerald.

‘Brown hair, blue eyes,’ a girl says.

He nods. ‘And?’

‘They’re pretty,’ another girl says.

‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’ he notes. His eyes scan the paper and he looks up. ‘Miss Townsend, do you have something to add?’

Our eyes meet again and I realize that I’m the only miss Townsend in the class. I clear my throat and look at the pictures. Say something smart, Penny. Say something intelligent. Really intelligent.

The obvious things have already been said, so I should stay away from those things.

I swallow hard, press my glasses better on my nose and say: ‘Their left eyelid is slightly droopy.’

I hear some people chuckle a bit, making me feel everything but intelligent.

‘Quiet,’ professor Marshall says and the chuckles die down instantly. ‘Their droopy left eyelid is what made them appealing to the killer.’ He looks up from the other side of class, right at me. His slightly annoyed gaze dissolves for a few moments into a soft one. ‘Miss Townsend made an excellent point here. It took an entire police department to come to that conclusion over the course of two months.’

Oh my goodness, I made an excellent point.

The slides change and I see another picture. This time it’s of a man. It’s a mugshot. I bet he is the killer.

‘Miss Townsend, since you are on a roll,’ the professor continues and I nearly groan. Really? He wants me to answer another questions? ‘What’s do you notice about this man?’

I scan his entire face. He has a crooked nose, blemishes on his forehead and thin lips. He looks like a killer. This would be the type of man I would avoid if I came across him.

‘His left eyelid is also droopy,’ I say.

Is that a tiny smirk on his lips? ‘Correct.’ While professor Marshall continues to explain about how his own appearance is unknowingly influencing his choice of victims, I can’t help but beam a little with pride. ‘Because,’ he continues, ‘if you understand your victims, you can understand your killer.’ The slideshow changes to one word. ‘Welcome to victimology.’

✎ ✎ ✎

Time spend in a lecture hall while professor Marshall teaches flies by. Though he is a bit grumpy and not very welcoming, he is interesting and smart. Much better than my other teachers. I put everything in my backpack, before I get up from my seat. I’m one of the last students to leave the place, mostly because I don’t want to be swarmed by the cliques.

‘Miss Townsend,’ professor Marshall says, causing me to stop misstep as I already passed him.

I turn around. ‘Yes?’ I ask.

He doesn’t look up from his notes. ‘You did well in class today.’

Is this man giving me a compliment? He might be the first one in a teacher like position to ever notice me, let alone give me a compliment. ‘I did?’

‘Yeah,’ he says, now looking up from his notes. ‘Don’t hesitate to say something in class next time. You have great insight.’

‘Or just luck,’ I say.

Professor Marshall shakes his head. ‘No, this isn’t about luck, this is good insight. So, can you promise me to raise your hand next class?’

I bite my lip, before shaking my head. ‘No, I can’t.’

‘Why can’t you?’

‘What I said: this was luck and it probably won’t happen again. I have to go. I reserved a spot at the library. If that is all, sir?’

He doesn’t say anything, simply looks at me. It takes a second, maybe two before he nods. ‘If you have questions,’ he says, ‘you know how to contact me.’

I nod, before I walk out of the hall. I see students gathering in front of the door and I quickly slip through them and make my way to the library. I’ve been going to classes for around two weeks now and I’m still up to date as we speak. I decide to at least make a beginning with the assignments of my criminology class, because the sooner I start, the less work and stress I’ll experience later on, because I most definitely will stress about it.

It’s been quite awhile since I opened a book for school for assignments or preparing for exams. After high school, I decided to take a gap year, which ended in two. I’ve traveled with all sorts of groups to different countries, worked at an international cafe in Japan for awhile. It did help me with my social skills. I was happy, social and totally in my element. Those wonderful skills were all forgotten the second I stepped foot back in the USA again.

It was my parents that pushed for going back to college and once they figured out that medicine or law wasn’t up my alley, they agreed psychology, though it wasn’t my thing either.

It’s okay, sure, but… Gosh, I miss the freedom I had during the gap years. I’m not stupid, but is the academical life for me? I have looked at cosmetology school and boy do I wish I was there at the moment.

And not here.

✎ ✎ ✎

I don’t know how long I have been at the library, but my eyes are tired by the time I close my laptop. Besides working on my assignment, I also texted my parents to tell them everything is going fine and checked out multiple cosmetology schools here in the area.

Originally I’m from Maryland, meaning it’s only a three hour drive to see my parents and for them to check in on me. I considered lying about my major, about attending NYU and just go to cosmetology school, but mom and dad are paying my tuition, which is another loophole in my plan.

I put the laptop in my backpack and walk out of the library. Every second my mind wasn’t occupied with university related things, it went straight back to my first criminology class, more specifically my professor. His words. It’s one thing he said those things to me, but another that he looked so handsome while saying it.

‘There she is,’ I hear from behind me as I walk through the hallways to the exit. I turn around to discover it’s Fitzgerald. I forgot his first name, which is weird since we share a lot of the same classes together. He isn’t easy to miss. Pleasant on the eyes, that’s for sure, but he is loud, thinks he is hilarious and that makes him kinda annoying. ‘Miss Townsend,’ he says in a mocking tone.

Okay, change kinda annoying to absolutely insufferable.

‘Hm?’

Fitzgerald walks next to me and he comes a lot closer than I prefer. ‘You’re already the teacher’s pet,’ he continues. ‘Bet the man has a thing for Asian chicks.’

I have no idea how to respond to that implication. My instinct says to get out of here, but the exit is right ahead of me and from the looks of it, Fitzgerald is going there as well. So there is no escape.

‘But let’s say it’s beginners luck,’ he says, ‘because it was actually the first time I heard you speak.’

‘You mind leaving me alone?’ I ask.

‘Why is that, sugar boo?’

Okay, now I’m gonna vomit. Goosebumps run over my spine and the hairs in my neck are standing straight up. I bet this guy’s dad is rich, therefore the only reason he is here. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘You don’t want me here?’ He starts to chuckle. ‘Sweetheart, everyone wants me here.’

Not me.

‘Fitzgerald, are you deaf?’

It’s professor Marshall.

His eyes enlarge when he realizes that too. ‘No, sir,’ he quickly says.

‘She said she doesn’t want you here.’ He stands in front of the two of us, looking everything but amused. ‘You know, back when I was working, I encountered a lot of guys like you. Did you know they usually peak in high school, do okay in college, but the second they end up locked up in jail—and I promise you, they most often will—they aren’t so tough anymore. They usually end up as someone’s bitch.’

To hear this entire monologue and the word bitch from a professor, was not at all what I was expecting. Fitzgerald’s face is drained from all its color. While Fitzgerald looks like he shat himself, I am utterly amazed. I wish I was this intimidating, I think to myself.

Fitzgerald clears his throat, eyes darting around the hallway, almost as if he is trying to find the closest exit. He shoots out of this place very quickly, meaning I’m left with only our professor.

‘Thank you, sir,’ I say.

Professor Marshall simply nods. ‘You know, if you lowered your shoulders, you’d appear more confident.’

Why do I feel so offended? ‘Oh…’

‘It’s advice, miss Townsend, not criticism.’

‘Oh,’ I say again, this time in a whisper like tone. He could’ve brought it up a bit nicer though. No need to hurt my feelings like that.

Professor Marshall and I both walk towards the exit and I notice it’s raining. Great, guess who didn’t bring her umbrella and also isn’t wearing a jacket with a hood?

Absolutely fantastic.

‘Here,’ the professor says, holding out his umbrella for me.

Is this truly happening? ‘Oh, sir, that’s not necessary.’

‘I insist.’

With some hesitation I grab the umbrella from him and smile. ‘Thank you, professor.’

He politely nods and walks off, leaving me with the umbrella and a little bit confused. Though he looks so handsome and slightly intimidating, he still is nice to me. The only teacher ever. Maybe Fitzgerald is right and—

No, no, no, don’t think like that. It’s not that every man who is nice to me all of the sudden has this fetish. That can’t be it, right?

Maybe, despite my aversion, I am actually good at the whole criminology thing and isn’t it a one time thing. Luck. Maybe I do have something I am good at.

✎ ✎ ✎

That Friday I am still on campus after I spend my entire afternoon in the library. Since I have a question about the criminology assignment, I decide walk to the office of professor Marshall. To kill two birds with one stone, I brought his umbrella with me so I can give it back. I knock on the door and hear a low: ‘Come in.’

I open the door and am met with the professor, who is sitting behind is desk. ‘Sir, I have a question about the assignment.’

He leans back in his chair and gestures me to come in. I close the door behind me and expect to sit, until I notice there isn’t a chair anywhere for me to sit on. How unwelcome of him, I think to myself. Does that mean I have to remain standing?

‘What’s your question, miss Townsend?’

‘I didn’t know which format I had to use for the entire assignment. It’s not really that big of a deal, but I was here in the building and I thought that I could…’ Nice way of getting off track, Penny. As they said in high school musical: ‘Get’cha your head in the game’ and this is  not the game. ‘Never mind. Which format should I use?’

‘That’s up to you,’ he says.

That’s it? That’s the answer he is gonna give me?

‘Right,’ I mumble.

‘Other questions, miss Townsend?’

Yes. I let out a deep sigh. ‘The assignment is just harder than I thought,’ I admit. ‘I don’t really understand it.’

Professor Marshall stands up and holds out his hand. ‘Sit, I’ll try to explain it.’

‘In your chair?’

He simply nods and I walk around the desk, to take a seat, while he leans against the windowsill. Oh, the leather is warm… What a body heat does this man produce. ‘Okay, the point of the assignment is to use some of the example files of—staged—murders. Based on the file you choose, you choose a format. You write out the victimology, try to narrate who the killer is, writing down all your findings and there are things I’m gonna talk about in next classes.’

I nod. ‘That makes it easier, thank you, sir.’

‘You’re already working on the assignment?’ he asks. Why does he sound genuinely surprised?

I nod again. ‘I am. I find it easier to work a bit every day, than to cram it all in one day.’ I realize how that sounds. ‘That sounds dorky.’

‘It doesn’t really. It’s a whole lot better than what I did back in the days,’ he says. ‘What did you think of the class?’

Is he asking for my opinion? ‘Your class was very interesting. Slightly morbid though, but fascinating.’

‘Morbid?’ the professor asks. ‘There was nothing morbid about my class.’

I scrunch up my nose. ‘It was kinda scary. With the blood patterns and all. The peek into the murderer’s mind?’ I shiver. ‘Don’t know, felt too personal and too much into the killer’s brain.’

‘The class you’re taking is criminology,’ he says, ‘you should’ve known.’

I shrug, not knowing what to say to him. He is right…

‘Miss Townsend—’

‘Penny,’ I say. ‘It’s Penny. Penelope officially, but people barely call me that.’ People barely call out for me ever, but that’s a different topic. Total different topic.

‘Penny,’ he says, ‘could’ve known.’

I don’t know what he is implying, but I realize I am totally overstaying. ‘I’m sorry, I should go. Thanks for helping me out. Oh, I brought you back your umbrella. I don’t need it anyways.’

Professor Marshall nods. ‘Okay.’

‘I should go. It’s getting kinda dark already.’

‘Let me guess, you don’t do well in the dark.’

I smile almost out of guilt. ‘That obvious?’

For a brief moment I spot a smirk on his face. ‘I’m a detective, I spot these things.’

Okay, not gonna lie, but that’s pretty funny. ‘See you next class, professor,’ I say, standing up from his chair and I walk towards the door.

‘See you next class, Penny.’

[gerrycoco]

Here are chapter 4 and 5 of the TOL fanfic I’m writing based on @nwarrior777 comic. I’d been meaning to post chapter 4 a while back but hadn’t been sure where my cut off was between these two chapters until I finished them today. 

Hope you enjoy and more should be coming soon hopefully! 

You can also read this fic on ao3

Chapter 4 

The weeks ticked away slowly but surely at the Academy, summer turning into fall and steadily veering into winter. I continued to have the best of fun with Tamara doing all sorts of shenanigans.

With the end of October came Halloween where she snuck us out to go trick or treating when Halloween came around. As we finished up grabbing as much candy as we could, I only half noticed how cold the weather was becoming.

A few weeks later there came the first snowfall, which everyone was super excited about. After a particularly big snowfall most of the residents of the Academy, myself and Tamara included, found ourselves in the outdoor courtyard making snowmen.

Given my nature of not being very good at anything, my own attempts at making a snowman were quite subpar. I could see others not far away snickering among themselves, probably whispering about how ironic it was that someone with ice powers was so bad at stuff involving snow.

I was rather preoccupied by my increasing discomfort at being in the cold to really notice them. Tamara, however, glared in their direction as she joined me after reappearing from having gone to get some extra accessories for our snowmen. "Don't listen to them, Demian," she said, "this isn't a competition or anything, the whole point is just to have fun."

"Yeah I know," I replied, trying to blow on my hands to get them warmer, which only made things worse as with my powers all I did was blow frost over my fingers. It was then that I realized that I didn't have to go about making a snowman the old fashion way. Stretching my hands out in front of me me I tried summoning the snow around me to form into a shape.

"Demian maybe that isn't a good idea," Tamara said, her voice filled with concern, "the doctors told you to be careful about how long you spend in the snow and you already look really cold. I think we should go back inside."

"Hang on, just give me a minute," I managed to reply despite my teeth chattering loudly due to how cold I was. A small crowd of others had come by to watch curiously and I was not about to give them another reason to tease me. Within moments I'd accumulated a pile of snow that I was twisting and bending with frost from my own hands. I’d stopped shivering by then so I ignored how painfully cold I was feeling and concentrated to finish what I was doing.

Soon I had made a full sized snowman, but this time shaped like an actual human. "Tada," I said, with difficulty, now that my whole face felt frozen, "say hello to snow Tamara!" The others all gasped as they came closer to inspect the near perfect snow and ice replica of my friend.

Tamara herself however looked at me, a very stern expression on her face as she grabbed my hand and teleported us inside. Once she was done she dropped my hand and glared at me, looking quite mad. "What were you thinking?! That was dangerous!" she exclaimed loudly.

"What do you mean?" I meant to ask, surprised by how angry she looked. I never got the chance to do so though as everything suddenly went dark.

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

"You got him here just in time so thankfully he's going to be alright," I heard an unknown voice say.

I groaned as I tried to stir, finding that my whole body was tingling from the sensation of me slowly defrosting. With difficulty I managed to open my eyes, to see that I was in the back room of the infirmary.

"What, what happened?" I asked, the words slightly slurred as my mouth and tongue still hadn't regained full sensation.

"You did something really stupid is what happened," Tamara spat out, angrily wiping tears from her eyes. She then ran out of the room, leaving me alone with who I now saw was a nurse.

“Tamara wait!” I called out. I tried to sit up so I could go after her but realized I was still too numb to do so.

“Woah take it easy there,” the nurse said, putting a hand on my shoulder to prevent me from trying again. “You need to stay lying down for a while longer, your body likely can’t tolerate going into an upright position just yet,” he explained to me. “Right now you need to rest. The doctor should be here shortly to check up on you to make sure you’re doing alright.”

I sighed unhappily but nodded in resignation. The image of Tamara’s face was burnt into my mind as I replayed the scene again over and over again. She had looked so scared and hurt, I felt terrible for putting her through what I imagined was a rather frightening experience.

My wallowing was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, who I saw was the same I had met when first arriving at the Academy. “We meet again young man,” he said, though he clearly was far from delighted to be seeing me at the present. “That was a very foolish thing you did back there.”

“Yeah I know…” I replied, feeling the guilt weigh on my chest. Added to the fact that I fail at basically everything, I’ve also never exactly been known for being a particularly smart person. Even back at home, my family would usually avoid leaving me alone for extended periods of time.

“It’s a good thing your friend was there and that she was able to teleport you back inside when she did,” the doctor went on, his brows creasing into a concerned frown. He looked over at the monitor I’d been hooked up to and then picked up the chart on my bedside to examine it as well. “Thankfully you hadn’t gone far beyond moderate hypothermia and so your loss of consciousness was likely a form of rewarming shock.”

“I… I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad..” I said, feeling quite scared myself now that the reality of what had just happened was sinking in. “I wasn’t even shivering at the end.”

“Well that’s because shivering is only associated with the milder forms of hypothermia,” the doctor explained, putting the chart down and pulling out a small flashlight from his pocket. He then proceeded to point it in front of each eye and had me follow the beam with my gaze. “We already knew that you would be more sensitive to cold, but it appears now that because of your powers you’ve gone from warm blooded to cold blooded, no pun intended.”

“You mean, like a lizard?” I asked, my brain feeling a bit fuzzy as I tried to process what the doctor was telling me while spots danced in my vision from having the flashlight directed at my eyes.

“Yes precisely, or almost anyway,” the doctor replied, “cold-blooded creatures can’t internally cool themselves off while you have no problem with that. However, like them, you appear to have difficulty with generating sufficient body heat without some external help, which would explain why you progressed so quickly into an increasing hypothermic state.”

I simply blinked at him in response, his sciency explanations were too much for my thawing brain to understand. He appeared to see the look of overall confusion in my eyes and he gave me a small half-smile as he put the flashlight away in his pocket.

“The point is,” he went on, “from now on you will have to take extra special care to make sure you only spend short periods of time in cold environments.”

********************************************* I took the doctor’s word very seriously once I was allowed to leave the infirmary. Not only did I completely avoid going outside, I also made sure to always have an extra warm sweater as well as a hoodie wherever I went. While it might have been overkill, I didn’t want to risk anything happening again.

Mostly I kept to myself as the others gave me looks whenever I was in the common areas or the cafeteria. They had either been there to see me almost freeze to death or had heard about it as gossip spread rapidly around the Academy. I therefore spent the next few days in my room waiting for something new to happen so they wouldn’t be focused on me anymore. Time passed slowly though as I spent it alone seeing Tamara and I hadn’t spoken since the incident.

While normally she was constantly popping into my room to hang out, almost a week went by without me seeing her at all. She had obviously been very upset by my actions and I figured she was still mad at me about it. I really wanted to go and apologize, but, because of her teleportation powers, Tamara was very good at making sure she wasn’t able to be found if she didn’t want to be.

After a few days I decided it had gone on for long enough and decided to park myself outside her room. I figured if I stayed there at one point she’d have no choice but to talk to me. There was always the risk of her teleporting in and out of her room without ever having to use the door, but Tamara could usually only teleport so many times in a day before it started draining her too much and she risked ending up in the wrong place.

I decided then to go and wait outside her bedroom door after dinner time since she was more likely to be tired then and therefore less likely to use her powers to disappear on me. I’d been sitting there for a while, just scrolling on my phone as I waited, when I finally saw her walking down the hallway towards her room. She hadn’t noticed me yet, her head bent and gaze stuck around her shoes, looking about as miserable as I had been feeling.

“Tamara!” I called out, popping her out of her thoughts as her head snapped up at the sound of my voice. At this point she was about ten steps away from her door and I could see in her eyes that she was weighing whether it was worth it to try teleporting past me.

I stood up quickly and walked the distance between us, putting my hand on her arm. “Tamara, please,” I pleaded, “can we talk? I’d really like to apologize…”

She grimaced for a moment then let out a sigh. “Fine,” she replied, removing my hand and going to her bedroom door. I followed closely as she opened it, hoping that she wouldn’t dash in just to slam the door in my face. Instead she held the door open and gestured for me to come inside.

I went and sat down on the chair by the desk while Tamara shut the door before going to sit on the end of her bed. She glanced quickly in my direction before looking away and crossing her arms, visibly still quite upset with me.

I’d spent the time waiting outside her room going through how best to apologize to her, but in that moment all scenarios vanished from my mind as we sat in silence while I tried to figure out the best way to start. “So… I guess I’ll just start off by saying that I’m aware that what I did was really stupid and dangerous and I’m sorry for doing that to you…”

Tamara was silent for a beat before turning to look at me. “What were you even thinking doing that?” she interrogated. “Even without using your powers you’re more at risk when it’s cold, but with what you did you just made it 10 times worse! So what, you just couldn’t help but show off, right?”

I stared at her, surprised for a moment. It hadn’t occurred to me that by using my powers I’d put myself in even greater danger, although thinking about it now it did make sense. “No I wasn’t trying to show off, at least I don’t think so…” I replied, feeling quite uneasy. “I was failing at making a snowman the normal way just like I fail with everything else and then I remembered I have ice powers so, like, why not use the one thing I’m good at that’s actually relevant to the situation for once.”

“You’re telling me you made a snow person that looked just like me and it wasn’t just so you could look good in front of the others after they had made fun of you?” Tamara retorted, looking rather skeptical.

“I mean, maybe a tiny bit,” I admitted, “but mostly I did it because I thought it would make you smile. You’re always doing nice things for me so I just wanted to be able to do something nice for you too for once.”

“R-really?” Tamara asked, her tone now very different.

“Yeah, I just thought it would be funny for you to have a snow twin,” I said, letting out a nervous chuckle.

At this Tamara finally gave me a small smile before it fell away and she suddenly looked quite sad. “I guess I thought you had ignored my warning because you were too busy trying to impress the others. And maybe deep down a part of me was also scared that if it worked you were going to find new friends and wouldn’t want to hang out with me anymore…”

“What? Tamara no of course not…” I replied, getting up from the chair and going to sit down next to her on the bed. “You’re my best friend Tamara, you’re my only friend really. You’re also the reason nothing worse happened since you pretty much saved my life by teleporting us back inside when you did.”

“Damn right I did,” Tamara retorted with a smirk. “I hope you learned your lesson because I might not always be there to save your butt.”

“Oh don’t worry, I don’t plan on making the same mistake again,” I laughed. Tamara gave me a real smile this time and leaned over to hug me tightly.

“Okay enough talk about snow and ice now, how about we go get some hot cocoa?” I suggested.

“Good idea,” Tamara replied before teleporting us out of her room.

Chapter 5 

While I was quite happy to be hanging out with Tamara once again, our time together afterwards was somewhat short lived. Her one year at the Academy was coming to an end and shortly before Christmas she returned home to her family. Thankfully, during the holidays, the Academy made special allowances where they hosted an annual Christmas party and other fun events for family and friends. With this I was kept well occupied up until New Years after which things went back to normal, leaving me to find myself mostly alone once again.

I was able to see my family during visiting weeks of course, but I still wasn’t having much luck in finding any other friends now that Tamara was gone. No one really cared about me when I wasn’t using my powers and ever since my last incident I’d basically decided against doing anything ice related unless it was actually useful, which in the dead of winter it really wasn’t.  

Although my own one year milestone was still a good few months away, I figured I could start looking at different job possibilities to look forward to once I was able to return home. It was better than dying of boredom in the meantime. After all, the Academy had a department set up for the exact purpose of counseling and preparing those who wished to find themselves jobs once their time was up.

This didn’t end up being the most successful endeavor however. While the counselors were very nice and tried to look at different options with me, they had a hard time finding anything that would be a good fit. I’m not sure what I was expecting really, since by being not so great at basically everything I didn’t exactly have very many employable skills. The other issue is that usually the main solution is to try to find something that works with a person’s specific powers. In my case though, this didn’t pan out much since all the actual real jobs that would hire someone with ice powers involved working in very cold environments, and I was not going to make that same mistake twice.

“Unfortunately the only other option I can find is volunteer work,” Lenny, the counselor who had been assigned my case, informed me. “That means you wouldn’t be paid, but it would still be something if ever you’re interested.”

I left the employment center feeling quite disappointed as I headed towards the cafeteria. It was family visiting day and my mom would be arriving soon. Multiple parents and other family members had already started arriving as I entered the cafeteria and sat down at a table while I waited. A few minutes later I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hi mom,” I said, doing my best to smile as I turned to hug her before she sat down next to me.

“What’s wrong honey?” my mom asked directly. “Something is up, I can tell.”

I blinked with surprise at this. I’d forgotten how perceptive my mom could be. “I… well…” I started, going on to explain to her my less than promising visit with the employment department. “So I might not be able to get an actual job once I’m done here…” I added, looking down at my hands, blinking my eyes madly as I tried not to cry.  

“I see,” my mother replied. She reached over to take one of my hands in her own and gave it a tight squeeze. I looked up at her to see her smiling warmly at me. “Demian, just remember that no matter what happens, whether you manage to find a job or not, you will always have a place at home waiting for you,” she said tenderly as her free hand went to wipe away a tear that had slid down my cheek.

I gave her a watery smile as I leaned in to hug her tightly. “Thank you mom, I love you,” I said, sniffling softly.

“I love you too sweetheart,” my mother replied, hugging me back just as tightly. “Always have and always will.

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

After the visit with my mother I felt somewhat better about my future beyond the Academy. Though I still didn’t exactly know how I would ever manage to find a job, I also knew that I couldn’t give up trying.

My mood was also greatly improved by Tamara’s sudden and unexpected return to the Academy mid February. She’d had an unfortunate mishap with her powers, although she hadn’t really wanted to talk about it much upon her return. Bottom line was that she needed to be monitored at the Academy for another year now because of it. While I found that extremely unfortunate for her, I was also, rather selfishly, quite happy to have her back around.

It was only about a month later that she was finally willing to explain to me what had happened. Apparently when she had gone back home she had bumped into a former partner she had been dating not long before she had arrived at the Academy. They stayed in contact for the first little while after she had discovered her powers, however the long distance slowly became a strain on their relationship.

“At that point we agreed it was best to take a break and reconnect once I was able to go back home after my year was up,” Tamara explained to me.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?” I asked, feeling surprised and almost a bit hurt that I’d never heard about this before.

“I guess I didn’t want to get my hopes up too high just in case it didn’t work out,” she replied. “In the end that’s what happened because when I finally saw them again they were dating someone else…”

“Oh Tamara… I’m so sorry…” I said, gently putting my hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay,” she said, though she had a sad look in her eye. “It was for the best really, I don’t think we would’ve lasted very long in the end. But this happened on Valentine's Day of all days so needless to say I wasn’t feeling great after that. After seeing them together with their new partner I almost ran home, trying not to cry. I tried to teleport back but instead of my room I somehow ended up on Mars.”

“Mars?! You mean, like the planet?” I asked, shocked and confused.

“Yep,” Tamara replied. “Luckily I quickly teleported back to Earth, first in Antarctica and then at the top of the Eiffel Tower. It took a few tries but I finally made it home before coming back here and begging them to put me on blockators. I felt like I was going insane.”

“Wow that’s crazy,” I said, not sure what else to say at this point.

“Yeah…” Tamara acquiesced, her gaze downcast. “I’ve never really been lucky with dating anyway so I guess it’s not really all that surprising. I am a bit much after all and I’m not really dating material…”

“Absolutely not!” I protested, offended that my friend could think so low of herself. “You are funny and adorable and super thoughtful and anyone would be lucky to date you!” I exclaimed, tapping the table with insistence with every new point I added.

Tamara laughed at my display, most of the sadness now gone from her eyes. “Thank you, I really needed that,” she giggled. “But that makes me think, what about you? I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned anything about dating either.”

“Oh,” I replied meekly, now that I was being put on the spot. “I haven’t ever really dated to be honest…”

“Really? Like you’ve never had a girlfriend… or a boyfriend?” Tamara asked, leaving the door open for me to fill in the blank.

I could feel myself blushing at this, feeling a bit embarrassed about the topic. “I, uh… I guess I’m not totally sure where I stand in terms of sexuality… it’s never felt super clear for me and I haven’t really had the chance to figure it out for myself quite yet.”

“That’s okay then,” Tamara said, smiling kindly. “There’s no rush for you to find an answer or anything. And if ever you do figure it out and feel like dating whoever it is will also be lucky to be with someone like you.”

“Thanks Tamara,” I said, smiling back at her.

“Just for the record, you’re great and everything, but you’re not my type dude,” Tamara stated matter of factly. We looked at each other seriously for a moment before both bursting into laughter so hard we were in tears.

**************************** Before I knew it there was only one month left before I was to leave the Academy. Poor Lenny was still doing his best to try and find me a job but unless I miraculously developed an actual useful workskill there was only so much he could do.

Of course I was allowed to stay on at the Academy once my time was up in order to volunteer and help with the newcomers. I would be allowed to room and board there by doing so but it wasn’t an actual job or anything and that wasn’t something that actually paid. Because of the laws and regulations put in place for awakened, there needed to remain a place for them to stay if they weren’t able to return to society for one reason or another. To avoid people taking advantage of that and using it as an easy way out to not have to work, the Academy stipulated that they would not pay permanent/long term residents. Instead it was a barter type system where those who wished to stay had to contribute in some form or fashion according to their powers or abilities.

Some people, both within and outside the Academy, still saw it as a lazy option while others saw it as the epitome of despair. I thought both those views were rather extreme and unfair. However, I also didn’t want to stay at the Academy forever. I wasn’t ready to believe that there was truly nothing out there for me, not yet at least. The only thing that made me feel better was knowing that Tamara was also still going to be around for a good few more months even if I did wind up having to stay at the Academy for longer.

There was also the option of going back home to my parents for a while before coming back to stay at the Academy. That way I could stay with them for a bit and then move back into the Academy the next time I would be coming in for my regular post one year check in to make sure my powers were still stable. As time went on I figured I would go with that option since I hadn't gone home in nearly a year and had mainly seen my parents during visits. That way I would get to spend some time with the rest of my family but also come back to be with Tamara for the time she had left at the Academy.

I was starting to pack my stuff when I heard an unexpected knock at my door. I was confused as to who it could be, since Tamara usually just let herself in at this point. Putting down the shirt I’d been trying to fold I went to open the door, surprised to see Lenny standing there. “Lenny, what are you doing here?”

“Hi Demian,” Lenny greeted me, “I know you’ve been planning on going home soon but I have some interesting news for you that might just change your mind…”

[tlhrfanfic]

[Late] Thus With a Kiss I Die

Title: Thus With a Kiss I Die Ship: Late (Nate/Procrastination&Logan) Warnings: Idiot Gays, Kissing, Making Out, Disaster Gays, One Brain cell shared. Cuuuute. Words: 12,444 Request: So this was a Kiss AU list request that was requested by @romantichopelessly​ for a present for getting lots of stuff done with her Botwot AU: 36. we can never be together.

Summary: Logan was just cast as Juliet in the school play. He is not thrilled. Then he finds out that his crush Nate is Romeo. He's doomed.

Read on AO3

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Logan couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t believe that a senior class in an all-boys boarding school was doing a play. No, that was statistically likely, all things considered. 

 What he couldn’t believe, however, was that the school had chosen Romeo and Juliet as the play for the senior class that year. 

 Why?

 They weren’t even changing the genders of the female characters to appear pro-gay or any of the less than moral types of things private institutions did to bring in donators. 

 “Maybe our parents just thought they’d get a kick out of some of their kids dressing up in drag and talking falsetto.” Logan snorted and glanced at his best friend. 

Virgil sighed. 

 “I’m soooo glad I got the nurse. Yes! No one cares about that old hag’s lines. Smooth sailing.”

 Logan glared. 

 Virgil cleared his throat, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and shrugged. 

 “Yeah… tough luck you got the lead.”

 Logan laughed at that and shook his head. 

 “Thank you.”

 Virgil raised a brow. “For what?”

 “Most people have been congratulating me.”

 Virgil snorted. “Oh, yeah. Well, any time dude.”

 Logan sighed and nodded. 

 “So uh… have you talked with him yet?”

 Logan, who currently had his face in his hands, could hear the slight smirk in Virgil’s carefully phrased question. He suddenly longed to glare daggers at his friend but, due to all the excitement, was too exhausted to bother. Definitely not his excitement, but it was felt nonetheless. 

 “I don’t have any idea to whom you would be referring to Virgil.”

Logan attempted to silence the other with a look but his gamble failed.

 Virgil’s smirk widened. “Oh you don’t, do you?”

 Logan mustered up the energy to actually glare daggers his way, but there still wasn’t much fire behind it. He sighed. 

 “What am I going to do?” he asked, a slight whine to his words that he generally avoided. 

 Virgil sighed as well. “Why are you asking me?”

 Logan rolled his eyes and adjusted his glasses. 

 “One of us is actually in a romantic relationship and it is not me.”

 Virgil blushed and shrugged.

 “It’s all still very new though so I don’t know what you expect from me here, Lo.”

 “How do I get him to like me?”

 “Dude, you’ve liked that guy since we started high school. If anyone knows how to get him to like you, it’s you.”

 Logan groaned. 

 “Has Patton been having you listen to those self-growth tapes again?”

 Virgil shrugged but smiled softly and, for a moment, Logan smiled as well. He was very pleased to see his friend so happy. “They’re really not so bad.”

 “Good to know.”

 Logan sighed. 

 “Why don’t you just tell him?”

 Logan looked up at Virgil as if he’d grown an extra head. 

 “Right. Tell Nate Lassus, whom most of those students who identify as gay or bisexual and/or pan want, that I’ve had a crush on him for three years? Someone who I should not even want because truly, what do we have in common?”

 “You mean aside from the fact that you guys like each other and want to kiss each other and make out and do I need to keep going?”

 “That does not promote a healthy relationship, Virgil.”

 Virgil rolled his eyes. “Then you get to know him and I am certain there is something you guys have in common.”

 “Also, he does not like me. Don’t think I didn’t hear that.”

 “He does, and I hoped you would.” Virgil stuck out his tongue.

 Logan bit his tongue to keep from snapping at his friend. Virgil had been on this whole theory that Nate liked him as well. Which was absolutely absurd and held no merit whatsoever despite Virgil and Patton’s so-called evidence. 

 “Patton said he looked excited when you were chosen for Juliet. Even looked your way, hoping you were looking at him.”

 Logan looked up at Virgil. For a moment, there was a sliver of hope but reality sunk in. 

 “This is Nate Lassus we are talking about, Virgil. He’s just excited to get to kiss a guy on stage.”

 Virgil groaned but dropped the subject. Logan knew that wouldn’t be the last of it, however, he was happy for the break.

 »»————　♞　————««

 Nate watched as his two best friends fooled around with some of the prop swords backstage. He was currently working on some backgrounds, hammering some pre-cut wood boards that would be used as trees or perhaps castle props or any number of things. 

 He didn’t do the whole painting bit, but he could definitely manage hammering support pieces of wood to the backdrops. 

 As he worked, Nate thought back to the assembly when they were informed that a play would be put on and the parts that they would perform. When he had heard his name first, announced along with the name of the play’s male lead, his only thought had been a half-hearted wish. 

 If only Logan could be my Juliet… he’d thought and then—as if his thoughts had actually held any power at all—Logan’s name had been called and Juliet’s had followed. Nate could only glance at Logan, hoping to see what the other’s reaction had been. Unfortunately, it had looked like… well, not disgust, which was good… but definitely shock and dread. Nate had tried to tell himself that the looks were more about the role he’d been given and had nothing to do with himself.

 It felt like a lie, but it made Nate feel better all the same.

 “Take that, heathen,” Janus’s crisp voice broke through his thoughts. He glanced up from his spot on the floor as he shifted to the next set of backdrops and supports. 

 “Never, you scallywag bitch!” Remus cackled and rushed at Janus, the pair’s swords clacked with every strike.

 Where Janus actually had had fencing lessons and moved with finesse and experience, Remus struck down with pure force and nothing else. With Janus’s slight frame—at five-foot-four—it would seem that Remus’s strategy could gain him the upper hand. However, it was the smaller teen’s quick and fluid footwork that secured his victory. 

 As Nate had guessed, Remus’s wood sword was soon sailing across the room, clacking onto the tiled floor. Remus cackled, rather than growing angry, and rushed to get the wooden sword. With the more chaotic of his friends distracted, Janus turned to Nate while continuing to run through different fencing patterns.

 Sharp eyes met Nate’s, one a deep brown and the other a warm gold. He said nothing, knowing that whatever it was his friend wanted to say, he would get to it when he was ready and not a moment sooner. Still, as the moments ticked on, Nate wished he would just get on with it already. 

 “Sooo… Logan Wright is your Juliet… now why does this seem so fitting.… Oh right, because you complete morons are in love with each other. Maybe even the teachers and staff know it and this is the whole damn school’s way of saying ‘Now Kiss’.”

 Nate rolled his eyes. He tried to stay chipper and upbeat but now that it was spoken, he could no longer ignore the siren call of his crush as a topic. 

 “Jan… he didn’t even look at me… what if…”

 “Hopeless…”

 “Jan, I’m serious here.”

 “And so am I, Nate.”

 Remus returned. 

 “How do you know Logan likes him anyway, babe?”

 Janus looked at his boyfriend and shrugged. 

 “I can’t really say how… just trust me on this. My instincts are solid when it comes to people’s love lives.”

 Nate wanted to argue but, since Janus was his best friend from grade school, he already knew it was pointless. Not to mention, Janus had walked into the school freshman year, spotted Remus, and pointed him out to Nate. 

 “That guy is strange and quite possibly deranged. And I’m not sure how I know this, but we are most definitely going to date.”

 Nate had snorted and moved on. Then it had happened in Junior year, long after Janus had forgotten about the fateful statement he had made two years before. So he might have been right back then, but Nate really didn't want to have to wait two years like the other had to find out if his best friend’s prediction today would come true. 

 “You really should tell ol’ Logan how you feel, dude.” Remus shrugged, grinning that almost maniacal grin of his. Nate couldn’t help but grin back. 

 Still, his friends obviously didn’t get it. 

 If Logan had any feelings, he would have looked his way at the assembly when he’d realized it was Nate who he’d be kissing. 

 Oh, fuck. That’s right.

 Not only was it that Logan would be kissing him… 

 Nate would get to kiss Logan. 

 “And this look is Nate now realizing that not only does he get to share the lead with his crush, but he also gets to kiss said crush on stage in front of everybody.” Janus murmured with a side glance at his boyfriend. Remus snickered. 

 Nate threw them the double bird and kicked them out. 

 Getting back to work, Nate put all thoughts of crushes and kisses out of his mind.

 »»————　🕶️　————««

 Logan almost didn’t make it to the meeting with Mr. Thomas Sanders, the drama teacher who was putting the show on, and Nate. He was just going to continue on with his normal routine and that would be that. They would realize he just wasn’t going to do it and they would get someone else. 

 Then he realized that part of him wanted to go. Was it curiosity? Or was it the siren call of having a valid reason to spend more time with Nate?

 Logan blinked as he looked around, finding himself already headed in the direction of the theater. 

 It took a lot less time than he hoped to reach the two large oak doors, opening one of them and slipping inside. He was not surprised to see Mr. Sanders’s bright, welcoming smile. He was also not surprised to see that Nate was not there. 

 Nate had a habit of running late… all the time. 

 Something that would annoy him in anyone else, but with Nate, it somehow just worked.

 “Logan! Thank you for being here,” Mr. Sanders said, still smiling brightly. “Nate should be here soon.”

 Logan nodded, ignoring the heat rising up the back of his neck. 

 He jumped a moment later as the oak door opened once more, his head jerking in that direction.

 In walked Nate, looking just as attractive as he always did. It was because he was having what Roman, Patton’s friend, would call a ‘swoon moment’ that Logan didn’t notice it at first, but Nate’s gaze was on him from the moment he walked in the door. 

 Pretending that his blush was not currently seeping into his cheeks, Logan cleared his throat and turned in Nate’s direction. Standing up straight, Logan nodded at the other in greeting. While they weren’t friends, they had shared a number of classes and projects and school trips over the years. They’d talked but only in a capacity regarding those things. 

 None of which were personal or intimate. 

 Logan withheld a sigh, then remembered he should say something. 

 “Salutations, Nathan.”

 “Hey yourself, Logan. Hey, Mr. S.”

 Nate joined them and Mr. Sanders led them to the front row of seats. He had three padded fold out chairs, one in front of the other two. Logan took one of them and Nate took the other. Ignoring how close he was to Nate at that very moment, Logan focused instead on Mr. Sanders. 

 The drama teacher took the chair in front of them and beamed at them both. 

 “Thank you both for coming. I just wanted to take a moment and congratulate you both on getting the roles, even if you may not have wanted them.”

 Mr. Sanders who smiled apologetically. 

 “I had suggested we hold auditions and I was overruled.”

 Logan shrugged, a habit he had picked up from Virgil. 

 “It can’t be helped now and it’s not for any major event. I mean, I may suffer from making an absolute mockery of myself but… I have my own reasons for doing it, I suppose.”

 “Oh really? Do tell,” Nate pressed, flashing an easy grin.

 Logan flushed. He couldn’t believe he had just said what he’d said. He had felt surprisingly calm in the moment though he supposed that was just the effect Mr. Sanders had on people.

 Effective for an instructor teaching performing arts. 

 “It’s just… I’m a team player. We all have to do this. I cannot be selfish. I’d also… well, I’d kind of like to challenge myself too, I suppose.”

 And it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Nate was playing Romeo and Logan would get to kiss him. 

 Logan’s heart rate increased and his eyes fell to Nate’s mouth before quickly looking away.

 “Huh. Well… that’s epic. Good for you, dude.”

 Logan nodded. 

 “Nate’s right. That is very epic!” Mr. Sanders agreed. 

 He clapped his hands.

 “Alright, I know I don’t have to tell you two that Romeo and Juliet are the two most important characters in the play. Obviously, without them, the play would not exist. But, I want you guys to forget about that.”

 Logan’s confusion must have shown on his face because Mr. Sanders elaborated. “You are to think of them as people. Think of them as your friends. Or better yet, yourselves. I want you to get into their minds and think about why they do the things they do in the way they do them.”

 He stood up, pacing back and forth as he explained, glancing at them every so often. He then returned to them, taking the chair once more.

 “By doing that, you open them up in an intimate way that allows you to become them. Does all of that make sense?”

 He looked at Logan first before glancing at Nate. 

 Logan considered the words. He wasn’t an actor. That was Roman. 

 Which reminded him to make a mental note to speak with Roman after this. Unfortunately, while that would help future him, it did not help him now. 

 “I suppose… it’s… well, if we don’t feel what they are feeling…” Logan was grasping at straws. He was hands down the worst choice for the character of Juliet he had ever seen. 

 Nate leaned toward Logan. It was subtle but Logan, constantly aware of his surroundings, noticed. Strangely, it was comforting. 

 “Let me take a stab.”

 “Go ahead, Nate.” Mr. Sanders said with a grin, pleased with the other’s enthusiasm.

 “It’s because we can’t just learn the lines and do what the movements and motions say. Anyone can do that, but in order to sell what we are doing, we have to understand the character’s struggles to better perform them on the stage. By becoming the characters, we help the audience experience what they were feeling and thinking.”

 “Very good Nate! Exactly.”

 Logan glanced at Nate and smiled his appreciation. Nate shrugged.

 And winked.

 Logan blushed and turned his attention back to Mr. Sanders who was rising to head to his bag. He pulled out what appeared to be papers and two boxes and headed back to them. Handing each boy a stapled document, he continued to talk. 

 “These are your scripts. Feel free to highlight, take notes, change directions, and—although anything you change must be approved by me—I am always open to and strongly urge suggestions.” He then handed them each a box of two highlighters. “Rehearsals will start tomorrow after school. They will run for an hour and a half during weekdays for the next four weeks. The three weeks after that will be two and a half hour practices and the week after that is show week.”

 He glanced at them both. 

 “Any questions?”

 Logan, afraid to speak, shook his head. He held his script and highlighters close, ready to bolt at the first opportunity. Nate must have agreed in some fashion because Mr. Sanders continued on. 

 “One last suggestion. You are expected to run your lines outside of rehearsals. It’s the only way to memorize the lines. However, you are not expected to run lines together. I do want to strongly urge that you do. Find a nice quiet place to run the scenes you guys have together. You both already seem pretty comfortable around each other. That will help! Especially when it comes to practicing the kiss.” 

 He glanced at Logan. “You do not have to practice the kiss but you will want to. Trust me. It’s not easy to kiss strangers on stage.” He shuddered and Logan had to wonder at his experience with such things. Perhaps it was better not to ask. 

 He ignored his flaming cheeks and cleared his throat. 

 “Thank you for all the suggestions and insight, Mr. Sanders, but if that is all, I really must go.”

 “Yes, of course. You are both good to go and I look forward to seeing you at rehearsals.”

 Logan took off and didn’t look back. 

  »»————　♞　————««

 Nate wasn’t sure how he managed it, but he was able to keep his disappointment and irritation off his face until he thanked Mr. Sanders and left. 

 So… that was it then. 

 Logan didn’t like him and was actually disgusted by the idea of not only kissing him but practicing kissing him too. 

 He sighed as he ignored the urge to hit the wall. Even if it would help him let out his frustration, he’d have a broken hand and that would just do no one any good. 

 Deciding to put the feelings into doing something useful, Nate made his way to the door that led backstage and headed in. Making his way past the dressing rooms and costume closets, Nate reached the main backstage floor, where he found Janus. 

 His friend was busy working, sketching backgrounds onto the backdrops that had already been assembled. Janus didn’t even bother looking up. 

 “Nice of you to join me, Nate.”

 Nate had no idea how he always knew it was him without looking, but at this point, he couldn’t be bothered to ask. Janus would likely take it to his grave anyway. 

 “Hey, dude.” Nate sighed.

 Janus immediately looked up from what he was doing, his eyes narrowing. 

 “What happened?” 

 Nate blinked, a shiver at the dangerous look in those two toned eyes running down his back. Not for the first time, he was extremely happy that Janus was his friend rather than an enemy. 

 “Nothing… exactly?”

 “Darling, it’s my job to be vague and interesting. Yours is to be strong and mmm… a little himbo-esque. Now, I’m going to ask you again. What happened?”

 Nate sighed and explained what had happened in the meeting and Logan’s sudden rush out the doors at the end. Janus kept the same unreadable expression on his face throughout the story and when Nate finished, he sighed. 

 Nate frowned. 

 “What?”

 “Nate… darling… I don’t mean to sound harsh when I say this… who the hell am I kidding, yes I do. Especially since I know you can take it. Think about what you just told me and then think about who it is you’re talking about…”

 “Logan… yeah, so what?”

 Janus tutted. 

 “Okay… I see I am going to have to spell this out for you, hon. In the years that we have attended this school with Logan, have you ever seen him date? Ever see him hold hands with anyone?” He watched Nate closely. Nate, not sure where this was going, just listened. “Ever see him hug anyone… well, I suppose he gets hugs from Patton but that definitely doesn’t count. Everyone gets hugs from Patton. But anyway… ever see him in any scenario like those I mentioned?”

 Nate didn’t really need to think about it. He had liked Logan for so long, it was as if his presence was a magnet for Nate’s gaze. 

 “No… but I don’t really see how…”

 “So gorgeous… so sweet… but so, so dumb.”

 Nate might have felt offended but the other said the insult with such fondness it almost felt like the other compliments he’d offered. 

 “Janus, just get to the point.”

 “Very well. Of course Logan ran out of there at the thought of practicing kissing you… he’s never been kissed, Nate.”

 Oh.

 Oh.

 “Oh.”

 Janus smirked and stood up, coming to stand in front of him. Nate looked down at him and sighed. 

 “I… never even considered… huh… okay… so I should definitely go find him then?”

 “Oh, most definitely.”

 Janus winked. Nate grinned at the other and nodded at the sketch. 

 “Nice trees, by the way. I think that’s what they are—”

 “Fuck you,” Janus said but grinned. 

 “You wish.”

 “Don’t I just.” 

 Nate chuckled and pointed at the hall that led to the exit with his thumb. 

 “I’ve got a cute nerd to find. Catch you later.”

 “Oh, have you learned how to catch things now?”

 Nate, who totally could not catch anything thrown his way, gasped. 

 “Low blow, my friend.”

 “It’s how you know I care. Now, go find Logan. Also, maybe consider telling him how you feel… just a thought. No pressure.”

 “Yeah… we’ll see. Later.”

 “Go get him, darling.”

 Nate snorted but headed out for the dorms.

 »»————　🕶️　————««

 Logan reached the dorm room that he shared with Virgil and quickly buried himself in the thing that made him feel safest: homework. 

 He was so lost in his homework that he almost didn’t hear the knock on the door. It wasn’t odd to have someone knock on his door, so Logan didn’t give it much thought. It was likely Patton looking for Virgil or something. Patton often forgot that his cell phone would be a much more efficient solution to finding his boyfriend. 

 Then again, also knowing Patton pretty well by now, it was just as likely he was checking up on Logan. That boy did wear his heart on his sleeve and would want to help if he perceived someone was upset in any way. 

 Therefore, when he went to open his door, it was with great surprise, and uncalled for embarrassment, he found Nate on the other side. 

 “So… hey.”

 “... Hi.”

 Logan did not miss how Nate glanced into his dorm before looking at him once more. 

 “I was wondering if you… uh… if you had a moment.”

 Logan shifted slightly but nodded. When he said nothing, Nate continued. 

 “Do you think we can maybe take this inside?”

 “You wish to be invited into my dorm room?”

 Nate chuckled softly. Logan frowned. It almost sounded fond but that made no sense. Logan was barely a blip on Nate’s radar. There was no reason for him to be fond of anything that had to do with Logan. 

 Deciding it was obviously projections of his own feelings—why did he have them again?—Logan pushed any thoughts and inquiries on fondness from his mind. 

 “Yeah, if that’s alright with you.”

 Logan considered before nodding, opening the door and stepping away to let Nate pass. He closed the door behind him, trying to ignore the twisting of his insides from having his crush in his room. 

 Not sure what to do with himself, Logan returned to his desk and leaned against it, watching Nate and ignoring the heat rising up the back of his neck. 

 “Alright… we’re inside. What did you wish to speak to me about?”

 Nate, who had been checking out the room, seemed to focus on Logan’s side. 

 Interesting. 

 He grinned at Logan now and crossed from the book shelf he had been perusing to stand in front of him. 

 “Yeah, so… I just wanted to talk about the play…”

 Logan sighed. 

 “Obviously. There is no other reason that could have brought you here. I know we don’t talk too much and we aren’t friends so there would be no reason to hang out, but surely, after years of school with me, you would know that I am pretty observant.”

 Nate chuckled that same fond laugh again. The sound had heat slipping into Logan’s cheeks and he cleared his throat. 

 “What about the play, Nathan?”

 Nate sighed. “Janus told me you’ve uh… you’ve never been kissed…”

 Oh.

 Right, the kiss in the play.

 Even though this was obviously about kissing each other in the play, Logan couldn’t get past the fact that he would have to kiss Nate. If it had been anyone else, he was certain he could manage. But with Nate… 

 What if he was horrible? What if Nate told everyone?

 No… Nathan Lasses could be a dick but to most people, he was kind and fair and nice. Besides, in Logan’s humble opinion, Remy—Nate’s twin—was much worse. 

 Nate wouldn’t tell anyone. Knowing Nate, he’d offer to help him practice and—

 Suddenly it clicked. He knew exactly why Nate was there. 

 “Ah. You wish to practice the kiss,” he said simply. 

 Nate’s eyes widened in surprise for a brief moment before the look was replaced with something else. Something softer. 

 Do not even think of that word, Logan, or so help me.

 “Correct, as always, scholar.”

 Logan blinked. Huh, a nickname. 

 As far as Logan had been informed by Patton, nicknames were things people gave to other people they really liked and wanted to be friends with. 

 Logan held back a sigh. 

 Friendship… well, I suppose if that’s what he wants from me… it would be selfish of me to refuse.

 Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he forced a smile. 

 “That… that would be okay with me…” Logan said. 

 This was not how he wanted his first kiss—especially not with Nate—but as there was no hope for more, it would be pointless to hold out on the impossibility that there ever would be.

 Besides, it was better this way. He was far too busy for silly things like holding hands, little whispers spoken between kisses, flirting, cuddling. He wasn’t big on those things anyway. Even if he would have liked to try… with Nate.

 “Wait, really? I honestly thought I was going to have to like talk you into it or something.”

 Logan shook his head and held up a hand.

 “Not at all. Janus, though I’d love to know who his source was, is correct. I’ve never kissed or been kissed. This is an adequate solution. Completely logical.”

 Nate frowned and Logan hesitated. 

 “What’s wrong?”

 Nate had a look on his face that was hard for Logan to read. It was reserved but there was something else too. Before Logan could figure out what it could be, Nate was suddenly grinning and clapping. It was as if nothing had happened but there was still a weird charge in the air. 

 Or maybe Logan was reading too much into the situation. 

 “Nothing’s wrong, dude. Let’s get started.”

 Logan’s eyes widened at that. 

 “Now?”

 He was pained to admit to himself that he might have squeaked the word, but if any one else asked, he would take it to his grave. 

 Nate snickered. 

 “Aww, getting shy? Cute.”

 Logan blushed at that and, regretfully, flailed his embarrassment. 

 “I’m not cute!”

 “I mean, of course you don’t find yourself attractive, scholar, but you never know. Some people might.”

 “Oh, yes, and someday Patton will stop hanging out with cats even though he’s pretty severely allergic.”

 “Haha, yeah right.”

 “Exactly.”

 It seemed to hit Nate what Logan had meant and suddenly the taller teen was closing the remaining distance between them.

 “I’m serious, Logan.” He looked it too. His dark brown eyes locked with Logan’s and he smiled the same smile from earlier. The one that Logan was positive he was projecting because it made zero sense for Nate to smile at him like that unless…

 No Logan. You already ran the probability of a guy like him liking a guy like you. He doesn’t like you in the same way you like him.

 “Hey, Logan…” Nate said, voice lower. Softer.

 Logan looked up, unsure of when he looked away. His grey eyes met brown once more and suddenly the atmosphere changed. 

 He could no longer hear the world outside his dorm room and time felt slower. He wasn’t sure what was happening and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Clearing his throat, he swallowed. 

 “Yes, Nathan…” he whispered. 

 Why was he whispering?

 “Can I kiss you?”

 Logan swallowed again but nodded. 

 Nate smiled and Logan was shocked again to find it seemed kind of… disappointed. Sad, even. Then Nate was closing his eyes and Logan, completely out of his element, did the same. 

 The first contact was soft… almost as if it hadn’t been there at all. Logan found himself leaning into it and his lips found Nate’s. He gasped and pulled away, bringing a hand to his mouth. 

 “Very good, for your first kiss,” Nate said, grinning teasingly. Logan blushed. 

 “Shut up.”

 “No, no. None of that. I’m serious. You did good.”

 “Right.” 

 Logan had no reason to believe him, of course, but it was nice to hear. Then again, unlike Logan, Nate had kissed many people. Maybe he knew what he was talking about. He cleared his throat.

 “Should we… keep practicing?”

 Nate seemed surprised by the question but laughed and nodded. 

 “We absolutely should keep practicing. Definitely should. One hundred percent.”

 Logan rolled his eyes but snorted. 

 “Very well. Kiss me again.”

 Nate smirked. 

 “Yes, sir.”

 With that, he placed his hands on Logan’s hips and tugged him against his body, leaning down to kiss him deeply on the mouth.

  »»————　♞　————««

 Nate couldn’t help the pleased sound that escaped him as he kissed Logan deeply. His eyes were closed, brows furrowed, lips moving against Logan’s. 

 Never in all his wildest dreams had he ever thought he would get the chance to kiss Logan. Now that he had, however, he felt as if the universe was laughing in his face. 

 Like, yeah you get to kiss him but you ain’t never gonna have him. Not how you so desperately desire.

 Fuck the universe. 

 If he couldn’t find the words to tell Logan…

 If he couldn’t trust himself to say the right things…

 Well, he’d just have to tell him through his kisses. 

 He could do that.

 Logan’s arms wrapped around him and Nate took that as all the permission he needed to hold Logan closer. He moved one hand to the small of Logan’s back as his other hand came up to frame the intelligent teen’s face. 

 Nate was the one who had to pull away, inhaling sharply as he tried to catch his breath and chuckling as Logan chased after his retreating mouth. 

 “So…” Nate asked, the word low and still a little breathless. “How was that?”

 Logan just blinked up at Nate. “H-huh, what, I’m sorry?”

 Nate laughed deeply at that and, before he could talk himself out of it, he quickly leaned down to kiss the other’s forehead. 

 “Cute…” he said, voice low and fond. 

 Logan blushed but said nothing. Silence fell between them, neither knowing what to say or what to do. Logan seemed to want to say something—maybe ask something—but it was clear to Nate that he was nervous. Nate wished he could think of just the right thing to say that would reassure the other that he wasn’t ever going to judge him. 

 If he only knew how much I care…

 Then maybe you should tell him. That voice sounded far more like Janus’s than it did Nate’s.

 Yeah right.

 Nate smiled down at Logan and was about to ask him if it would be okay if they practiced again tomorrow but in the next moment Logan was pressing closer and kissing him. Having absolutely no problem with this change in plans, Nate wrapped both arms tight around Logan, embracing him completely as he kissed back hungrily. 

 It was Logan’s turn to make pleased sorts of sounds, the other teen obviously getting lost in the feelings and sensations. That was all well and good, of course, but the sounds did things to Nate and if he allowed those sounds to keep doing those things to him, well… 

 He wouldn’t need words to tell Logan how he felt because Logan would be able to feel it.

 Pulling away quickly, Nate worked hard to catch his breath. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. 

 “Okay! So, I think this is a great place to stop. We can totally practice some more tomorrow, if you’re okay with that—”

 “Yes.” Logan said it so quickly he seemed to surprise even himself. 

 Nate’s brows rose as Logan cleared his throat and spoke up again, more reserved. 

 “I mean, that would be agreeable.”

 Nate smirked at that.

 “Great. Same time after classes? Back here?”

 Logan nodded but then stopped. 

 “Yes… but can we go to your room? I just… if Virgil’s here I’m not going to be able to… you know… it’ll be too embarrassing.”

 “You do realize that we are going to be kissing in front of a whole lot more than just one student, right?”

 Logan nodded, pulling off his glasses. He pulled out a little handkerchief, wiping gently at the lenses. 

 “Of course… but that’s a little different. We’ll be on stage and the audience will mostly be in shadow. Not to mention, the audience will be one collective group. I won’t know where my friends are sitting—well, most of them will be in the play but that is beside the point—and so I won’t see them. If it were just Virgil there though… it just seems too…”

 “Intimate,” Nate asked, hopeful. 

 Logan considered the word and finally nodded.

 “Yes, exactly. Too intimate.”

 “Well, I mean I have a roommate too, so I’m not sure I can promise Janus won’t be there.”

 That was a bold face lie. He could and would make sure Janus would not be there. 

 He grinned. “But if that’s cool with you, then I am more than happy to sacrifice my room for our kissing practices.”

 Logan blushed but smiled gently, nodding. 

 “Thank you.”

 Nate nodded. 

 He glanced at the door and then back at Logan. 

 “So… I have to be honest… kissing you is kinda fun…”

 That’s the understatement of the century.

 Still, he didn’t want to come on too strong and scare the other. The blush this pulled from Logan also made the light confession so very worth it.

 “Mind if I take one for the road?”

 Logan’s eyes brightened and Nate watched as the other’s eyes darted to Nate’s mouth and back while licking his lips. He nodded slowly. 

 “I would not be opposed.”

 “Good.”

 Nate moved in close once more, hands on Logan’s hips as he guided him in closer. His brown eyes met gray and he grinned warmly. 

 “Cute,” he said as the other blushed a little deeper.

 Before Logan could argue his point, Nate closed his eyes and kissed Logan hard. Logan gasped into the kiss, perhaps surprised by the sudden intensity. Nate took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Logan’s mouth, exploring it and caressing Logan’s tongue with his own. 

 Logan let out an almost whimpering sound and Nate groaned in response. It was Logan who ended the kiss this time and Nate couldn’t deny that he had definitely chased after his mouth. Logan was panting and pulled out of Nate’s hold, the taller teen letting him. 

 “Wow…” Logan breathed, bringing his fingers to press at kiss swollen lips. 

 “Yeah,” Nate agreed, catching his own breath. Silence fell between them again but it was almost comfortable this time. Nate grinned. 

 “Well, I guess I’ll see you in class and kissing practice after.”

 Logan nodded. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything else, Nate moved close once more and kissed the top of his head. 

 “See you tomorrow, scholar.”

 “See you tomorrow, Nathan.”

 Nate had the walk back to his own dorm to consider everything that had just happened. He couldn’t believe how well Logan had taken to kissing him. Then again, Nate had it so bad even if Logan couldn’t kiss, he’d still enjoy it… but there was also the fact that Logan was intelligent and smart and capable and it was no surprise at all that he had picked up kissing just as well as any other subject or skill. 

 But Logan had enjoyed it… and had wanted to keep doing it. 

 Just like that, hope returned in Nate’s heart. 

 Maybe, just maybe, his hopeless crush on Logan Wright wasn’t so hopeless after all. 

 »»————　🕶️　————««

 Logan continued to press his fingers against his lips throughout the night. He did it so much that it almost became something of a fixation. He would remember the feeling of Nate’s lips pressed against his own and brush against his own lips, still sore from all the kissing. 

 He would then smile and sigh as his insides fluttered until he reminded himself that the kissing was just Nate being a good friend and one would assume a good actor. Logan was pretty certain that Roman went on often about something he called ‘method acting’. 

 His and Nate’s kissing was simply that. 

 Logan longed for so much more. 

 Still, Nate had obviously enjoyed kissing him so maybe this kissing practice would prove to be a good thing. 

 Logan brought his hand up to his lips once more, smiling softly as he brushed against them idly. 

 It was at that moment the door opened and Virgil shuffled in, tossing his bag by the little couch in the middle of the room. He collapsed onto it, only then glancing Logan’s way. 

 Logan, still lost in the memory of kissing Nate, had registered Virgil’s arrival but said nothing, still sliding his fingers gently across his lips. 

 “Hello~ Earth to Logan? Dude, what’s going on with you?”

 Logan blinked and looked at Virgil.

 “Oh, hey there, Virgil. Did you hang out with Patton?”

 Virgil nodded before shaking his head. 

 “Nope. We’re talking about you… you’re acting very… uh… Roman-y and Patton-y today.”

 Logan blushed because what that meant was that he was being very feelings-y. Logan usually was not a very feelings-y person. His best friend knew this well. 

 There were, however, some things he was not yet aware of. 

 “I kissed Nate today!” Logan said. Then he added, as an afterthought, “a lot.”

 Virgil’s eyes widened almost comically. 

 “You did what? When?”

 “While you were out…”

 “So, what? Did he ask you out? Are you two dating? Do I have to give him the best friend talk where I threaten his life if he hurts you?”

 Logan’s brows rose and he stared at Virgil waiting for him to end his tirade. He didn’t respond until Virgil grinned sheepishly and gestured in a go-right-ahead sort of manner. 

 “Okay, first… you have the wrong impression but, considering I blurted out that I kissed him with no other context, that’s not your fault. He sought me out here and I realized that he was offering to practice with me and well… I accepted.”

 “So…” Virgil bit his lip. “Look, I know when we’re younger and they tell you your first kiss is a big deal and all and it’s best with someone you really like and that likes you too but… it’s not like it is on tv.”

 Logan shrugged and smiled at Virgil. He knew it wasn’t a fully happy smile, but honestly, Virgil was a good friend. He tried his very best to help Logan any time he needed to feel better. 

 “So… even though you have to kiss him in the play when doesn’t like you—which, I’m still positive he does, that’s not the point here—how was it?”

 Logan laughed as he watched Virgil shift to the edge of the couch, leaning forward in Logan’s direction, obviously invested in whatever it was Logan would say next. 

 The intelligent teen blushed but smiled slowly, biting his lip. 

 “It was so much better than I could ever imagine.”

 Virgil chuckled at that and nodded. 

 “Yeah. Yeah, I feel that. Remember when we were younger and we were grossed out by even the thought.”

 Logan nodded. In fact, until that first kiss, Logan had still very much thought that. But now… 

 “I want to kiss him again.”

 Virgil laughed again. 

 “Damn, L.” 

 Logan blushed. “Shut up.”

 Virgil snorted. “Nope. Never. Besides, it's my job to keep you on your toes.”

 Logan shook his head. Idly, he brought his hand up to brush at his lips again. 

 “I’m a little worried though… it’s obvious that you like kissing him so much because of your feelings for him, L.”

 Logan nodded. He too had come to the conclusion. 

 “Okay… maybe don’t have so many practices?”

 Logan considered and nodded. 

 “Yeah… yeah, maybe.”

 Virgil seemed happy to have helped and went off to shuffle in his backpack for his homework. Logan sighed. 

 Virgil had a point. A very valid and logical point. 

 Unfortunately, Logan was not sure how well he would be able to resist now that he’d had just a taste of what could never be.

 Pushing the problem out of his mind, Logan turned his attention back to the problems that were within his ability to solve. 

  »»————　♞　————««

 Nate honestly felt like he was floating as he walked through the dorms, heading for his own room. He headed inside, making his way to his bed and tossed himself onto it. As he looked up at the ceiling, he brought a hand to his mouth and slid his fingers against his lower lip. 

 A smile slowly slipped onto his face as he pulled his hand away and bit his lip. He couldn’t believe how readily Logan had agreed to ‘kiss practice’. He had even agreed to continue it. 

 Nate found himself torn. 

 As much as he had so very loved kissing the intelligent teen, he also knew that he was only setting himself up for heartbreak. The play—and so the kissing—would come to an end and things would go back to the way they had been. 

 Still, Nate didn’t see why that meant he couldn’t enjoy it while he had the chance. If it had never been for the powers-that-be choosing himself and Logan for Romeo and Juliet, he would never have gotten the chance to feel what it was like to kiss the boy he had liked for so long. 

 The door opened and Nate, a soft, warm smile on his face and insides toasty, looked up to meet Janus’s gaze. Janus, apparently noting the love-sick look on his face, sighed and tugged Remus in by their linked hands before closing the door. 

 “I take it from the revolting look on your face that you talked to Logan?” Nate noted how eager the other sounded. 

 He cleared his throat. 

 “Oh, yeah… yeah, we talked a bit…”

 Nate looked away as Janus narrowed his eyes. 

 “And…?”

 “Ah, and nothing… I just told him I completely understood he was nervous.”

 “Did you tell him how you feel, Nate?”

 Nate had the decency to look sheepish. 

 “Not… exactly…”

 Janus gave him the look that meant he should continue. 

 “But he was very responsive to my kisses.”

 Janus’s eyes widened and Nate felt a rush of pride at causing such a rare phenomenon. It was not often that one surprised Janus Trompeur. 

 “You kissed him?”

 Nate could hear the excitement in his voice. Not wanting a misunderstanding, Nate cleared his throat. 

 “Yeah… I told him it was understandable he was nervous since he’d never been kissed and he came to the conclusion that I was offering to practice with him and so he agreed and we kissed… a lot… and it was so much better than I could have ever imagined.”

 Janus crossed his arms. “Uh huh.”

 “You should have seen Logan too… I’ve… I’ve never seen him like that before… I can safely guarantee it was enjoyed by both parties. He’s also agreed to continue. We’ll have another practice tomorrow.”

 He glanced up at Janus, hoping he would see where he was going with this. 

 The other sighed and winced. 

 “Oh, Nate… you beautiful, dumb idiot… you’re going to try to kiss him in love with you, aren’t you.”

 Nate flashed a grin. 

 “I’m going to kiss him in love with me, Janus!”

 Janus sighed, bringing a hand up to palm his face before he shook his head. 

 “Oh, darling. That’s not going to work if you don’t tell him how you feel.”

 Nate sighed. 

 “Yeah, you should lick his juicy butthole as well!”

 Janus and Nate both glared at Remus, who just cackled and continued to listen. 

 “Nate…”

 Nate threw up his hands in frustration. 

 “Okay, okay! Damn it, I know, Janus. I know.”

 Janus smiled and nodded. 

 “Very good… and….”

 Nate sighed and rolled his eyes but answered dutifully, as expected. 

 “And I promise I will find some time before the play is over to tell him how I feel.”

 Janus flashed a victory smile. 

 “Good. Now, all this dabbling into your love life has made me hungry. Let’s go get dinner.”

 Nate grinned and nodded. Ignoring the return of the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Nate pulled on his coat and joined the other two for dinner.

 »»————　🕶️　————««

 Logan wouldn’t say he had grown used to kissing Nate three days into practice, but he would definitely say he had grown comfortable with it. Unfortunately, as Monday came and classes began once more, Logan realized that today would be the first rehearsal. 

 He would have to kiss Nate… but on stage. 

 “I can’t do this, Nate,” he said, his words a little sharp from nerves. Nate just shrugged and nodded at the audience that was currently made up of the rest of their senior class. Unfortunately, that meant the seats were nearly packed and quite a lot of people would be watching. 

 Unlike their parents and faculty, the other students wouldn’t hold back if he were to make an absolute mockery of himself. 

 Suddenly, hands were on his shoulders and he could feel the tightness deep in his bones melting away as strong fingers rubbed into his muscles. 

 “Sorry… I should have asked first… I can stop, if you want me to…”

 Logan shook his head, letting out a little moan of pleasure as his eyes closed. 

 “No… this is… this is acceptable.”

 Logan sighed as he focused on Nate’s hands and the way his muscles relaxed under his touch. By the time his body was completely relaxed, Logan realized he was pressed into Nate in a very intimate way. Stepping forward, he turned to look at Nate, clearing his throat. 

 “Thank you for the massage. I appreciate it.”

 Nate smiled. 

 “Anytime.”

 Logan, noting how amazing his body felt, nodded. “Noted. I might actually take you up on that offer in the future. Now, let’s run the lines once more before we—”

 “Logan. Nate. You two are up.” Remy called, as if bored out of his mind.

 Logan stiffened but gave a sharp nod. Nate returned his hands to Logan’s shoulders as he nodded to his twin. Remy walked off and Nate turned Logan to look at him. 

 “You’ve got this, Logan. You already have all your lines memorized. Literally. Which by the way, think you can help me with that, because I totally do not…”

 Logan laughed, feeling the worry and stress melting away. 

 He turned to look at Nate and smiled. 

 “I have this theory.”

 Nate grinned. “Oh yeah, what’s that?”

 “That you’re going to do a really good job.”

 Nate’s eyes warmed and his smile went soft. Once again, Logan was projecting onto this poor teenager who had no idea what he did to Logan. 

 “Let’s go break some legs, yeah.”

 “I prefer the phrase ‘fracture a femur’ but yes, let’s.”

 Nate laughed deeply and Logan couldn’t help but grin, a little proud of himself for causing such a reaction. 

 »»————　♞　————««

 Nate, in character, made his way to his love, tears lingering on his cheeks. He swallowed hard as he took in his ‘dead’ Juliet, rushing to the ‘concrete’ dias where her body lay. Pulling Logan into his arms, he tried his hardest not to look directly at Logan’s face. He didn’t want to cause the other to crack up or break character. 

 Vowing that he would love Juliet and Juliet alone forever, Nate as Romeo took the colored-water ‘poison’ and began to choke. He shuddered and moved to lay beside his lover on the dias. He choked a few more times for good measure, causing students in the audience to laugh before he collapsed once more on the structure and closed his eyes.

 Nate did his very best to look dead. Considering that Nate was lazy by nature and often lounged around, and he was pretty certain Janus would happily tell him to his face he looked like a dead man walking, that was the easiest part of the play. 

 But what would come mere moments later… 

 Nate felt Logan shuffle on the dias, hearing him let out a yawn, signaling to the audience Juliet had woken from her drugged sleep. Unfortunately, Nate could not see what Logan was doing lest he break character but a moment later, he gasped. 

 Logan called for ‘Romeo’ but when Romeo did not rouse—though it was hard because Nate wanted nothing more than to reassure Logan how well he was doing—Juliet cried for her dead husband. 

 Nate felt a shift on the structure and then soft, gentle hands were taking hold of his face. He bit the part of his lower lip still hidden by his closed mouth to keep from grinning. He heard as Logan professed that he would kiss Romeo so that Juliet may be with him.

 Soft but firm lips pressed against his own. Nate couldn’t deny he definitely smiled into the kiss. He could also feel Logan smiling into it. 

 That was when it happened. 

 Logan cracked up laughing and Nate opened his eyes to chuckle as well. 

 “Well, hey there, Julie, baby.”

 “Oh my god, shut up.” Logan said through his laughing.

 Mr. Sanders joined them and laughed. 

 “That was really good… we’ll need to work on the laughing but otherwise… that practice was amazing, everyone! We’ll keep working on the blocking, but just keep running your lines and memorizing them. I think this is actually going to be really, really awesome!”

 Nate glanced at Logan, who was beaming at Mr. S’s praise. 

 He’s so pretty when he smiles. Janus is right. God, I have it bad.

“Yeah, just wait til half of us have to do it in dresses.”

 Nate snorted as he glanced at Janus, who was playing Rosaline. He had a point. Janus, Logan, and Virgil—not to mention a handful of other senior boys—would be wearing dresses for the show. 

 “And I have every faith that you will all rock them,” Mr. Sanders countered, which earned him a grin from Janus. 

 Janus leaned his arm on Remus’s shoulder and shrugged. 

 “I mean, you’re not wrong, Mr. S,” Janus agreed.

 “I know I’m not. Now, you all get out of here and have a great and relaxing night. Logan, that means you.”

 Nate glanced at Logan to see his crush blushing but grinning. Virgil spoke up. 

 “I’ll hold him to it, Mr. S.” 

 Thomas beamed at that. 

 “Good man, Virgil. Alright, see you all tomorrow.”

 Rehearsal ended for the night, Nate turned to Logan. 

 “So… I’m kinda hungry and I’m assuming we’re still on for kissing practice tonight?”

 Logan glanced at him and nodded. 

 “Then let me at the very least get you some dinner. It’s the least I can do after my dumb ass got exiled and you killed yourself over it.”

 “Nathan… it’s a play.”

 “You’re so right. It’s a total power play. You deserve better.”

 Logan snorted at that and hesitated before bringing up a fist to punch him lightly in the shoulder. 

 Nate feigned bodily injury, grabbing his arm. 

 “Oh. You got me. I’m dead.”

 He then pretended to die on the dias, eyes closed, tongue sticking out. 

 It wasn’t until warmth pressed against his cheek that he opened his eyes to see Logan pulling back, face flushed. It was obvious that Logan had just kissed his cheek and Nate, grinning, sat up to look at Logan. 

 Glancing around, he noticed that everyone else had left—well, mostly everyone. Virgil, Remus, Janus, and Patton were talking at the entrance to the backstage area. None of them were looking their way and so Nate, feeling confident, turned his attention back to Logan. 

 Before he could even open his mouth to ask Logan if he could kiss him, Logan claimed his mouth with his own. Nate’s eyes closed and he quickly returned the favor, a soft, happy sound escaping him. 

 Logan placed a hand on his chest as he slid closer, his other reaching up to grip at the little hairs at the back of Nate’s neck. Nate shivered but gasped, Logan quickly taking advantage of this and slipping his tongue inside. 

 Nate moaned, teasing along Logan’s tongue with his own as he kissed back desperately. 

 “Ooooooh,” Janus teased.

 Nate’s eyes opened wide as he and Logan both jumped from the kiss. He quickly glanced toward the backstage but no one was there and all sound of talking had ceased. He would have assumed that the others—seeing what he and Logan were up to—had left but he also knew Janus very well. 

 “That was…”

 “Satisfactory.”

 Nate laughed at that. “Yes, very, very, very satisfactory.”

 He held the other’s gaze and smiled. 

 “So… dinner?”

 Logan rolled his eyes. 

 “Very well. You’re paying.”

 “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 »»————　🕶️　————««

 Logan fidgeted with his keys in his pocket as he walked with Nate to the cafeteria. The nice thing about the school was that they had little restaurants in the cafeteria, a lot like they did in colleges, instead of what most public schools offered. Unfortunately, as they allowed the students to work there for a wage, Virgil would most definitely be present. 

 He sighed as he realized the long talk Virgil would want to have with him the moment he saw Logan with Nate, already feeling exhausted. 

 “What’s wrong?”

 Logan blinked up at the other. 

 “Huh? Oh, nothing,” Logan lied. It wasn’t a complete lie, per say. Logan was used to Virgil and he never minded talking with his friend. He just didn’t want to hear the ‘I told you so’ from his friend when Virgil realized he hadn’t been limiting the kissing practices as well as he could have. 

 Nate, looking doubtful, frowned. “You sure?”

 Logan laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah… just stressed out about the play but… somehow, I know it’s going to be okay.”

 Nate laughed at that. “That’s the attitude to have, scholar!” 

 Logan smiled, ignoring the slight twinge of guilt he felt at not being completely truthful. Then again, there was no way he could be truthful without informing Nate about how he felt about him, and Logan…

 He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

 Maybe it was selfish but, knowing that Nate would suddenly feel awkward and uncomfortable around him once he found out, Logan wanted to enjoy a little more time with him.

 Just the two of them.

 Just like this. 

 They reached the cafeteria and Logan followed Nate to the center of the room. Logan considered the options and was about to go order from where Virgil was working when Nate called out to him. 

 “My treat, so where we eating today?” 

 Logan nodded toward the little taco hut where Virgil stood now, watching them both. Nate, noticing Virgil for the first time, gave a start before grinning. 

 “Oh! Hey, Virgil. What’s up, dude?”

 He moved over to the little taco restaurant and offered his fist, which Virgil bumped but not before snorting and rolling his eyes first. As Logan joined them, Virgil spoke up, not taking his eyes from Logan’s gaze. 

 “Hey, losers. What brings you guys down? Logan, didn’t you say your plan was to do homework tonight?”

 He eyed Logan doggedly, which the intelligent student ignored, instead glancing at the menu though he already knew it by heart. 

 “Oh, that was my fault. After rehearsal I practically begged him to go get dinner with me because I am a sad, lonely guy.”

 Logan watched Virgil closely, surprised at the slight grin slipping onto his face at Nate’s words. 

 “You’re not bad, Lassus. Your brother though… he’s a dick and he still owes me 50 bucks. Now, what can I get you losers to eat?”

 Logan ordered what he always got: the taco plate. Nate, meanwhile, ordered a taco salad. Logan would have been slightly surprised as Nate had never pegged him as a good nutrition aficionado, but then the other asked for double meat and Logan could just sigh fondy and grin. 

 Nate tried to pay but Virgil completely ignored him. Food was placed on two trays and cups added afterward. 

 “On the house,” he said slowly, holding Nate’s gaze as if just trying to goad him into objecting. Nate seemed to realize this because he grinned and held up his hands. 

 “Okay, okay. I got the message.”

 “Finally,” Virgil mumbled but he was grinning ever so slightly. 

 Logan realized that, in his own way, Virgil was approving of Nate. Once Nate took his tray to go find a great table, Logan grinned when his best friend’s eyes met his. 

 “Thank you,” he mouthed. Virgil rolled his eyes but mouthed your welcome before waving in the direction Nate had gone. 

 “He’s not such a total waste of a human, I suppose,” Virgil said finally. “But Logan… if this is something you want… you really need to tell—”

 Logan sighed, cutting off yet another tirade. “I’m aware, V. I promise… I’ll tell him by the last performance.”

 Virgil groaned softly. “You really, really should tell him before that but… fine… look, L. You don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to but… I’m afraid that if you don’t, all of this is going to hurt you a lot more than you realize.”

 Logan wanted to disagree. Unfortunately, he was definitely not an expert on feelings and since Virgil was dating one of the two experts on feelings that they knew, he suspected Virgil likely picked up a few things. 

 “I vow to tell him before the start of our last performance at the latest.”

 “I’ll drink to that compromise… you know, if I had a drink.” He sighed wistfully but Logan knew it was all for the theatrics. Though Virgil would swear up and down that he was not dramatic, Logan—friends with three dramatic people—knew better. He could be just as dramatic as Roman when he wanted to be. 

 Logan grabbed his tray, thanked Virgil once more, and headed for the table on the far side of the large, open room. Virgil called back to him, wishing him good luck, causing Logan to smile softly. 

 Gray eyes sought out his...friend. Logan, ignoring the sudden feeling of sadness, pushed such thoughts out of his head. Sure, Nate would never be his boyfriend, but it was clear he wanted to be friends. Logan would not be the kind of person who couldn’t be friends with someone who did not want to date him. 

 Nate waved his arms wildly, chuckling when Logan’s eyes met his and he corrected his course for Nate’s table. He reached him quickly enough, snorting when Nate tugged him gently to sit next to him, rather than across from him. 

 Logan had expected Nate to talk to him then but, as he quickly learned, Nate was very much an eat-now-talk-after kind of guy. 

 Laughing softly, Logan started to dig in as well. 

 »»————　♞　————««

 Nate had eaten about half his food when he turned to Logan. 

 "I don't know about you but kissing sure does work up an appetite." His grin was flirty and eager. 

 Logan blushed and nodded. 

 "Interestingly enough, I have found that as well," Logan said. "I, too, am quite famished."

 He continued to eat as Nate became preoccupied with stuffing his face once more. 

 "Mmmm."

 Nate looked up at the sound of laughter. Logan was watching him eat, amusement in his gray gaze.

 "Adequate to your taste buds?" Logan asked with another laugh. 

 Nate looked at him and answered, a bit of food still in his mouth. 

 "Beyond adequate," he moaned. "Thank Virgil again for me later." 

 Logan laughed. 

 "Will do."

 They fell into companionable silence once more, Nate glancing at Logan every so often. Every other time he glanced, he caught Logan's gaze and both of them blushed before looking away. 

 Huh.

 Wasn't that interesting. 

 Deciding he needed more time to consider the new development, Nate cleared his throat. 

 "So… what new book are you reading? I just picked up this great Agatha Christie novel that I'm sure you've read already but it's so good."

 Logan blinked. He looked confused and even said as much. 

 "How do you know I read Agatha Christie novels?"

 Nate laughed at that. Looking fondly at Logan, he smiled. "Scholar. You've been reading those books since we all started here. I noticed them and started reading a few myself."

 Logan’s brows rose and while he didn't say anything, Nate knew exactly what that look was for. 

 "Yes. I read. Shocker, right?"

 Logan's expression took on an apologetic sort of look and Nate laughed. 

 "No no. You're fine, cutie. I'm used to people being surprised. In their defense and yours, I don't read a lot. But I can and do read."

 Logan nodded, a grin slipping onto his face as he turned to look at him better, leaning in eagerly. 

 "So which book is it that you're reading?"

 "Death on the Nile."

 Logan nodded with a grin. 

 "That one is very good but my favorite will always be—"

 "The Murder of Roger Ackroyd," Nate finished for him with a warm smile. 

 Logan blinked. He stared at Nate for a few moments, questions in those gray eyes. Nate was worried that maybe he had said too much. 

 Maybe Logan realized that Nate really liked him and now it was going to be awkward because Logan didn't feel the same. 

 And then Logan blushed and nodded. A soft smile slipped onto his face.

 "Precisely."

 Nate grinned as the slight charge between them in that moment settled. He didn't know what had happened but it hadn't sent Logan running and he considered that a win on his part. 

 They finished dinner and said their goodbyes to Virgil before heading out of the cafeteria for Nate’s dorm. 

 »»————　🕶️　————««

 Logan was quiet on the walk to Nate’s dorm room. He knew that Nate had to be wondering at his silence but he couldn’t bring himself to speak just yet. 

 The reason for his silence...

 There had been a moment while eating with Nate that had opened his eyes to knowledge he hadn’t been aware he had lacked. 

 Logan didn’t know how he knew it but the moment Nate supplied Logan’s favorite Agatha Christie novel as fact and not a guess had been very telling and Logan was almost certain that Nate liked him. A lot. 

 Perhaps even as much as Logan liked Nate. 

 Just tell him! You know he likes you now! Tell him!

 He knew that his more logical side was right. At this point, with such a high probability of his feelings being reciprocated, the logical course of action would be to tell him. 

 And yet, Logan couldn’t. 

 He couldn’t even give a logical explanation as to why, which frustrated him more than anything. It just didn’t feel like the right time. Or the right place. 

 Logan chewed his lip. 

 He really hated relying on his feelings. 

 “Hey… half-dollar for your thoughts?”

 Logan blinked up at the other. He seemed nervous. Logan smiled at him. 

 “I’m certain the expression is ‘penny for your thoughts’.”

 Nate grinned at that, seeming to relax once more. 

 “Yeah, well. Pennies are practically worthless these days and I think more highly of the things that come out of your beautiful brain.”

 Logan blushed at that and cleared his throat. 

 “Just have a lot on my mind.”

 Nate nodded, falling silent once more. 

 Logan bit his lip before moving a little closer to the other. He tapped him with his elbow in a playful manner he’d seen Virgil do with Patton. It seemed to work because Nate grinned down at him like the sun. 

 “Hey.”

 Logan wanted to make up for the silence and since he couldn’t tell him everything… not yet...Logan said the first thing he could think of. 

 “I can’t wait for practice.”

 Then he blushed as he realized the implications of this. Nate looked at him in surprise, a slight flush to his cheeks as he slowly grinned. 

 “Uh oh…”

 Logan raised a brow. He hadn’t expected that reaction. “What?”

 “Looks like someone has an addiction to kisses.”

 Logan blushed but rolled his eyes. 

 “You are what my friend Roman would call ‘an absolute dork’.”

 Nate snorted. 

 “Roman Prince? Not surprised that’s his idea of an insult but, well, you're not wrong.”

 Logan grinned, pleased to feel the air around them grow comfortable once more. 

 “But… I concede that, perhaps, you are not wrong as well.”

 Nate grinned at him. 

 “About what?” he pressed. Logan glared at him. Nate took on a look of innocence. “I merely want to be clear about what part of what I said was not wrong.”

 Logan knew that wasn’t the case. Nate wanted to hear him say it. He decided that since he couldn’t outright tell him how he felt, the least he could do was tell him what he wanted to hear. 

 It was true, after all. 

 “I am… addicted to kisses.”

 He blushed far deeper than he expected to confess that out loud. He stopped and quickly hid his face in his hands. Nate must have glanced back and noticed he had stopped before quickly returning to him. 

 “Awww. No, no… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you… I was just teasing. Can I… can I hug you?”

 Logan nodded but did not remove his hands from his burning face. He felt as strong arms embraced him. He stayed like that, feeling safe and secure in his arms. At some point, he pulled his hands away to press his face into the other’s chest, his own arms wrapping tentatively around the taller teen’s middle. 

 “How’s that? Better, cutie?” 

 Logan nodded, trying to ignore how warm the nickname made him.

 “Do you want to postpone the practice? If you need to, then that’s totally—”

 “No!”

 Nate blinked down at the other in surprise. Logan could see that his reaction had been a bit too passionate considering Nate had no idea how he felt about him.

 “I mean, no… I very much would like to keep on schedule.” 

 Nate slowly grinned. 

 “Then what better time to start… Can I kiss you right here, Logan? Right now?”

 Logan had a feeling Nate was expecting him to laugh and playfully punch him before they continued on their course for his room. 

 That was not what happened. 

 Logan moved his arms from around him. He then threw himself at Nate, wrapping his arms around his neck, as he kissed him. Hard. 

 Nate’s eyes widened but soon fluttered closed as he tightened his hold on the slighter teen, kissing back as desperately as Logan kissed him. 

 When they finally pulled away—it was with some difficulty breathing, Logan couldn’t deny—he swallowed hard and held the other’s gaze. Nate’s gaze was curious.

 “Nate…” Logan said slowly. He saw the slight surprise on the other’s face. Logan had never called him Nate before.

 “Logan…” 

 Logan hesitated. He very much needed to tell Nate or he would always be wondering ‘what if’? As a scientific minded individual, what ifs were only useful if the question was answered. Logan needed some answers.

 “Can we… can we go somewhere quiet… your room is fine… but just somewhere with not a lot of people… please?”

 Nate, obviously confused, nodded.

 “Yeah… we’re almost to my room anyway. Come on.”

 Logan’s insides churned and tumbled as he walked at Nate’s side. He honestly had no idea what had possessed him to almost tell Nate how he felt… outside. 

 That… that definitely was not the place for such intimate talks such as that. No. One should take the person of their affections, ask to speak with them in private, and only for their ears, share what was in their heart. 

 Logan nearly made a face. 

 When had he become so sentimental?

 He glanced up at Nate and slowly, a fond smile slipped over his lips. 

 Oh, yeah. Right.

 They reached Nate’s dorm room soon after, Nate holding up a finger before walking inside, signaling Logan to wait. Logan, considering himself fairly intelligent, was sure Nate wanted to make certain Janus (and by proxy, Remus) was not around. 

 He waited as patiently as he could, rubbing his fingers against his jeans in a comforting manner. Soon enough, though it felt a lot longer to Logan, Nate returned and held the door for him. 

 “Come on in, scholar.”

 Logan did just that, almost jumping at the click of the door as Nate closed it behind them. He then led Logan into the room, making his way to the bed and taking a seat. He patted the space next to him. Logan took a deep breath, crossed the room to the bed, and took the offered seat. 

 He quickly turned to Nate just as Nate turned toward him. 

 “Logan, there’s something I need to tell you,” Nate said at the exact same time Logan said, “Nate, there’s something I wish to tell you.”

 Both of them broke out laughing, their faces flushed, gazes vulnerable. 

 Nate cleared his throat and held out his hands, palms up, to Logan. 

 “May I?” he asked, voice low. Logan nodded, placing his hands into Nate’s.

 Nate, dark eyes locked with Logan’s, bit his lip before smiling. 

 “That’s better… now… I’m sorry for jumping the gun. You… you go first.”

 Logan wanted to refuse or insist Nate go, but he decided that that wasn’t fair to Nate. He had been the one asking to talk. He should go first.

 He nodded. 

 Taking a deep breath, Logan for the first time in his life ignored his mind and spoke from his heart.

 »»————　♞　————««

 Nate squeezed Logan’s hands as the other seemed to search for the courage needed to say what he had to. 

 Nate knew what he hoped Logan wanted to say. He hoped more than anything that Logan had come to realize that he liked Nate too. But, that could just as easily not be what Logan wanted to tell him. Maybe he had noticed that Nate liked him and was being respectful, letting him down in private. 

 Maybe he just wanted to be friends. 

 Nate could live with that. It would hurt for a while, but he could deal. 

 As long as it wasn’t Logan never wanting to see him again, Nate could live with whatever it was the other was about to tell him. He sighed inwardly and instead focused on Logan. 

 Logan, who was struggling. 

 Nate squeezed his hands again. 

 “Hey,” he said and waited until Logan’s eyes met his. “Whatever it is, you won’t scare me away.” He paused. “Unless you dress up as a clown on the weekend… then I’d say my loyalty is questionable…”

 Logan laughed at that and it seemed to be the reassurance he needed. He cleared his throat and Nate leaned in subconsciously.

 “... You were correct earlier… when you said I was addicted to kisses… I am very much addicted to kisses…” 

 He glanced down at their hands and seemed to consider what to say next. Nate watched him closely, mesmerized by him. 

 “I am addicted to your kisses, Nate…”

 Nate blushed and a big grin slipped onto his face as it hit him. 

 Logan liked him. And Nate was him. Nate. Logan liked Nate. 

 “Are you saying-?!!”

 Logan laughed at that and nodded, blushing a little himself. 

 “I like you, Nate. I have for a very long time.”

 Nate whistled and shook his head. 

 “Well, that just sucks because I’ve liked you for a very long time too. Since we first met, now that I think about it. It feels like we’ve missed out on so much time.”

 Logan blinked at the remark and nodded a second later when it registered what Nate meant.

 “It does. But we’re here now… together...”

 Nate beamed and his excitement soon morphed into unbridled adoration. 

 “Be my Juliet… but alive… and forever?”

 Logan snorted. “There are so many things wrong with that question, Nate, but I like you, so I forgive you. I will be your boyfriend, though, if that would be agreeable with—”

 “Yes! So freaking agreeable! Totally agreeable!”

 Nate watched in wonder as Logan laughed, not holding back, his gray eyes full of happiness and fondness as he looked upon Nate. He couldn’t keep from surging forward and claiming Logan’s lips with his own. 

 Logan relaxed into the kiss with ease, his arms wrapping around Nate’s neck like they’d never stopped. Nate moaned into the kiss as Logan kissed back eagerly, sounds of enjoyment escaping him as well. 

 When they broke for air, Nate nuzzled into Logan’s hair with his nose before pressing a kiss to his temple. 

 “Boyfriend,” he said, overjoyed to use the title for Logan. 

 Logan rolled his eyes, blushing. “Dork.”

 Nate brought a hand to his heart as if he had been hurt. He then swooned and ‘collapsed’ upon his bed. Logan laughed and then shifted to hover over him. 

 “Let’s keep this between us… just until after the play… Virgil has been trying to get me to tell you forever and I really do not need to deal with any I told you so’s… and maybe, I also would not mind keeping you to myself for a little bit longer.”

 Nate snorted. “Oh. You can always have me to yourself. I don’t mind picking Janus up by the collar and tossing him out if need be… uh, but maybe don’t quote me on that. Still, keeping up a ruse sounds fun. I’m in.”

 Logan smiled down at him and Nate brought a hand up to frame his face, guiding him down to kiss him.

 If they got lost in the kisses and each other, neither minded in the slightest.

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

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Thomas Sanders or Joan, nor the rest of their group. I do not own or make money off of these characters. I only own the story as it is written.

Super uber thanks to my beta reader for this fic @superweebside​ and the two that preread my stuff to make sure its up to par: @romantichopelessly & @sunshineandteddybears.

[putas-in-suffering]

Mermaid

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 18+ older

Warnings: Language, rough sex (slapping/manhandling), unprotected vaginal sex, mentions of bodily fluids, female ejaculation, some non-con elements, degradation (name calling), Dark/Dom Miguel, think Miguel and Emily’s fucked up vibe in that one scene...you know the one 😏

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: Part 2. Miguel finds out about your tryst with Bishop and things take a dangerous turn.

A/N: Sucias! We got a present for you! We got Part 2 for our previously published Bishop fic Terms of Endearment. Check it out because it does tie in with this one. Also, it has Bishop smut. This has our Cartel Daddy hella mad and hella ready to destroy the pussy. Prepare yourselves because Miguel ain’t about to take it easy on you. Enjoy and share with your fellow sucias! Feedback is the preferred drug for our addiction and greatly appreciated 💖💖

*Read Part 3 here!

(Gif credit to @angels-reyes​​)

You flinched again when Miguel slammed his drink down, the sound angry and stern. He’d been in a bad mood since the moment you’d arrived nearly an hour ago. He’d called you earlier today and requested your presence at his home. He said he wanted to talk something over and insisted on having dinner prepared. You’d hesitated, flashes of letting Bishop Losa fuck you in a storage closet racing through your head. You could tell something was weighing heavy on Miguel’s mind, but you’d let it go and acquiesced to meeting him. Before Miguel was your employer, he was your best friend. And as much as you wanted to call it a night, you went anyway.

After the factory, you’d made more rounds, overseeing the operation and reporting back to Miguel via text. Once you’d gotten the stoic invitation for dinner, you’d raced home and showered the Mayans MC president off your skin. You ignored the pull to relive those memories as your fingers grazed your body, halting on the areas that Bishop had gripped so fiercely. There weren’t any visible markings, but you didn’t need to see it to know it had been there. You could still feel it.

You’d redressed for your impromptu dinner in a silk golden dress. The sleeves were long, the waist cinched, the skirt flowing over your hips and stopping around your ankles. There was a slit down the side, breaking up what would be a normally stylish conservative dress. You had yet to wear it. It was a gift from Miguel for your birthday a few months ago. You weren’t sure why you suddenly felt the need to wear it, but you’d be lying if you said guilt had no part in it. What you’d done was reckless and irresponsible, and if Miguel found out…well guilt would be the last thing you’d feel.

Another harsh clang of silverware pulled you from your thoughts. You winced as Miguel took a forceful bite of his steak, chewing with all the intensity of a caged pit bull. Beyond pleasantries, you hadn’t spoken to each other. The air was obviously tense, the mood uncomfortable. Miguel had purposefully made it that way. And you weren’t sure why.

“You look beautiful.”

The words made you pause mid-chew. Your eyes found Miguel’s staring back at you, his gaze somewhat softened but no less intense. He cleared his throat as he wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin, sipping from the amber liquid in his crystal glass.

“Uh, thank you.” You replied dumbly, still caught off guard by his choice in topic.

“The dress I bought you?”

You nodded, watching as he lent back in his seat to appraise you. You shifted awkwardly, feeling something simmering just beneath the surface. The house was empty, the staff dismissed for the night. The space was dimly lit. The reflection of the pool just beyond the glass doors was the only light outside. It should’ve been relaxing, romantic even, but the rigidity of the night was fast bleeding out and all over the white linen cloth that adorned the table.

“I have quite an eye. Fits you perfectly.” He continued on, swishing the whiskey in his glass.

“You do.”

“Why now?” He questioned, brow arched in your direction.

You straightened, the food on your plate long forgotten as you reached for your own glass. You swallowed the bitter liquid, the burn doing little to ease your frayed nerves. You weren’t afraid of Miguel, but you were afraid of the things he could do. You’d seen him at his worst and while you never expected to feel that kind of wrath directed at you, you couldn’t say it was impossible. You’d obviously done something to upset him. And you had an inkling of what that might be.

“Just felt right. Thought you’d like to see it.” You replied with a smile, hoping to convince both him and yourself.

Miguel returned the tight smile with his own, nodding as he adjusted the gold cuff links on his left wrist.

“I’ve known you a long time. Verdad?” He asked, the tone letting you know that it wasn’t a question that really needed an answer.

You did anyway.

“Yes.”

“And just like I’m sure you know me, I know you.”

Again it wasn’t something that needed verification, but you nodded in confirmation.

“I’ve let you run things on your own. I’ve let you manage without my supervision. I’ve entrusted you with delicate matters.”

Your breathing began to escalate with every word he spoke. He was calm, his demeanor almost peaceful as he met your eyes. His lips were quirked into a smirk, but you could see the hard ridge of his jaw beneath the well-groomed facial hair. He was clenching the muscle. And you knew from experience what that meant. He was actively trying to contain himself. Your gaze quickly shifted to his fingers, seeing that he was circling them on the tablecloth. Miguel had tells like everyone else and they were beaming in neon back at you. He was mad, no…livid.

“Miguel, what’s this about?” You dared to ask. You didn’t want to play this game with him. You’d seen it enacted out on many before you, none of it ever ending well for the person opposite Miguel Galindo. But you weren’t just some lowlife. You were his friend, practically his family. How dare he treat you like a traitor? You’d given your life to his business…to him.

“I’m not stupid, sirenita.” He bit back, intentionally using your childhood nickname. He usually said it with affection, but such was not the case this time. He was mocking the title, mocking you.

“And you think I am?” You retorted angrily, done playing nice.

“You must be to have let a man like Bishop Losa fuck you in my factory.” Miguel seethed, leaning across the table so that you could see the veins of his neck protruding from the crisp white collar of his shirt.

You’d been expecting the words, but shock seized you nonetheless. Having Miguel confront you about your sexual exploits made you feel childish and small. He glared at you with such disappointment that you could practically taste the sour flavor in your mouth.

“You must be fucking stupid to forget that I have every inch of that place bugged and under video surveillance. Even the storage closets.”

As much as you tried to fight it, you looked down in shame. He was right. You were stupid. In that moment you’d let lust fuel your decisions. But that didn’t mean that he got to disrespect you and treat you like a common whore. You’d seen plenty of his men come through the ranks and fuck on the job. And while it was a problem, it was also mostly laughed off. Men will be men bullshit. Fuck that.

“Who I fuck is none of your business.”

Miguel laughed, though it was obvious he found no humor in the situation. He scratched at his chin, his eyes darting everywhere except to you.

“You think that’s what this is about?”

“I know it is.” You said as you jutted your chin, no longer allowing him to reprimand you like some teenager.

He startled you by rising from his chair, slowly walking to you with measured steps. He said nothing at first as he perched on the edge of the table beside you, looking down at you. Just how he wanted it. He reached for you chin, but you jerked away. He wasn’t deterred. He repeated the action and this time you let him.

“You let him defile you. Let him make a mockery of me while you laughed. Your loyalty is now in question.” He whispered. His touch was gentle, but his words cut like a knife.  And they stung.

You jerked out of his grip, eyes wide with disbelief. Miguel had never talked to you in such a way. He’d never treated you so viciously. He’d always respected you. Always looked out for you. He took care of you, making sure you always had what you needed. He never once made you feel as low as you did in that moment. He may not get his hands dirty anymore, but he didn’t need to. His words were his weapons. They always had been. You’d just never been the one to take the hit before.

“You can’t be serious?” You asked, shaking your head.

He said nothing. The flames of fury began to rage hotter within you as he stared down his nose at you, looking at you in a way that he’d never done before.

“Fuck you.” You gritted out, narrowing your eyes up at him.

His lips lifted into a smirk, his eyes shifting to the neck of your dress. You shivered, feeling his gaze on your cleavage. It didn’t last long, but it was enough to make you react in an unexpected way. Your body felt warm with something other than anger. Your nipples hardened against the dainty fabric of your dress, not a gust of cool air to be found.

“You don’t think what you did was damaging to me? To this operation?” Miguel questioned, the irritation back in his words.

“So because I get fucked, your entire business is at stake? Is that what you’re telling me Miguel? Because it sounds like horseshit.” You stood from your chair and hovered in his face, smelling the alcohol on both of your breaths. “You’re mad because I let Bishop Losa fuck me and not you. This has nothing to do with business. You’re jealous.”

The air was sucked out of the room the moment the words left your mouth. You could see the minute they penetrated Miguel’s armor, see the deep rage making its way to the surface. He was tense and stiff, his eyes unrelenting and unforgiving as they stared straight through you.

You’d crossed a line, yet again. But you weren’t going to back down. You’d never been one to do so and you weren’t going to start now.

“Admit that to yourself, Miguel. Admit that’s what this is about.”

Silence.

He only continued to stare with that same void expression, looking as if he wanted to strangle you. His hands flexed as if testing the idea. You shivered again, though it was far from fear you were experiencing.

“I didn’t think so.” You taunted, a victorious smile making its way to your painted lips. You turned to leave, done with the conversation and your employer. If he wanted to act like a juvenile, then you’d treat him like one.

You made it two steps before a heavy hand gripped your elbow. You yelped at the force of the hold and the momentum used to spin you around. You nearly lost your footing, your heels making it difficult to balance. A pair of arms braced you, but they weren’t about to offer you comfort. They tightened around your midsection as they hauled you against the wall. Your head slammed with a brutal thud and you winced at the pain that radiated from your skull.

“Look at me.”

You forced your eyes open, meeting Miguel’s cold, murderous orbs. His fingertips dug into your upper arms while his chest heaved against yours with raggedy breaths. You matched his breathing, the fear most definitely taking hold now.

“You’ve forgotten who you work for…who owns you. I make the rules. I tell you when and where. I make you who you are. Me entiendes?” He didn’t wait for a response. “If I had known you’d rather whore yourself out I would’ve had you on your knees years ago.”

The slap echoed throughout the empty house. Your palm stung, the force of your strike still radiating through your arm. Miguel’s cheek was red, but he showed no other visible sign of being struck. His grip was still iron-clad on you, his breathing still rapid and manic.

“Go fuck yourself.” You snarled as you pushed against his chest, attempting to escape his clutches. He didn’t relent. You punched him, hitting him square in the jaw like he’d taught you years before. He released you instantly, cradling his face. You took the chance and ran for the door, but your dress and heels made it difficult to get any sort of real traction. Loud, foreboding footsteps boomed behind you as he caught up. He struck out and made contact with your arm, once again ensnaring you in his hold. You fought back this time, putting up a fight as he struggled to subdue you.

Another slap. Only this time it was you who was clutching their cheek.

“You fucking bastard.”

You charged at him, fists clenched and ready to damage his perfectly etched face. He reacted instantly, reaching for the back of your neck while he held your wrists together in the other. He was close. The both of you breathing in the other’s air. There was barely a sliver of space between your lips as you dared the other to make a move. You could feel the distinct outline of him against your stomach. He was hard. The notion should’ve sickened you. Little did he know, you’d been wet from the moment he’d called you a whore.

“If I wanted you, I could have you. Remember…I own you. Always have.” He declared cockily, eyes roaming your face, searching for any indication that you wanted him to put a stop to this.

You wouldn’t.

“I don’t belong to anyone. Least of all you.”

He licked his lips, a dot of blood already pooling to the surface where you’d hit him. The sight satisfied you.

“I feed you. I cloth you. I’ve made you everything that you are, sirenita. A whore playing dress up.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before he locked his lips against yours in a brutal kiss. You struggled against him, unwilling to surrender. You slipped against the marble floors as he backed you against one of the columns, pinning your body against his own. His lips attacked you, teeth gnashing and tongue probing for entrance. His beard scratched at your skin and left a sting in its wake. You realized he’d let go of your wrists. Your hands were tangled in his shirt. You’d meant to push him away, but you’d pulled him closer instead. Your nails dug into his pectorals until you were rewarded with a sharp hiss. He bit your lip in retaliation, the taste of iron landing on your tongue.

His hands ripped at your dress, the slit now torn wide to reveal the black lace you wore underneath. The neck of your dress fell open to expose your braless breasts to his assault. He wasted no time in taking a pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard that you whimpered and jerked away. You tugged at the roots of his thick hair, pulling him from your chest. He was still bent down, his neck craned so that he had to look up at you. You admired the change in position, feeling a rush of desire at the sight of him hungry and dazed for you.

You took the opportunity to switch positions, swinging him around so that he was now trapped between you and the wall. Your hands went to the buckle of his belt and began to release him from the confines of his designer slacks. Your mouth watered as his cock sprang forward. It was thick and heavy; hot and throbbing in time with your pulse. You made sure he kept his eyes on you as you licked your palm, coating it in saliva. He clenched his jaw as he watched you, releasing a strangled moan when you wrapped your hand around him. He began to succumb to you, his body overwrought with the need to release.

“Who’s the whore now?” You provoked, tightening your hand around him. He cursed and thrust his hips in response, but he was far from letting you win.

He grasped your chin, bringing your face so close to his that you could see the outline of his blown wide pupils against the near black of his irises.

“I’m going to fill that mouth so full of cum that you’ll be tasting me for a fucking week.”

You swallowed and clenched your thighs, his words making your walls contract in tantalizing tremors. You wanted that. You wanted all of that and more.

“You can deny it all you want, but I know…I’ve always known. That pussy is mine. It belongs to the Galindo cartel.” His hand wandered down and over your breasts, sweeping under the band of lace that concealed you from view. He found your clit and teased it, encouraging the overflow of your arousal that was sure to come. “And it gets wet at the thought of me fucking you until you can’t walk. Right?”

You bit your lip and gasped as he entered you, massaging the wet heat of your walls with expert precision.

“Answer me.” He demanded, finger sliding further into your depths.

“Fuck you.”

You were working hard to keep the effect of his touch off your face. You remained impassive and cold, but the further he explored, the closer he brought you to that proverbial edge.

“Oh, you will…”

In a flash, you were hauled into his arms and pushed into the wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. He ripped at your panties with one hand, the ruined fabric falling away from your body to land in a heap on the floor. The lace had rubbed harshly at your skin as he tore it away, but the feeling was eclipsed by the harsh thrust of his cock into your unsuspecting body. The action caught you off guard, pulling a breathless curse from your lips. Your body tightened and twisted around him and his cock, trying to accommodate the intruder.

“I knew you’d be tight.” He confessed into your neck as he began to thrust. His hips met yours in a ruthless pattern, merciless and cruel. You could only hold on as he took from you, pushing so deep that he hit the natural barrier within you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” You chanted as every line and ridge of his cock grazed beautifully so against your walls. Your spine twisted in both pain and pleasure, lights already dancing behind your lids. You tangled your fingers into his hair, scraping your nails against his scalp. He shuddered, the sensation traveling through his body and into your own.

He moved a second later, carrying you from the wall to the table you’d both been seated at only moments before. His motions were fast and unhinged, uncaring for you comfort as he slipped from your grasp. You both hissed, but didn’t have a chance to relish the emptiness as he turned you around, arching your ass into position.

“Bend over.”

You practically fell face first into the table as he pushed your head down. Your arms caught you just in time as you spread your legs and welcomed him between them. He shoved your dress up and landed a sharp slap to your right ass cheek, the sting reverberating through your lower half. You flinched and threw him a withering glare over your shoulder. His hands spread you, his cock nestled between your folds as he readied to enter you once again. Your thighs were slick, your walls now primed enough for him to slide uninhibited. He was taking without asking, without remorse, and you ate it up, daring him to give you more.

You moaned at the same time he grunted, his cock now back inside of you. You squeezed your eyes shut against the onslaught of euphoria, feeling the web of climax begin to weave itself around you. You pulled at the tablecloth beneath you as Miguel thrust deep, his hips flush with yours as he penetrated your fucking soul. You could feel his eyes burning into you, no doubt  taking extreme pleasure in seeing you be such a slut for his cock.

“Are you going to cum?” He ground out, hands still holding your ass apart to watch.

“Yes…”

“Do it now.”

You whined as he began assailing your clit with his finger, rubbing so hard that you felt your eyes cross in your skull. The feeling was foreign, more powerful and unexplored. You shied away from it, unwilling to let go.

“Don’t fight it.” Miguel ordered, feeling your body flinch away. He only went faster and harder, intent on making you come undone.

You had no choice. You gave yourself over to it, letting him pull your orgasm from the depths and send it to the surface. You readied for the inevitable and cried out when your body began to convulse. You were only mildly aware of the gush of liquid that left your body as you were flung into space and launched into a chamber of weightlessness. Miguel’s praises and groans tickled your skin as he bathed himself in your release. He pulled his cock from your depths and let you soak him as he watched in rapt fascination.

“Fuck, just like that…” He said in awe, his cock once again sliding along your folds as your pussy  continued to contract against him.

Your face was pressed into the table, your ass still in the air and presented like some kind of prize. You panted with exertion as your limbs became lethargic and sated with the buzz of desire. It felt like an hour had passed, but in reality it’d only been seconds.

You were flipped onto your back, the whiplash making you dizzy. Plates and glasses toppled to the pristine floor as Miguel pried your legs open and resumed fucking you with wild abandon. Your eyes rolled and your toes curled as he fucked you through your post-coitus high. You were moving with every brute thrust, your body shifting up the table. You caressed your breasts as he looked on, growling in approval. His hair was tousled, his lip bleeding with his shirt untucked and pants undone. He’d never looked sexier.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” He breathed as he doubled his efforts. He ravaged your body with a new ferocious energy, pulling away when the feeling became too much. He wrapped his hand around himself and pulled at your ankle with the other. “On your knees.”

You nearly slid off the table, your heels barely touching the ground before he was pushing you to kneel. You did as he wanted, meeting his devious stare with a bat of your lashes.

“Open your mouth.”

You complied, sticking out your tongue as he jerked himself off. The head of his cock released streams of thick, white cum seamlessly onto your awaiting tongue. He aimed it perfectly, ensuring it all ended up in your mouth and nowhere else. You could feel it already sliding down your throat as you waited for him to finish.

“Swallow it.”

He held your chin, keeping your mouth closed and running his thumb over your lips. You obeyed and swallowed down every drop, savoring the decadence. He looked down at you with a worshipful eye, an expression that was usually reserved for your professional accomplishments. You relished it, just as you did all the times before.

Miguel tucked himself back into his pants and then reached a hand out to you. You accepted his help and stood, albeit on shaky legs. You clutched the front of your dress together, the thing nearly shredded on your frame. You waited for him to say something, but he only turned and walked to the kitchen counter where his phone sat. He picked it up and walked back to you, his attention focused on the digital screen at his fingertips.

“I know everything that happens within my operation. Sometimes people have to be reminded.” He was back to being calm, not an ounce of irritation left on his handsome features. “I’ve done that with you. And now I’ll do that with Bishop.”

Your blood ran cold when he showed you the screen of his phone. Footage of what just transpired between you two played out, a security timestamp at the bottom of the screen making you aware that this was the real deal. Every moment, every obscene action and insult was captured for anyone to see. Humiliation rushed through you.

“I’m the only one that has access to this. But by tomorrow morning Bishop Losa will receive a clip of this footage. A message that he’s touched what’s mine and to never do so again.”

He shoved his phone into his pocket and stepped towards you. You remained unmoving, no energy left to fight with Goliath. He caressed your cheek gently, the patronizing tone now back in his voice.

“This is part of your punishment. Take it like I know you can. Okay?” He prompted. His gentleness was soothing, but a farce. He’d made his point and now you had to fall in line. You were just a solider, taking orders from the commander. And he was reminding you of that.

“Sirenita,” He called, the affection that’d been missing the last time he’d used the name now unmistakable.

You met his eyes. They were back to the mahogany color you’d grown to love. The darkness no longer shrouding him. He cradled your cheek, noting the way you winced when he touched the still tender flesh.

“Say okay.”

“Okay.” You finally replied, defeat coating the word.

“I’ll get this cleaned up tomorrow.” He gestured to the mess behind you, the dining table looking as if a bull raged through. “It’s late. Go upstairs and shower. I’ll be up in a bit.”

You went to refuse, but he stopped you with a kiss. You responded back eagerly, tangling your tongue with his and letting him taste himself. By the time he pulled away, you were both breathing heavily, hearts beating wildly.

“Things are going to be different. You’ll be with me for a while. No more solo missions.”

You tried not to let the disappointment show at his words. You were being demoted. From right hand to whore. You now belonged to Miguel in the one way you said you never would. You’d  refused him for so long because you knew the power he held over you…knew the type of life he could give you. It’d be everything you’d wanted and more. Addicting. Luxurious. Lawless. You’d get so lost in him that you’d lose yourself. You knew it. But you’d made a mistake and you had to repent. And you’d do so willingly.

You’d go from whore to housewife in an instant. You’d be his Queen before long…back to running things. Only this time you’d do so with your legs wide and your mouth open. If Miguel wanted a cartel whore, then he’d get one.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 74: Lessons and Dreams

Chapters: 74/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: G

Relationships: Loki x Reader

Characters: Loki (Marvel),

Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent),

Summary:  You are troubled by dreams, while Loki seeks ways to make things easier on you. You receive an unexpected visitor.

They day was almost upon you. The decorations were all up, your drum beat and chant were properly memorized. Several Avengers were on route, and parts of the semi-built city had been cleared and cordoned off for the festivities. Buridag was almost here.

You had your cloak and armor. You had your drum, and your parts memorized. You had your beloved prince, and your Valkyrie escort. There were some things missing though.

You wished Nanna Beth could have been here to see this. You wished someone from back home could be here to see this. Someone other than Todd, who damn well didn't deserve it, but would be here anyway. You had the feeling that, if you asked, Loki would have had him barred from attending, but you didn't want to go down that road. You were supposed to be a grand symbol of the integration of humans and Asgardians, and you didn't think you could do that honestly while at the same time excluding people just because you didn't like them, and they were awful people. Which Todd was. Ugh, why hadn't he gone home yet? He hadn't spoken to you, or tried to contact you, and he didn't even seem to be trying to cause trouble. It was weird.

And then there was the issue of the bull...you still didn't know what to do about it. You were coming to the conclusion that you would simply have to endure, and somehow go on with your life. Would it be good for you? To further experience and understand the importance of death? To become a symbolic provider of plenty for the gathered celebrants?

You would just have to clench your teeth and deal with it. It was one of those hard lessons you would have to learn as the lover-and advisor-to royalty.

You'd probably never touch a hamburger again though.

Sleep had been coming to you only reluctantly; the long, stretching moments after closing your eyes for the night were filled with thoughts and questions about Ymir's Dreamscape. You were not permitted access to the artwork-no one was. For all that it was contained within the protective confines of the shield and size-changing devices, it was still considered too precious for informal handling.

But it haunted you. You saw them painting in your dreams, shapes and concepts you had difficulty understanding. Glancing over their shoulder at the workings of a truly alien mind, and hoping not to be noticed, though you were no more than a mote in their eye.

Streaks of color. Clusters of circles. Shapes that were nearly anthropomorphic, yet wrong somehow.  They drew and drew, in between millennia long stares of contemplation, watching the asteroids clump up bigger and bigger. Occasionally they had to brush them away from their immense body.

They had more fingers than you did, and each one was stained with color, almost all the way to where they joined with the palm. Crackled veins of colored light pulsed up and down the fingers, from a bright spark on the tip of each; it flashed whenever they dragged their fingertip along the canvas they had created.

You couldn't see the whole thing: it was so big, and so far away, and they weren't done making it yet. You would always wake up before they were finished. You would see the colors more vividly in the daytime; certain hues of red and blue, purple, yellow, orange, and green-they popped out at you. Each of the great beings fingers traced its color into your eyes.

Your lessons had tapered off, to give you time to concentrate on the festival. You weren't though; artwork occupied your mind. You doodled approximations of the things you saw in your dreams, close, but never quite right.

You tapped your drum, and recited your chant, the ancient words spinning back countless aeons, and thought about colors.

                                                                        ******

Loki stood out in the paddock and watched the bull. It was a proud creature; it walked the confines of the fence, confident in its great strength and prowess, munched its hay secure in the knowledge that it could not be bested.

It died tomorrow. He would swing the sword he almost never used, and bring the feast to everyone. It wouldn't be the only one: There were pigs and chickens and sheep, already butchered and ready to go, it was just the bull that was symbolic.

“Magnificent beast, is he not, my liege?” Andsvarr asked. “Shame about the public execution though. I know it's tradition, but it seems a bit gratuitous.”

“You speak very freely today, Alarrson.” Loki said. “You lack guile. Say what you came to say.”

“Er, I apologize your Highness, I did not know how to broach the subject. Have you perhaps spoken with your good lady about the bull sacrifice?”

“Not beyond discussing it as a part of Burdag tradition. Otherwise, she has been rather busy learning her ritual.” He paused, realizing Andsvarr knew something he didn't. “Why? Has she confided something in you?”

“I would say that she has, your Highness.” Andsvarr said. “Has she brought up her discomfort with this sacrifice to you?”

“She has not...Though now that you do, I can't say I'm surprised.” That may have something to do with your increased tension lately. The way your mind had been wandering. There was a great deal of stress on you; perhaps he should have thought more about how the live sacrifice of the bull might effect you.

“Humans used to make such sacrifices very often, from what I've read.” Andsvarr continued. “It's one of the customs we shared. It's much less common now, I hear, but since she came from a smaller farming settlement, I would have thought she'd seen one before.”

Loki shook his head. “Her community is agrarian, and a monoculture at that. While I was there, I saw no livestock at all. Just endless corn.”

“Weird stuff.” Andsvarr commented. “But tasty. And so many applications.”

“It is not, I think, only the sacrifice that troubles her.” Loki said. “It is the sacrifice on top of everything else. If that doomed giant hadn't woken up...”

“If we hadn't been digging in the ice.” Andsvarr pointed out, then withered under Loki's stare.

“Don't think I haven't thought the same.” Loki said severely. “But my brother has been studying the humans effect on their own planet, and he tells me that the melting of the ice may have been inevitable. They will awaken, no matter what. Better now that we are prepared. But it shan't be before Burdag, so now I must think of what to do with him.” He gestured toward the ox. “His fate is sealed, but I wonder if there is some way I might change the presentation? Removing her from the ceremony would reflect poorly on the public, but...”

“If it pleases...” Andsvarr interrupted after the pause. “There was talk in the barracks about something one of the gate guards heard from an islandpostur man, that the bets were on whether the Gävle goat would burn this year, and when. I looked it up because some of us were placing bets. You have a hand phone don't you? If you look, you might have the same idea I did.”

“When did everyone around me decide that cryptic was the way to be?” Loki complained. But he realized that Andsvarr was allowing him to claim credit, rather than trying to dictate to royalty.

Andsvarr went off to his drills, and Loki left the ox to his munching. A quick check showed the Gävle to be a kind of effigy, composed of straw-a stand in for a real goat. This was how human civilizations got around the ritual spilling of blood. By sacrificing in the shape of the original.

He saw instantly what Andsvarr had. But how to make it work? The sacrifice and butchering was to be done right there on the spot; obviously, that couldn't be done with straw.

But a container covered in paper and flour paste, shaped like a cow...

Maybe.

He needed to find Beli.

                                                                   ******

There was a flat, dry area outside of Asgard and Trolerkaerhalla that was reserved for the landing of small planes and other aircrafts. It was cleared of snow, and roped off so that the air travelers could get inside the city as swiftly as possible, but that didn't stop the more die-hard of admirers from putting on their warmest clothing and waiting to catch a glimpse of who was coming to the festival. Some of the arrivals were no one of note to the observers, but a few of them garnered great attention; The Vision, in his bright colors, Maximoff, and Dr. Banner, as uncomfortable as ever with the cheering and applause.

They weren't the only important people to have answered their invitations: representatives and ambassadors from all around the North Atlantic Sea were coming in-from the relatively nearby Faroe, Shetland, and Orkney islands, as well as the Hebrides, whose names you were just learning.

You were at the gates to greet these esteemed visitors, speaking what little Icelandic you had managed to learn. There were a surprising number of representatives; it seemed like everywhere in the North wanted to be there-people from each of the Scandinavian countries and various areas within, to the larger island countries; Scotland, England, Wales, Ireland and North Ireland.

You still didn't quite know the difference, but you knew it was important enough not to ask.

There were also people from such far-flung places as Svalbard, Greenland, Germany and Estonia. In fact, it seemed as though most of Atlantic and Baltic Europe had sent someone. To your surprise, Canada and the United States had also come, even though they didn't recognize Asgard's sovereignty.

And then there were the anthropologists, journalists, even a few 'local' celebrities. Everyone wanted pictures of or with you, and you hoped that none of these people would turn out to be horrible, since pictures of you with them were going to be on the internet forever now.

You couldn't help but side-eye the religious representatives- some Christian, and some Heathen, from all the surrounding countries, and from within Iceland itself. You weren't sure what the Christian leaders were doing here: Asgard, by its very existence, posed a great challenge to their faith, so perhaps they were facing that challenge head on? Or perhaps it was to gather information. You didn't think they would have much success in proselytizing here, as it was hard to convince people to turn to a god that wasn't well known for answering directly, when the Aesir they'd grown up with were just right there. And it was extra hard to force conversion when you didn't have a weapon capable of harming the people you were trying to force.

The Heathens didn't make you any more reassured: speaking to Sofie had taught you that there were definite problems within those communities, racism and authoritarianism chief among them. Though, like any group of people, there were plenty who didn't accept such things. It just wasn't easy to tell by looking.

None of this was anything you'd ever had to think about back home. Diplomacy, poise, professionalism, visibility, navigating complex social and political relations-what use did a simple baker have for such as these?

You hadn't baked in weeks. Your time was mostly sucked up by lessons and political stuff, and though Loki had promised you respite after the ceremonies, you still couldn't help but wonder if that part of you life was simply over.

The cooks had learned your cinnamon roll recipe, and most of Asgard was picking it up. Loki was spoiled for cinnamon rolls these days, and showed no sign of growing tired of them. You wanted to introduce him to cornbread, snickerdoodles, or even no-bake cookies, but there just hadn't been time. Everything was lessons and dreams.

The sun dipped low, and though it was still early in the day, you would be going back inside once darkness fell. It simply got too cold to stay out. Luckily, it seemed that all the visitors had the same idea, and the stream of representatives and celebrities trickled off with the fading light.

Soon there was only one plane left, tiny, even smaller than the flock of already small planes that had come and gone. Only two people disembarked, no bodyguards, and they struggled against the strong winds. At least they were properly dressed in warm coats. Coats that you recognized.

No, there was no way. No possible way. But they were here.

“Daddy!?!” You squealed, and threw yourself into his open arms. Professionalism could be damned.

[atxlxs]

Beyond The Veil: Chapter 13

Thankfully, for Muska’s sanity, the next day the gate was repaired (because apparently it had been broken) and there were no reporters at the gate. That was probably due to Nedzu hounding them ‘politely’ which is honestly scarier than being called out.

She wasn’t too sure if blackmail was involved but she wouldn’t put it past him.

The day started normally, meeting up with Greenie and Gravity, the nicknames stuck, and heading into class. Bakugo was in his seat that morning, which considering yesterday they hadn’t seen him, was startling but she ignored him since he was treating the world as if it didn’t exist.

They spent the morning talking relatively quietly and when Iida approached to join Muska didn’t scowl or glare so overall, it was a calm morning. Well, except for Greenie’s subdued personality from the first day of school.

So it was a Bakugo thing.

Shoving that to the back of her mind for now, Muska focused on listening to the present conversation. She would have to talk to Eras about what to do while going forwards. Eras had always been strangely aware of the emotions people were feeling and what caused them to feel that way. Picking apart their behavior and posture to read them like a book emotionally so she could respond properly without harming the other person. For someone who hated dealing with her own emotions, she made damn sure to respect and treat others with care. Always telling them that what they were feeling was valid and that their response was normal for them so they shouldn’t have to change themselves just to make others more comfortable. If only she would take her own advice.

She was yanked back out of her musings when Aizawa walked through the door, his face set carefully blank as he reached his podium and commented about how it only took 8 seconds to quiet down that time.

“Today’s heroics class will be special,” a red quirked glare shut off the conversations and cheers that wanted to spring loose, “we will be taking a trip to a separate building on campus. You can choose whether or not you wish to wear your costumes or gym uniforms to go there.”

A very pointed look settled on Muska and traveled to Midoriya. Ah, obviously since their costumes were ruined (Midoriya’s more than her own) they would end up wearing the gym uniforms. She gave a subtle nod and Aizawa returned his gaze to the general class.

“Go head to the locker rooms and meet me at the buses.”

Leaving out the door much like the first day before the assessment tests, Aizawa was gone before her classmates could even ask questions. This time, thankfully, they got the memo relatively quickly and they all filed out to head to the locker rooms seconds after their teacher left.

Muska and Midoriya ended up being the only two who were stuck in the gym uniforms and honestly, yea that was expected. Why wear school sanctioned uniforms if you could be dressed as a robot. Speaking of robots, Iida was blowing a whistle, of all things he could carry around on himself, and was directing the class to line up in some kind of order. Taking his responsibilities as a class representative, which Muska had no clue what those responsibilities were, very seriously.

“Line up in two lines by seat order so we may properly board the bus!”

The class, reluctantly, started to get in those lines and Iida seemed to be quite proud of himself until he saw her. Muska was, admittedly, very confused and was just standing off to the side. Her facial expression betrayed none of her inner emotions and stayed carefully blank as she stared at everyone who in return stared back at her.

“Viridis-san! Why are you just standing there?! We need to get ready for the bus!”

Slowly, so slowly in fact that her neck should have creaked, Muska stared directly at Iida. Her eyebrow slowly raising until her face showcased confusion and she deadpanned,

“I have no clue what my number is Iida, what the fuck is a student number?”

Silence covered the class. The chirping of birds could be heard in the distance and Aizawa, who was just standing off to the side to avoid them, looked like he wanted to just take a nap. Muska could understand that on an emotional level.

Suddenly, because class 1-A can’t stay silent for long, a burst of laughter echoed from the line. Uraraka was clutching her side as she laughed and Midoriya stared at her, confused for a second, before a drawing realization appeared on his face.

“Ah, Viridis-san You sit behind me making you student number 19. I’m student number 18.” Midoriya elaborated.

Nodding, she headed over to stand behind him as Uraraka’s laughter seemed to subside into quiet giggles. When she finally looked up to see the bewilderment on her classmates' faces, she snorted before going to explain.

“After the practical exam, Viridis let it slip that she’s actually from Canada and despite living here for a while, she isn’t used to the way everything works due to habit.”

“I was homeschooled too so not much interaction with classrooms here anyways.” Muska added.

3 apologies from Iida later and 2 snorts from Uraraka that were reprimanded without heat, the class headed onto an open layout bus. Which warranted an extra snort from Uraraka and Muska at Iida’s down trodden expression.

Muska sat down next to Midoriya, he seemed to need a comforting presence nearby and he was kind and not touchy feely so it’s a win-win situation.

---Midoriya Pov---

Midoriya is confused.

It had all started with the practical entrance exam (That he absolutely tanked if it weren’t for the rescue points, god he was such a disappointment-) , Well, to be completely honest it had started in the auditorium where the practical was debriefed. Muska, who is an enigma herself, had taken it upon herself to reprimand Iida for calling him out. Saying his muttering was normal. That it was a natural way to think and therefore a testament to how serious he really was. He… He doesn’t really know how to deal with that so ignoring it seemed like a good option. (He was too used to teachers jeering and calling him creepy, that his muttering was an annoyance-)

Then there was her reaction to his rambling when she had caught him after Uraraka released his gravity. She listened and responded. She didn’t call him creepy, or drop him to deal with his injuries on his own. He didn’t even introduce himself and yet she was already responding to his questions and elaborating on what her quirk actually did! It was such a surreal experience.

The next moment when he was thrown for a loop, again, was while they were in the infirmary after Kacchan got… upset again. First, Muska introduced him to her guardian (who looked ethereal, her skin had a not quite alive appearance to it and her voice was as smooth as silk when she addressed him. Movements were graceful and fluid, yet a bit stilted with worry and anger(?) that he knew was not directed at him.) She had thanked him for saving her ward.

Midoriya didn’t know whether or not to be worried about the supposed body hiding capabilities but he chooses to believe it was a joke.

Then came his less than optimal decision to tell her that he hasn’t always had a quirk. (He was so caught up in her belief, in the casualty of the statement, that he was a hero, that he craved more. To know that wanting what he was working towards wasn’t wrong-) She just… blinked and asked why it mattered. Why being quirkless mattered when it came to being a hero.

He cried again at that.

Now, he was sitting beside her on the bus. The bus heading towards a special heroics class. Her casual decision to sit next to him was mind blowing. Not really talking, but then again Muska rarely talked unless it was quips or sarcastic responses. (He could tell she meant for none of it to be harmful, he knows on an instinctual level after having nothing but disdain and hatred aimed in his direction-) His nerves were still a little shot, school environments have been nothing but bad for him since he was 4, but having her beside him was soothing. There was someone here that he knows doesn’t care. Who doesn’t see him as any less for what he had been. This thought is what untenses his shoulders, why he relaxes when he saw her sit next to him when they first got on the bus.

It had been 5 minutes in when Asu- Tsu-san had asked him a question that had him tensing again.

“I apologize in advance since I’m blunt to a fault, Kero, but I say what's on my mind. Your quirk is similar to All Might's, Kero.”

The words “similar to All Might's” rang like warning bells in his head. Pounding against his skull as he scrambled, reaching in his thoughts for an explanation that wasn’t damning when he felt something strange.

It was as if something, gently, pried his thoughts away from the jumbled mess that they were. Soothing wash of clarity smothered his worries and he gave Tsu- san a small smile.

“In a way, though that’s probably due to strength enhancement quirks being more common than people expect. Just not to the length that All Might’s is.” He responded.

Strange, was all he could think as Kirishima cut in saying something about broken bones. The attention effectively mitigated. He had definitely never calmed that quickly before, he didn’t even stutter. It was as if his anxiety was just… washed away? He racked his brain for an explanation but came up empty.

Yet, it seemed familiar?

He was drawn out of his thoughts when Kacchan had started yelling and he was beyond startled that Kacchan was being teased. The bus arrived at the location and they all filed off the bus and headed over to the “USJ” as was explained by Thirteen, (Thirteen!) and he listened to Uraraka fangirl much like himself when it clicked. He turned his head ever so slowly to glimpse at Muska. She was standing behind them, slipping her phone and headphones back into her pocket, and Midoriya distinctly remembered an instance where she had shown off this specific ability before.

The reporters.

He subtly raised an eyebrow when they caught each other's eyes and Muska smirked.

He gave her a small and soft (relieved) smile and turned his attention back to his teachers. Gratitude settled in his chest as he listened to the exercise being explained. Hopefully, today will be a good day. He might not even break his bones!

Oh how wrong he was.

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

Tags:

@baguettehead

[sonofsallyjackson]

Heroes of Olympus should have been in first-person.

@jo-march-is-a-lesbian​ wrote a really wonderful post about how “Percy Jackson and the Olympians is better than Heroes of Olympus…because it understood simplicity and character development.”  It highlights some reasons I also found HoO less rewarding namely that it was an overcomplicated story with limited character growth, lacked a common thesis, and was super jarring when it switched perspectives.  

And with that my little brain went: I can fix this.  Which frankly is ridiculous.  I can’t come up with a compelling thesis like “The idea that we should place our hope in our loved ones, our friends and our family, and if we do that, we won’t be tempted to give up hope again.”   But I can imagine a simple change that would have solved some of the issues and also played to Rick’s strengths as a writer:  Each book should have been written in first person and narrated by a different character.

With so many people on the quest, I often felt like I was watching a bunch of one-dimensional characters fight for their right to be the main character.  I didn’t know who to focus on but I was also dissatisfied.  There were all these new wonderful characters in front of me who I wanted to love, but I didn’t feel like I actually knew them.  I mean I don’t feel like I know the Stoll Brothers either, but I’m not concerned about that fact because they are side characters.  When everyone is painted as the main character,  I have certain expectations for growth, personality, and voice.  The story would have been better served if the characters took turns narrating the action, allowing us to settle into their perspective, see their growth, and better understand their personality.

Plus Rick kills first-person.  While I’m not particularly a fan of Trials of Apollo, it’s not because I don’t know the characters.  Apollo is so very different than Percy. Their voices, even though they can both be jokesters at times, reflect their different life-experiences, thought processes and provide massive insight into their characters.   If the Seven (and Nico and Reyna) got the same treatment, I would be absolutely giddy.  

I recognize that rewriting the HoO series in first-person is something a talented fanfiction writer with a lot of time on their hands could actually do.  But I am not talented like that and I certainly don’t have the discipline to actually write that much fic, especially if I was trying to keep the events vaguely the same just with different narration and pacing.  So instead I’ve included who I think should have narrated each book below the cut.  I’d love to hear any opinions people have regarding this idea, especially who they would have wanted to see to narrate each book.

In addition to picking the narrator, I’ve highlighted what should be the “quest” so to speak of each story.  Personally, MoA, HoH and BoO are kind of a blur to me despite reading them all recently.  It’s hard to distinguish what happens in each book because it’s all one massive quest with a whole bunch of mini-quests.    While the different narrators would obviously make the books more distinctive, splitting the series into seven books would also help simplify each book’s individual goal.  Eight books would have allowed for better integration of the plot to find the physician’s cure, but with the prophecy of seven, it seemed like seven books was the best option, if I was going to be doing something as blasphemous as splitting books.   

As a note, I ran out of steam as I went so not all opinions are fully fleshed out. 

Book 1:  The Lost Hero The Quest: Rescue Hera/Juno Narrator:  Jason 

Why this would be cool: 

He is literally Juno’s chosen sent on a quest to rescue her.  It’s poetic enough to give him the book.

Jason’s journey is just as much about rediscovering himself as it is about saving Juno.   Of the new characters, I feel like I understand Jason the least. Mainly because I felt like I was missing the entire first half of his story.  Jason, like Percy and Annabeth, is a hero of the Titan War. I know some of his accomplishments, but I don’t have any bearing on what his life was like or how he felt about it.   He doesn’t seem like the type to relish Praetor-ship since he doesn’t have the same intense need to get back to his camp as Percy.  Was he just hoisted on his comrades’ shields after killing the Titan without any real choice in the matter? Give me Jason’s memories coming back slowly over the course of the quest (with potentially a fractured memory of a mistake he made in the Roman’s final Titan battle that makes him doubt their ability to both rescue Piper’s dad and save Hero but he makes the decision to anyway because he can’t just hurt his friend like that.   Let me understand how Jason is the person he is today.  Give me glances of the Roman Camp with emphasis on the heavy expectations that have always followed him as the son of Jupiter and foreshadow why he eventually chooses to design all the shrines for the minor gods so he can have his own place in the world as a figure between the two camps.

Let’s dive into those feelings of anger/guilt/resentment when people at camp are disappointed with him for not being Percy or in Chiron’s case are nervous about what his presence means. 

I want to dig deeper regarding Jason’s feelings about reconnecting with Thalia.  He knows that if the gods hadn’t been determined to keep the two camps completely separate, he could have grown up with his sister. 

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:  

We miss some of the internal turmoil regarding the fact that Piper’s Dad has been captured and she must betray her friends. 

We also don’t feel the tensions of Piper’s relationship with Aphrodite. I don’t see Piper bringing up the conversation with her mom saying that her mist memories were so strong because she automatically sensed the potential of a romantic relationship with Jason.  

We don’t have any of Leo’s conflicted feelings regarding rescuing Hera or his fear of being made an outcast for his fire abilities.  Jason has to go with Leo to discover Bunker 9 and Festus.  

Leo doesn’t actively save the day with the Cyclops. 

We don’t know how Piper feels about her charm-speak or see her defeat Madea (as the boys are in their weird trance thing). 

Knowledge about Gaea’s involvement in wrecking Leo’s life will come later.  

Book 2: The Son of Neptune The Quest: Free Thantos Narrator:  Hazel

Why this would be cool: 

The stakes are so incredibly high. Hazel is literally risking her second chance at life by agreeing to go on this chance.  She’s going to the place she died to fight the monster she created. She also has to deal with the trauma of knowing she may have bought the world time with her first sacrifice but it now means nothing if she can’t succeed again.  

We get to see Camp Jupiter from the view of someone who loves it but doesn’t really fit in.  Hazel joined Camp Jupiter just after the final battle.  She enters a community that has learned to fight as a well-oiled machine but that has lost people.  Dakota or the others may remark to her about how things were before or the people who are missing.  Hazel sees a community that she’s not quite a part of both because she didn’t fight in the war and because she’s in the fifth cohort with a feared godly parent.

It would explore her relationship with Nico more (because I love their dynamic and I want more).   She knows she can’t replace his real sister, but she feels comfortable and happy at the opportunity to have a brother, especially one who is out of time like she is.   

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:  

Frankly, the largest pushback would be from the fans who expected this to be Percy’s book since we just watched Jason rediscover who he is.

Percy’s phone call to his mom doesn’t have the same intensity.  

Frank’s relationship with Mars and how desperate he was to be claimed but now he doesn’t think he can live up to his father’s expectations.  

Frank and his grandmother.  We aren’t in Frank’s head as he changes shape till later.  

Book 3: Mark of Athena The Quest: Close the Divide Between The Two Camps by finding Athena’s statue and Rescue Nico Narrator(s):  Annabeth and Leo

Why Annabeth: 

So I can have all the emotions at the reunion with Percy.  

Annabeth’s relationship with her Mom has never been great, but imagine beginning the book with Annabeth being given the Mark of Athena. They haven’t left for New Rome yet and her nerves are already all over the place.  Then Athena/Minerva comes, gives her an impossible quest, and breaks her hat.   Annabeth wants to prove to her mother that she’s worthy because despite everything she still values her mother’s opinions.  Also her fatal flaw of hubris makes her believe she will succeed where everyone else failed.

Much of the book already follows her in third person limited so we just get things with a little extra emotion.  

Why Leo:  

Leo has to grapple with the fact he started this war by being the one to fire the cannon even if he didn’t have any control.  He is motivated to fix it

If we’re going to include the Sammy plot, we need to do it now.   Leo doesn’t like being the odd one out on the ship but he certainly doesn’t like the feeling of being notable because of his grandfather.  

We still need to get into those feelings of abandonment and anger at Gaea for killing his mom.  

Nemesis 

Leo comes into his own with the discovery of the Archimedes sphere and the decision to value people over objects.  

What does telling the narrative like this sacrifice:

The aquarium shenanigans 

The fight between Jason and Percy in Kansas needs to happen differently so that the others are present and try to stop it.  

Neither of them went ashore to meet Hercules.  

I think we might need to move up the Calypso meeting to this book, but that also kills some of the suspense since Frank will have the fireproof coating prior to his adventures in Venice when he gains faith in his abilities.  It also might mean Leo opens the fortune cookie from Nemesis unless for some odd reason he doesn’t have it.  There’s a lot more narrative weight for it coming later, but in order to get in as many book events as we can in, it might need to come earlier. 

Book 4:  House of Hades Pt. 1

The Quest: Survive Tartarus Narrator(s): Annabeth and Percy

The first time I read House of Hades, I read it out of order (reading all the Percy and Annabeth chapters until they were on the elevator out of Tartarus before going back and reading the others), because I couldn’t handle the back and forth.  I felt like the tension would build, I’d be invested in this plot and then we’d switch to the other plot. Plus I was very concerned for my children.  So I feel fully justified in saying that there is more than enough material to give the two of them their own book.

I just feel like all the feelings would be magnified.  

Percy’s commentary slowly losing its humor because he can’t anymore.

Annabeth’s guilt at having pulled him in being extra loud.  

Downsides beyond adding an entire book: Just imagine all the outrage at two cliffhangers in a row, because you know the book would end with them in the elevator remembering Bob’s words about the stars.   

Book 5:  House of Hades Pt. 2

The Quest:  Close the Doors of Death Narrator(s): Frank and Hazel

Frank and Hazel experience the most growth on the quest to close the doors so this book is all theirs.  Hazel learns to control the mist.  Frank experiments with his transformations.  I want nothing but them growing into themselves and their abilities.  

The good thing about turning the two warring storylines from House of Hades into separate books is that we lose very little plot.  

Book 6:  House of Hades Pt. 3/Blood of Olympus Pt 1 (Personally I would call this one Ambassador of Pluto)

The Quest:  Unite the Gods’ Personalities. Narrator: Nico

To clarify what I mean by HoH 3, I just mean anything done with the intention of trying to cross paths with Reyna, including the adventure with Cupid, in addition to the existing Nico&Reyna plotline in BoO.  

Nico dealing with all the emotions and his most recent near-death experience.

He kept the secret of the camps so the world wouldn’t end in chaos, but now that the world is in chaos he will be the one to fix it.  

In the short time he’s on the Argo 2, Nico realizes that even though this wasn’t his quest; this is his family and he needs to protect them.  

The reader has a pretty good idea Nico is gay, even if the word isn’t explicitly said from the descriptions (his guilty Percy thoughts - he let down the man he loves even if he won’t admit it.) This means that Cupid’s forceful outing is potentially less surprising so the reader can be properly outraged at Cupid.  

Downside: Reyna definitely has adventures when Nico is passed out, especially the whole waking up with the Hunters, but I think it’s excusable for a whole book from Nico’s perspective.  

Also, the battle between the camps and gifting of the statue needs to happen in this book, but we shouldn’t find out if the gods have regained control of their forms yet.  We alleviate some tensions because Camp Half-blood is likely to be overrun with Octavian’s monsters instead of the Roman armies and Gaea could awaken any second, but there’s an odd moment of calm and an uneasy truce.  (Octavian is potentially taken under custody to be held for trial only to escape in the next book.) 

Book 7:  Blood of Olympus Pt 2 (and the aftermath)

The Quest:  Like The Last Olympian, the final book’s focus is entirely on defeating the series’ big bad, in this case, Gaea.  Leo’s quest for the Physician’s cure parallels Percy’s River Styx visit.  

Narrator(s):  Leo and Piper

Leo has his death hanging over his head.  He has decided that he will be the one to die not any of his friends.  He got the cloth from Calypso so the “fire” portion of the prophecy applies to him and not Frank.  (Yes I know you can’t control prophecies, but do you think that’s going to stop Leo.)  

It’s the ultimate revenge for killing his mom.  We can have memories of both the happy times with Esperanza and the fear he felt for thinking he caused the fire. 

Piper’s perspective is necessary as we need to be with her during the fight with the giants.   

This series began with Piper, Leo, and Jason.  It ends that way too with the three of them killing Gaea and the two of them narrating.  

Downsides: 

The Percabeth I love you-the feud is over scene remains in Piper’s perspective.  

Since we’re not following Reyna’s delivery of the statue concurrently we don’t know when to anticipate the healed gods appearing in the battle with the giants.  

The book can still get away with not showing us Percy’s reunion with Sally or forcing Leo to tell the others he’s alive so they’re all grieving. 

[dvp95]

not trying to hide it

pairing: dan howell/phil lester rating: explicit tags: flatmate au, strangers to lovers, smut, fluff word count: 5.6k summary: Phil's parents want him to get a flatmate. Bryony wants to get her newly-evicted mate off her couch. It’s not quite luck or fate, but Phil is thankful anyway. 

a birthday present for the lovely and hilarious @karcathy !!!!! they deserve only good things and you should all go wish them a happy birthday!

read on ao3 or here!

Phil doesn’t want to get a flatmate. He likes having his own space, because he can mess it up as much as he likes and doesn’t need to worry about someone making noise while he’s trying to sleep. He only pays part of his own rent, though - half during a good month - so he doesn’t have much of a choice when his parents tell him to find someone who can cover at least a third of it. London isn’t cheap, and Phil makes a fluctuating amount of money, and he supposes his parents are well within their rights to insist he gets his life together at some point.

He’s pretty sure that they helped him pick out a two bedroom so that he would do that eventually. Maybe they’d had some kind of pipe dream about nurseries? In either case, Phil’s just had his miscellaneous junk piled in the spare for over a year. There’s a futon in it whenever Martyn or PJ come over and don’t feel like taking the Tube home, but it’s currently piled high with unopened packages and stuffed animals.

Clearing the room is probably the biggest task. Phil’s got a lot of clutter, and getting rid of it is weirdly difficult sometimes. Most of it just ends up in his room or in the common area, making the rest of the flat look even more topsy than it already did. Opening all the PR is fun, until suddenly he’s got dozens of empty parcels to dispose of and various merch items from his online friends scattered all over the rug. At least most of it is clothing and accessories - he’s got enough storage in his room to handle more clothes. It’s the trinkets that he’s got problems finding space for.

Phil’s parents didn’t give him a deadline, which was probably a mistake. He’s all too happy to just exist with a barren spare room until they get on his case again, but that’s before Bryony gets ahold of him. Somehow, she scares him a lot more than his own mum does.

“Phil,” she says, blunt and businesslike as if she’s calling from work. Maybe she is - it’s quarter to four, which he supposes is a normal time for adults to be at work. Phil is in his pants and eating cereal. He didn’t even want to answer the phone, really, too invested in the complicated storyline playing out on Riverdale, but he knows she’d just keep calling until he did. “Have you cleared out that room yet?”

“Yes, mum,” says Phil. “I hated every second of it.”

“Good,” Bryony says. Which part she’s replying to is unclear. “My mate just got kicked out of his place and I want him off my couch. Will you bump him up the nonexistent list of potentials you’ve got?”

Phil pauses the Riverdale episode. It’s hard to focus on that and Bryony’s drama. “Well, that depends on why he got kicked out. Like, is he a dick? Did he not pay rent? Did he leave dishes in the sink for three weeks? Did he kick a hole in the wall trying to do drunk karate?”

“You need to stop comparing people to your uni housemates. No, nothing like that.”

“Then what happened?”

There’s a pause, and then Bryony makes a disapproving sort of noise. “It’s not exactly my fucking story to tell, is it? I’ll just say he ran into a bigot landlord and leave it at that, yeah?”

Something like guilt for pushing the issue settles into Phil’s stomach, but he scolds himself. He couldn’t have known that, and he didn’t want to blindly do a favour for someone troubled and stupid and in need of help. Bryony has a habit of collecting those people. When Phil feels like being honest with himself, he can recognise that he’s in that category as well. He doesn’t really feel like it today.

“Fine,” Phil says, like it’s a bigger hardship than it is. “Send him over, uh, Thursday?”

“I’ll send him over tonight,” says Bryony. Phil makes a loud noise of protest that she bowls right over. “You said the room is empty. Dan is eight feet tall and he snores like a lawnmower. I want him off my couch.”

--

Bryony’s mate isn’t eight feet tall, obviously, although Phil thinks it would be pretty cool if he were. The flat has high ceilings that Phil has to jump to touch, and he’s been amusing himself by picturing a giant of a man reaching up and just tapping on them. He does have to duck around the hanging light in the kitchen, but so does Phil.

“I’m convinced that’s going to be the thing that kills me,” Phil says conversationally.

Dan hasn’t said much, mostly just mumbling awkward pleasantries, but he laughs at that. When he laughs, Phil sees a glint of silver in his mouth that has his brain short-circuiting a little bit.

“Maybe,” Dan says as he looks dubiously into Phil’s cupboards. “Only if the sugar intake doesn’t get you first, mate. Why the fuck do you need four bags of marshmallows?”

“They’re different sizes!”

“Do you do a lot of baking or something?”

The question makes Phil flash back to the last time he tried to make muffins. The stain from that adventure turned meltdown still hasn’t come out of his favourite jeans. Whatever expression twists onto his face makes Dan laugh again, louder, and Phil decides that being a little stupid is worth hearing that unabashed sound. He gives Dan a sheepish grin and sticks his hands in his pockets. “No. I just like marshmallows.”

“You know they’ve got gelatin in them, right?” Dan asks like he’s trying to be serious, but the twitching of his lips gives him away.

“I like jello, too.”

“That’s not what -” Dan starts, and then honks. “How d’you know Bryony again?”

That’s a bit of a long, mortifying story, but Phil tells it anyway. He makes tea as he relives spilling a blue cocktail on her very expensive shoes and then following her around like a puppy while he tried to make it up to her. Normally he’d feel like he was talking too much, but Dan leans against the breakfast bar with attentive brown eyes and laughs in all the right places, so Phil doesn’t feel that hint of self-consciousness.

He hands Dan’s tea over in a Kirby mug and pours his own into an ugly commemorative one from a dinky Florida gift shop. For a moment, there’s quiet. Dan doesn’t seem uncomfortable as much as he seems contemplative, running his tongue absently over his teeth to catch on the silver ball in his tongue.

Then Dan says, “I don’t have any mugs. Or furniture. Or anything, really.”

“Nothing?” Phil asks, wondering if he ought to be aghast or just empathetic. He wonders if that has something to do with Dan being kicked out, or if he’s one of those minimalist people. “Not even, like, clothes?”

“I’ve got clothes, Jesus,” says Dan. Despite his grumbling, he looks more embarrassed than anything.

“Well,” Phil says, then comes up short. He hasn’t had to live with other people in so long, he forgets how this part works. “You can use whatever I’ve got. I don’t expect you to go out and buy your own plates or something, that would be silly. And we’d probably put off dishes even longer if I did.”

Dan smiles, but there’s a wariness that Phil doesn’t quite understand. “Okay. Thanks.” He takes a long sip of his tea, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, and Phil reminds himself - not for the first time, not even for the first time today - that it’s pointless to think about how pretty a guy is when nothing is going to come of it. “So you’re, like, really okay with me living here? You don’t need to let Bryony bully you.”

“Not quite sure what the alternative is,” Phil jokes, “but I don’t mind. I need a flatmate.”

“I can be a good flatmate,” Dan says, with a weirdly determined air about him. Phil has no reason not to believe him, aside from his own bad experiences with young men sharing space with him, but at least Dan isn’t a uni lad.

Phil finds himself shrugging. “Okay,” he says, because this is all going much easier than he expected. He supposes Bryony was doing him a favour as much as he was doing her one, because the relief of not having to do a bunch of interviews with potentially creepy strangers is settling into him now. “Rent’s due on the first, the water pressure sucks on weekends, and I’m gay.”

Dan blinks. Some of that wariness melts into something that Phil can’t read before he looks down at his tea.

“Me too,” Dan tells the drink. “More or less.”

It takes actual effort for Phil to bite back the joke. Maybe if the admission weren’t pulling at Dan’s shoulders in such an obvious way, he’d ask if Dan meant he also sucked on weekends. Instead, he just smiles. “That’s good. If Bry sent me a homophobe, I’d have to return her Christmas present.”

--

Dan leaves just long enough to get his bags, and then Phil has a flatmate. He promises to get a key cut in the morning, but Dan just shrugs and says he doesn’t leave the house much anyway, so there’s not much of a rush. That’s when Phil figures out that they both work from home, and anxiety swirls in his gut at the idea of that quickly becoming an issue. It’s so much easier to get on each other’s nerves when they’re both around practically all day every day, but that’s a bridge he’ll have to burn when he comes to it, or whatever.

For a couple of days, Dan is like a wounded animal that only comes out of hiding when he hears the fridge door open. Phil knows there isn’t really anything left in the room aside from his futon and a desk that he and Martyn tried to put together tispy, but he supposes that Dan’s got a laptop and big padded headphones to entertain himself with.

After a little while of getting used to the place, though, Dan starts doing his work in the common area of the flat. He’ll sit at the breakfast bar to sort through potential articles with the air of someone very bored on Tinder or make a nest on the corner of the sofa to watch Phil play Zelda. He’s good about staying quiet whenever Phil is streaming, but sometimes he’ll laugh or tease Phil for a dumb move, and people start wondering who the voice out of frame is.

They play games together, too, when neither of them have work to do - or, more accurately, are avoiding their tasks for a little while with pizza and Mario Kart - and Dan wins more often than not. That should probably be embarrassing to Phil, since he plays video games for a living, but he’s never been the type to try and excel at every single game he plays. It’s more about the entertainment, both for himself and for his audience. He imagines Dan feels similarly torn between sheepish and intrigued when Phil looks at the HTML on Dan’s laptop and points to an issue that Dan’s been trying to find for an hour.

Dan is a nerd with a contagious laugh who writes up a chart of ridiculous Riverdale theories on their fridge whiteboard, and it’s getting more and more difficult for Phil not to notice him.

His hair looks soft, his eyes are as expressive as the rest of him, he’s all lanky limbs and hairless chest when he hangs out half-naked - which is unfortunately often - but his mouth is probably the worst offender. He’s always chewing on a pen or toying with his tongue ring, like he’s got to be doing something with it when he’s not talking, and that’s not a train of thought that Phil should be going down except during the privacy of his showertime.

At this point, he’s not sure if he should thank Bryony or strangle her for delivering him a gorgeous ‘more or less’ gay man with all the same hobbies and interests as him, because there are too many ways for this to end badly and only, like, one way he wants it to end.

--

Phil is streaming Apex Legends in a surprisingly competent team when his phone rings. It doesn’t ring very often, and it’s probably Bryony asking why he’s been holed up for over a month, so he ignores it. It’s only when it starts ringing again, immediately after it stops, that he frowns.

“Hey, Dan,” he calls. Last time he checked, Dan was rearranging the spice shelf into something that makes a bit more sense than its current state. He thinks it’s a little silly, and he’ll probably still reach for the hot chocolate in the wrong place, but he likes that Dan has been making himself more at home lately. He’s noticed a few of his knick-knacks shifting around the room as well. “Can you check who’s calling?”

There’s a clattering noise that slightly worries Phil, and then Dan says, “It’s your mum.”

Phil freezes. He’s in the middle of something, sure, but he’s been waiting for this call. He doesn’t want to tell the couple thousand people watching him play about his dad’s health, so for a long moment he doesn’t know what to do.

Then, Dan is leaning over the back of the sofa. He takes the controller from Phil’s hands and replaces it with his still-buzzing phone.

“Go talk to her,” he murmurs. “I’ll keep playing for you.”

Gratitude washes over Phil, and he practically runs to his room to take the call. He doesn’t have time to worry about what his Twitch audience will think of Dan’s sudden appearance after so much time as a disembodied voice, because he’s got to spend all his brain power concentrating on the things his mum is telling him. At least he knows he’s not letting his team down - if anything, getting Dan as defense is an upgrade.

The conversation with his mum is long, but it’s all good news. Phil lets his mum talk his ear off, because the relief in her voice is so palpable and contagious that he doesn’t have the heart to say he’s in the middle of a video game. She only says goodbye when he gently reminds her to call Martyn as well, and then Phil is alone in his room with nothing but the pounding of his own heart in his ears for company. They’ve had good news (and bad news and no news) from the doctors before, but every time it’s like a shot of adrenaline right to Phil’s system. His dad is okay, his mum is happy, and his rampant anxiety can take a short break.

Dan isn’t playing anymore when Phil comes back, probably because the round ended, but he’s rambling about his own Apex opinions to the chat. He’s passionate like he is about basically everything, his hands and mouth moving faster than his brain, and Phil feels more warmth settle into his skin.

“Gunning for my job?” Phil jokes, plopping back down on the sofa. His thigh is pressed to Dan’s, but neither of them shift away.

“Maybe,” Dan teases. He hands the controller back all the same.

There’s a question in Dan’s big brown eyes: Everything okay? He doesn’t need to know details to pick up on how important that call was, and Phil thinks that this would have been the point of no return if he hadn’t hit that a couple weeks ago. He beams at Dan and nods, and the crinkly-eyed grin he gets in response makes Phil feel like he’s floating on air.

Later, when the night is winding down, Phil’s body is thrumming. Normally he’d be curled up with a book on one side of the sofa while Dan and his laptop took up the other, and that would be enough interaction before they headed to bed, but Phil still feels wired.

“You wanna go out?” he asks for the first time since Dan moved in. He’s always been more of a homebody than most of his friends, but having a friend like Dan - because that’s what they are now, isn’t it? - who also enjoys sitting in relative quiet doing their respective activities has made him even more of a shut-in than usual. Dan is clearly surprised by the question, and Phil doesn’t blame him. “I just - y’know, I got good news earlier, and I’m happy, and I want to get a drink or something.”

“And you want it with me?” Dan asks, his dimple deepening in the tell-tale beginnings of a grin.

“Yeah,” says Phil. Maybe he ought to have some kind of explanation that doesn’t make him sound like an idiot with a crush, but he can’t be bothered to think of one right now. Besides, Dan is smiling with the silver ball between his teeth, so he probably doesn’t mind how Phil sounds.

“Alright,” Dan agrees easily enough, shutting his laptop. “I’ll get dressed.”

--

Neither of them dress up; Phil leaves his top buttons open and Dan’s jeans are distractingly tight, but that’s as much of a concession as they’ll make. Phil likes bars more than he likes pubs or clubs, and he thinks splashing ten quid on a neon pink cocktail is absolutely worth it tonight. Dan doesn’t offer his opinion one way or the other until they’re sat at a booth, and then he says, “Thank fuck you’re not a clubber.”

“You don’t like clubbing?” Phil asks, distracted by Dan’s mission of blindly finding his straw with his tongue. The longer he knows Dan, the more he’s tempted to look up whether or not oral fixation is a real thing. “I mean, I don’t really love it, but it’s fun sometimes.”

“I’d have to already be wasted to dance in public,” says Dan.

“Oh, I can’t dance,” Phil says, matter-of-factly, and Dan snorts into his drink. “But I do it anyway.”

The bar isn’t overly busy or loud, but Phil still has to strain his ears to hear when Dan mutters, “Maybe it’d be more fun with you.”

It’s a little too easy for Phil’s overactive imagination to picture. Dan, pressed close to him and laughing with his head thrown back every time Phil says or does something stupid. He hopes that the flush he feels high on his cheeks isn’t obvious in the low light, but he’s not optimistic. Dan’s smile is more of a smirk.

Maybe getting drunk with the object of his stupid affections is… not smart. But Phil’s drink is good, and Dan is striking up an easy conversation about the music that’s playing, so Phil pushes logic aside for the moment to just enjoy himself.

--

Phil wakes up with a dry mouth and a slight headache, which is honestly better than he expected after three cocktails and a greasy kebab on the way home. Either Dan drank less than he did or he’s better at holding his alcohol, because Phil remembers getting guided away from lamp posts by his big, steady hands a couple of times.

He remembers making a bit of a fool of himself in general, but if anything Dan got more and more smiley the more that Phil rambled about Star Wars. Phil had reached across the table and poked at one of Dan’s dimples, and Dan had laughed loudly before taking Phil’s hand and holding it to the tabletop for a couple of seconds. Phil hadn’t wanted him to let go, and he wonders now if the hesitation stemmed from Dan’s own reluctance to stop touching him or if that’s just wishful thinking.

Phil gets himself together enough to take some ibuprofen and a long shower. By the time he gets out, wrapped in various towels, Dan is awake and making breakfast. It smells like bacon, but Phil is wary. It might be that fake stuff Dan insists on buying.

“That smells good,” Phil says, suspicious. He drifts over to the breakfast bar to try and get a peek at the pan.

“It’s real bacon,” says Dan. He turns specifically to roll his eyes where Phil can see it.

“Oh, cool. I thought you weren’t eating meat.”

“I’m not,” Dan says. “This is for you. I’m not hungry.”

“God, you’re incredible,” says Phil. He thinks that maybe he should tone it down a bit, because Bryony will kill him if he messes up this very good thing they’ve got going, but he’s not humble enough to not notice the way Dan dimples and turns pink at the earnest compliment. “Seriously,” he adds, talking to Dan’s back as he plates up some toast and bacon. “I am so lucky you needed a place to stay.”

“Luck’s not real, first of all,” Dan says as he hands over Phil’s breakfast. “Secondly, you’re only saying that because I cooked for you.”

Phil isn’t just saying that for the food, but it certainly takes over his attention. He pulls the towel around his shoulders tighter and leans against the breakfast bar to eat. Dan steals the crusts off his toast, rambling the whole time about the work emails he’d woken up to. Every time Dan talks about the ins and outs of journalism and website upkeep, Phil feels grateful all over again for getting a job so far out of his official field that the sectors barely touch. He doesn’t think he could handle working with so many people who can’t figure out how to change the alignment of text in simple HTML or which words they should capitalize in a headline.

“Thank you,” Phil says when he’s done, coming into the kitchen proper to rinse his plate. It’s the least he can do, considering his inability to actually wash the dishes before Dan gets fed up with the mess.

“At the risk of sounding gross and sappy,” Dan hums, “it’s really me who should be thanking you.”

“Maybe we should just both thank Bryony,” Phil suggests, turning to look at Dan again. Dan’s eyes snap up from - somewhere? Phil’s bare legs, maybe? - to stare determinedly at Phil’s face as if he can pretend that they never wandered. “You being too big and loud for her couch is the whole reason you’re here.”

Dan honks a laugh and reaches out like he’s going to shove at Phil. He doesn’t make contact, possibly remembering that Phil is somewhat naked, and just lets his hand fall back to his side awkwardly.

“As if your futon is any fucking better, mate,” he says, seemingly insistent on not drawing attention to the weird things he’s doing. Phil isn’t exactly stupid, is the thing. He thinks about Dan hesitating before letting go of his hand last night, the way he always grins when he catches Phil staring at his piercing, how it feels less like an unrequited crush between them and more like they’re just hovering at the edge of something, and Phil decides to throw caution to the goddamn wind.

“Y’know,” he says, messing with his damp hair for something to do with his hands. “I don’t think you’d be too big and loud for my bed, if you wanted to try that out.”

Dan laughs like he’s not quite sure if it’s a joke or not, and Phil shrugs to hide exactly how much his heart is pounding.

“Where were you planning to sleep, then?” Dan asks. His dark eyes are careful, searching, and Phil’s anxiety doesn’t like that at all. He doesn’t need Dan seeing things that he’s not purposefully putting on display.

“With you,” says Phil. “If you’d want me.”

There’s a long moment of quiet where Phil starts to worry that maybe he’s made a huge mistake. Then, Dan grins slowly and comes closer, pinning Phil to the counter without actually touching him, and Phil grins back at him in sheer relief. “I dunno why, but I never figured you as the type to be so blunt about this sort of thing.”

“What, you thought I was capable of subtlety?” Phil teases, putting a hand to his own chest as if he’s touched by the sentiment. “That’s so nice of you.”

Dan laughs, louder and more genuine, and then his big hands are cupping Phil’s jaw as he leans in to press their smiling mouths together. It’s been a hot minute since Phil kissed anyone while he was sober, so for a moment he doesn’t remember what he’s supposed to do with his hands. When he feels cool metal drag against the underside of his tongue, though, his brain shuts down enough that his hands find Dan’s hips without endlessly second-guessing himself.

It takes a while for them to reluctantly separate, because Phil is busy figuring out how to snog Dan without metal clacking against his teeth too much and Dan is busy figuring out all of the weak points in Phil’s neck with his thumbs.

“You taste like bacon,” Dan says in a strangely scolding tone of voice for someone who had cooked it for Phil.

“Sorry,” Phil says nonsensically, sliding his hands up Dan’s shirt to trace shapes over his lower back. The movements pause when Dan shivers. “Bad? Or good?”

“Your hands are just cold, you spork,” says Dan. He kisses Phil again, quick but firm, and then takes a step back. Phil doesn’t even realise he’s frowning until Dan giggles at him. “C’mon. Bed sounds fucking great right about now.”

--

Phil doesn’t remember the last time he kissed someone for so long that his lips started to tingle, but he’s certainly not complaining. He stopped feeling self conscious about being naked almost immediately after Dan told him it was frankly illegal to put damp towels on a bed, because the hungry way Dan looked at him and grabbed at him after he hung them up quieted the anxiety right away. Dan’s shirt has been discarded somewhere in Phil’s absolute tip of a room, but the soft material of his joggers keeps making Phil bite back noises when it comes in contact with his cock.

“You’re so hot,” Dan tells him in one of the times their mouths aren’t locked, one large hand wrapped around Phil’s thigh and the other supporting his weight on top of Phil.

“No, you,” Phil insists, not caring how dumb he sounds. He’s been mapping Dan’s back with his hands, but he slides them down the back of Dan’s sweats to win the argument before it starts. Sure enough, Dan’s words get cut off by a loud whine of a noise that gets pressed into Phil’s collarbone. Phil feels up Dan’s ass a little before using his grip to roll their hips together. “Fuck. What d’you want?”

“That depends,” Dan hums against Phil’s skin, nipping at his chest.

“On what?”

“On if this is a one time thing.”

There’s a jolt of guilt in Phil’s stomach, and he winds fingers into Dan’s curls to force Dan to look at him. “Hey, no, it’s not like that. I like you, you idiot.”

Dan smiles, and there’s no small amount of relief in it. Phil feels like he should have been more clear, but at least he’s got Dan in his bed and smiling about it now. “Oh good. I like you, too, and it would have been really awkward if you just wanted a fuck.”

“I do also want a fuck,” Phil says, teasing. “If I’m being honest.”

“I couldn’t tell,” Dan says sarcastically, rocking his hips down again and grinning when a noise is surprised out of Phil. “Well, okay, since I don’t need to bucket list this, I wanna go down on you.”

“I’d love to hear that bucket list sometime,” says Phil. He lets go of Dan’s ass and uses his hold on Dan’s hair to push him down, a little more impatiently than he intended. He’s got an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Dan just grunts an approving sort of noise and presses his mouth to Phil’s inner thigh. “But - ah - not right now.”

Dan’s got a mouth made for sucking cock, so it doesn’t take Phil by surprise when he sinks down easily, squeezing Phil’s thigh and running his tongue over the head of Phil’s dick whenever he comes back up, but it sure does make his legs start to shake.

“Fuck,” Phil breathes, doing his best to keep his hips still. That’s a lot more difficult when Dan looks up at him with those big dark eyes and takes him as deep as he can. “You look so good like that, you know that? Bet you do.” Dan hums around his cock and the vibrations from his throat make Phil shiver. “Yeah, fuck, of course you do. Such a pretty mouth, huh?”

With a quiet, wet noise, Dan pulls up to catch his breath. He grins. “I also didn’t figure you for a talker.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought about this,” says Phil. He runs his fingers through Dan’s curls, tugging a little bit to watch Dan’s eyelashes flutter. “How’s it feel to be wrong about me?”

“In this case? Very good.” Dan presses his mouth to Phil’s stomach and bites down, just a little. It doesn’t hurt at all, but it still makes Phil’s hips jerk up. “I dunno, Phil, you’re usually a pretty fucking awkward person, which is, like, a big mood, and you don’t seem like much of a flirt.”

“I’ve been flirting with you for, like, a month and a half,” Phil laughs.

Dan grins wider. “Oh, oops.”

“I don’t have to talk if you don’t like it,” says Phil, even though he can fully tell that Dan does like it. Maybe he just wants to hear that Dan likes it.

The way Dan rolls his eyes makes it obvious that Dan can tell that he’s fishing, but he dimples anyway. “You don’t have to stop talking,” he says dryly, wrapping a big hand around Phil’s cock. “You know I like it.”

Dan takes Phil back in his mouth and closes his eyes like he loves it, which is a visual that Phil will absolutely be coming back to when he’s alone in the shower. Phil tells him as much, gives him a running commentary on every passing thought he has, because it’s hard to control his mouth as it is and the more he talks, the more worked up Dan gets. He sees Dan grinding into the mattress and pulls at him, not bothering to be gentle with it.

“Get rid of these,” Phil says, pushing at Dan’s joggers with a foot. He doesn’t actually think he’ll be able to help like that, but it gets his point across. “And then c’mere, I want to get you off.”

Dan laughs. “Alright, bossy.”

He sits up to get his sweats off and Phil sits up to watch. They grin at each other a bit as soon as Dan is naked, and Phil makes grabby hands.

“Bossy,” Dan repeats before knee-walking into Phil’s lap and kissing him hard. Dan wraps a hand around both of their cocks, but he doesn’t try to stroke. Without fully pulling away from the kiss, Dan murmurs, “Lube, now, I want to come.”

“Now who’s bossy?” Phil huffs a laugh, blindly reaching for his nightstand. He knocks over a couple of things in his search, but eventually he finds the bottle he’s looking for. He pours some over their cocks and gasps when Dan’s hand slides up and back down so easily. Phil would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about this, hadn’t wondered if Dan’s wide reach could envelop both of them, but he doesn’t bother telling Dan any of that. Instead, he drops the lube back onto his nightstand and settles a hand on Dan’s ass as he kisses Dan deeper.

Phil’s mouth finds Dan’s neck, and he can’t help laughing at the loud keen of a noise that seems surprised out of Dan’s mouth.

Even though Dan didn’t have his dick sucked, he’s as desperate and horny as Phil feels, and having a tongue and teeth on his pulse point seems to escalate it even more. His breathing is ragged, his hips are jerking up into his own hand, and he comes so hard between them that Phil feels some of it hit his face.

“Fuck,” Dan whines, letting go of himself to stroke Phil’s cock in tight, quick movements. Phil’s breath hitches, and he digs his fingers into the soft skin of Dan’s ass for something to hold onto. Dan kisses Phil’s forehead, then his nose, and then kisses his cheek. His tongue comes out to press against Phil’s skin, the cool metal ball still a small shock somehow, and it takes Phil’s brain an addled moment before he realises that Dan is licking his own come off Phil’s cheek. That’s so unbelievably hot to Phil that he couldn’t stop himself from coming if he even wanted to. He groans and fucks into Dan’s fist, tugging him into an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t taste Dan’s come on his tongue or anything, but the idea of it is enough to make him shudder through an intense orgasm.

Their kisses turn softer than Phil thought possible as they come down from it, and he nuzzles at Dan’s jaw. “I just had a shower,” he says, gently scolding. “Now I’m all gross again.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” says Dan, grinning. “I’ll clean you up, you big baby.”

Phil is fairly sure that their shower isn’t big enough for that, but he’s always up for trying.

--

After a heated debate on the benefits of flowers versus gift baskets, they end up taking Bryony out for pizza and beer. As thanks.

[dickwheelie]

Day 29: Secret Admirer

For the @ineffable-valentines prompt list!

Boy oh boy. I cannot believe I was able to post a fic for this prompt list, on time, every day for an entire month. For me, that’s huge. I tend to be a slow writer and I rarely finish the stuff I start. Not every fic was amazing, or very long, but by gosh, I sure did finish them, and I had so much fun doing it! Huge thanks to @mielpetite for making this list and reblogging all the entries throughout the month, they’ve been amazing. Thank you also to all the lovely folks who commented/reblogged/liked my fics, you gave me the motivation to sit down every day and write something, even when I wasn’t feeling it. Much love to all y’all.

If you go to the #ineffablevalentines tag on tumblr, you’ll see the other entries, and if you go here on my blog you’ll see all of mine. Okay, enough chat, please enjoy my final fic of the month, wherein to no one’s surprise, there is more letter writing.

__________

To the proprietor of A.Z. Fell & Co Booksellers, Downtown Soho, in case there’s another one knocking about somewhere—

I saw you in the shop the other day and couldn’t help but stare. You were gently ushering someone out the door without a single book in their hands, and I couldn’t help but find your tenacity admirable. I myself was careful not to remove any item from the store when I left, but I’m afraid I may have left one behind. I was wondering if you might have seen it, so I can come back to fetch it. You see, it’s terribly important to me. It’s my heart.

Love,

Your Secret Admirer

Aziraphale chuckled through an unseemly blush as he refolded the letter and placed it on the top of the stack that had been slowly growing on his desk for the past month. Every day of that cold, miserable February, a letter had arrived at his doorstep, with no return address and no name of sender. They were—and there was no beating around the bush about it, really—love letters, very obviously meant for him, from an anonymous so-called secret admirer.

At first, Aziraphale had been rather confused, but had kept the letters anyway, intending to show them to Crowley and have a good laugh. However, as each day passed and each new letter arrived, Aziraphale found himself quite charmed by this secretive writer. Clearly, they were a regular customer of some kind to know Aziraphale so well. They made all the right jokes, said all the right things, made references to all the right literary figures; either they had discerned Aziraphale’s tastes with perfect accuracy, or they had much in common with him.

Some of the letters were extremely lengthy; others, like today’s, were only a short paragraph or two, recounting the admirer’s feelings for him. Some were maudlin and prose-laden; some were humorous and sweet; others still were almost salacious in tone, never saying anything too outlandish but bordering on the cusp of it, hinting at things and implying things that made Aziraphale blush absolutely scarlet. All of them were quite flattering, and left Aziraphale’s mood brighter for the rest of the day.

Aziraphale had been charmed by humans before, and even been romantically pursued by some of them, but never before had one so captivated him with the written word. (This, of course, did not include works of literature. That was a very different kind of captivation that involved less blushing.) He’d never had a secret admirer before. It was all very thrilling and romantic.

Not being able to write back was a bit frustrating, but Aziraphale supposed it was for the best. Though he was quite flattered, and had reread some of the letters more times than he’d like to admit, at the end of the day, his admirer was only a human who only knew him as a bookseller.

Besides, Aziraphale was already taken. Speaking of which, he ought to get himself ready to meet Crowley for dinner; their reservation was at eight.

I ought to tell him about the letters, he thought as he went about selecting a bowtie. Crowley ought to know, after all, that he had some competition. Aziraphale laughed aloud at the thought. After dinner, he decided, he’d bring Crowley back to the shop and show him the pile of letters.

And so he did. Aziraphale poured them both a glass of wine and brought Crowley into his study, presenting the pile of papers as though it were an ice sculpture.

“Terribly sorry I didn’t mention these to you earlier,” said Aziraphale cheerily. “I suppose I didn’t want you getting jealous that I had a secret admirer.”

“Jealous? Me?” said Crowley wryly. “Never.”

“Well?” said Aziraphale, when Crowley didn’t make a move towards the desk. “Go ahead, read some of them. You have my full permission.”

“Hmm. I dunno,” said Crowley, making himself comfortable on one of the armchairs on the opposite side of the room. “Seems like your private affair, to me.”

“Nonsense! Here, I’ll read one to you.” Aziraphale selected one at random from the middle of the pile, unfolded it and cleared his throat. “Oh, this is rather a good one.

“My dear bookseller—

“I’ve read every Wilde I can get my hands on, but apparently even your shop doesn’t hold the book which may contain a description vivid enough to capture you. In my experience, none do; not Whitman, not Keats, not Dickenson. The most complimentary of love poems do not contain a subject more appealing to me than you are. I’m afraid there may not be words in the English language or any other to describe your radiance. Compared to all the other authors and poets, who am I to attempt such a feat?

“I must try anyway. You, of all the beings of the Earth and Heaven above and Hell below, deserve to know your own wonder. Compared to you, my perspective is lowly, to be sure. Still, was it not Wilde who once said that we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars?

“Endlessly Yours,

“Your Secret Admirer.”

Aziraphale had to pause to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes. That one had been particularly moving when he’d first read it. “Now, wasn’t that just lovely?” he said after a moment. “They know my tastes so well.”

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley to see his reaction, but to his surprise, Crowley was smiling. A small, rather sweet smile, not at all jealous or mischievous. “Yeah,” Crowley said, “it was alright.” He put out his hand. “Can I have a look?”

Aziraphale handed him the letter and Crowley perused it, his expression much more pensive than Azirapahle would have expected. After a minute or two, Crowley said, “Yeah, not too bad, really. Not much I’d change, on this one. Just that the references to Heaven and Hell were probably a little too on the nose. And I’m pretty sure I used ‘complimentary’ incorrectly there.”

“Oh, really?” said Aziraphale, taking the letter as Crowley passed it back to him. He gave it another quick once-over. “No, I think ‘complimentary’ with an ‘i’ is correct. If it was an ‘e’ then it would be wrong, as in ‘complementary’—wait a moment.”

Aziraphale looked back up at Crowley so quickly he could have given himself whiplash. “You said I. ‘I used it incorrectly.’ Crowley. Did you—”

Crowley grinned, and crossed the room to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s brow. “Happy Valentine’s, Angel,” he said. “Well, happy February. The fourteenth went by and I had more I wanted to say, so I just sort of kept going.”

And suddenly, it all made sense. Who else, after all, could know Aziraphale so well? A human, with limited time on the planet, observing Aziraphale from afar, could never reach such an intimate understanding of him, and what he loved.

“Oh, my dear,” said Aziraphale. He glanced over at the pile. He was already planning a late night of reading through them all again, this time with the proper demon in mind. “Do I even have to say it?”

Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets and bobbed his head from side to side in a pantomime of thinking. “Well, considering it look me bloody ages to draft these all up, and write them by hand, and train the mice to deliver them, and stop myself from bragging about them to you every day for the last month—”

Aziraphale interrupted him with a kiss. “All right then,” he said, laughing. “Thank you, secret admirer.”

Crowley beamed. “Ah, it was no big deal, Angel.”

***

On February first of the following year, Crowley woke up to find an envelope sitting on his bedroom windowsill, outside his flat. It was addressed to “The handsome gentleman on the fifth floor,” and there was no return address. Inside was a letter, written on very old parchment and with very expensive ink, which read:

My dear,

Forgive me for my boldness, but I happened to see you in the Ritz the other day (you were with a rather good-looking gentleman in white, a very lucky man, if he had the privilege of being your dining companion), and you seemed to me to be the most dashing person in the room. Nay, in all of London. I found myself thinking about you for the rest of the evening, and I just had to draft up this letter to tell you exactly how lovely you looked that night. Though you wore dark glasses, I could occasionally catch a glimpse of your eyes behind them, and their beautiful golden color, and I found myself nearly speechless every time.

In all of creation, I have never found a being so wonderful to gaze upon. I imagine that if I were to, hypothetically, take the place of your ever-so-fortunate dining companion, and have a conversation and a drink with you, I would also never find someone so fascinating, so caring, so clever as you. I imagine if I were lucky enough to know you so well, your wit would be as dazzling as your eyes.

With the Greatest Affection,

Your Secret Admirer

Scrawled at the bottom of the page, in a much hastier hand, was a postscript. Crowley read it, cackled uproariously (which helped to hide his blushing), and went immediately to phone Aziraphale, intending to explain to him the point of having a secret admirer.

P.S.: Please do let me know if you received this! The doves are not very good with street directions, unfortunately. I am working on it with them. Much love! —A

Crowley also intended to tell him that he bloody well loved him, too.

[impracticaldemon]

A little ErLu for the inimitable @sassyhazelowl in honour of Femslash February ♥ in under the wire on February 28! This is almost entirely fluff and fun, but why not? Hope you enjoy it!

~ Imp

No-Longer-Valentine’s-Day Day

What do you give a woman who already has the ultimate wardrobe of expensive dresses and fine armour?  Not to mention accessories ranging from hand-painted fans (with steel reinforced edges) to pennant-decked horse lances.

Lucy was flipping morosely through a catalogue of swords that included everything from Japanese katana (second blade 50% off!) to Scottish claymores (for life with a little extra swing—ideal for beheading your immortal enemies), trying to pick out the perfect No-Longer-Valentine’s Day gift.  They’d agreed that Valentine’s Day could be overdone, although it was still a good opportunity to pick up strawberry-creme chocolates.  Plus, they’d stocked up on bath bubbles and scented candles the day after at a significant discount.

Not that they hadn’t supported their friends.  Nothing wrong with celebrating Valentine’s Day in traditional ways, or on the traditional date.  Juvia had gone all out, and foregone her usual—as in every single day of the year usual—blue in order to dress up as the Queen of Hearts, complete with tiny red velvet miniskirt, gorgeous, lacy, black bustier, thigh-high black and red boots, and a crown.  Cana had adored it, even though Juvia had muttered that it looked odd with her blue hair, and the two of them had gone off laughing into the night, on their way to both an extravagant masquerade ball, and a waterfront dive.

Lucy hadn’t been envious.  By celebrating Valentine’s Day in their own way, she and Erza could make it more personal, and less commercialized.  …At least, that was the theory.  She flipped the magazine closed with more force than necessary, and managed to give herself a nasty paper cut across the tip of one finger.

Okay, okay, we can do this.  Ignore massive PAIN radiating from little finger, focus on being creative and different!  Juvia dressed up for Cana way outside her comfort zone, wrong colours and everything.  Cana bought tickets to a fancy party, even though it’s not really her crowd–and she’ll behave perfectly, too, just for Juvia.

The sound of familiar footsteps brought Lucy up off the couch in a bound.  It wasn’t much, but maybe there was something she could do for Erza today.  And after that she would make a suggestion.  More of a recommendation, really—a firmly-worded, emphatic recommendation.  Next year, they would do Valentine’s Day with everybody else, and wallow in commercially-induced, over-priced froth. They were both far too addicted to following advice from magazines, and the “celebrate on a different day!” advice had sounded better in principle than in practice.

Fortunately, Lucy knew exactly where to find what she was looking for, and after several years around Team Natsu she was an expert at dressing quickly.  Mentally, she ticked off the list of preparations that were already done:  candles—lit; sparkling wine—chilling; chocolate-raspberry cookies—baked; window—locked against unwanted guests.

She emerged into the living room just as Erza was hanging up her coat and turning to admire the sights and smells of Not-Valentine’s-Day.

“Lucy—this is amazing!  I really appreciate—”  And then Erza stopped, having finally gotten a good look at her girlfriend, who was lounging against the door to the bedroom.  “…Oh Lucy…”

After the fateful Grand Magic Games, Lucy had brought home their uniforms, and washed, and scrubbed, and gotten help patching up rents and tears and scorch marks.  Their victory on that last day of the Games had come at a high cost, but they’d been a team, and she knew how much that had meant, and still meant, to Erza.

“Glory days?” Lucy asked, softly, but with just a hint of provocative hip, and her best I-think-you’re-gorgeous smile.  The indigo-purple uniform, emblazoned with the Fairy Tail crest, hugged her torso, and swirled around her thighs, leaving most of her legs bare.

“Eh, yes—I suppose… You look so pretty!”  Erza was an affectionate, demonstrative lover, and she hurried over to Lucy now, and gave her a tight hug, before pressing a happy kiss to her lips.  Lucy melted into Erza’s warmth, returning the kiss, and reaching out to twine her fingers into one, calloused, strong-fingered hand.  A moment later, she winced.

Erza drew away, concerned.  “Lucy?”

Embarrassed, Lucy laughed.  “Just a paper cut!  Funny how the smallest things can really hurt, you know?”

“This, from the woman who survived Minerva at her worst!”  Erza’s words were gently teasing—she’d spent many long nights, and days, too, helping Lucy cope with the aftermath of her least pleasant experiences of the Games. At this point, they’d both come to terms with what had happened—and with Minerva of Sabretooth.  Erza lifted Lucy’s hand, and examined the thin red line across the top of the pinkie.  “I suppose I’ll have to kiss it better…”

Lucy hummed happily, and then with a little heat, as first her ‘injured’ pinkie, and then her other fingers, were caressed by Erza’s soft lips and attentive tongue.  It took an effort to pull away.

“Why don’t you get changed, and I’ll pour the wine?  And I made your favourite cookies…”

Erza was always—almost always—surprisingly compliant when it came to doing things as a couple.  Lucy suspected that her beloved enjoyed being able to relax out of the ‘leader’ role when they were together like this, although of course it depended on the day, and whatever else was going on.

When Erza got back, shyly holding a small gift wrapped in white lace and fancy red ribbon, Lucy was waiting for her on the couch.  She let Erza set down the gift, and handed her a glass of wine as she took her place on the couch beside Lucy.

“Now then,” said Lucy, “I have a gift for you, too, but I didn’t get to wrap it.”  She cleared her throat.  “I left my shopping a little late, you see.  But then I realized that I can give you something much better than just a new weapon to add to your… collection.”  They grinned at each other, since Lucy usually referred to Erza’s assortment of weaponry as her ‘freakishly insane personal armoury’.

“Well I can think of several better things, actually,” Erza told her, raising both of her elegant brows.  Then she blushed.  Erza was still endearingly embarrassed by physical intimacy at times, despite the very racy novels she read in private.

“Ahem!  I’m trying to make a grand gesture here—don’t interrupt!”

“Sorry, sorry…”

“As your very special It’s-Not-Valentine’s-Day present, I, Lucy Heartfilia, will help you to choose a new weapon.”

Erza blinked, obviously confused.  “But, Lucy—”

“Seriously, try me!  It just occurred to me that I haven’t spent years with you—not to mention the last four weeks with your favourite catalogues—without learning how to speak the language of sharp metal things.  Bring it on!”

Still puzzled, Erza tried to comply.  She rarely discussed weapons with Lucy, since it wasn’t an interest they had in common, and Lucy didn’t even really like weapons much.

“I was thinking, recently, that I should improve my range of middle-to-long-reach swords—”

“Sure, no problem—I would suggest something in either the medium-heavy end of the katana, or possibly the true longsword of the Europeans, which was originally more like the katana, in the sense of being a sword requiring two hands to heft and direct with precision.  This type of longsword was also referred to as a hand-and-a-half sword, or bastard sword—although that seems like a rather rude name, to me. 

“Anyway, let me draw your attention to page twenty-three of this catalogue, and we can start by discussing the relative merits of the katana they have in stock at the moment.”

“Lucy?”

“Talk to me baby!”  Lucy reached out and pressed Erza’s hand, before handing her the catalogue.  “I know I’m not always up to talking sword dynamics, but that doesn’t mean I can’t.  I’ve got a surprisingly good memory, you know!”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.  This attractively-attired celestial mage is here to get serious about blade curvature and tang length.  Feel free to debate speed versus power with me—or more likely yourself—to your heart’s desire.”

Erza’s astonished expression finally relaxed into a very soft kind of smile.  “This could end up being a very… invigorating… discussion.  After all, what person doesn’t like being asked to talk about herself, or her favourite interests?”

“I’m counting on it,” Lucy responded, eyes bright with humour and anticipation.  She set down her wine, and patted her lap invitingly.  “Come lay your head on my lap, and talk dirty to me about your favourite grips, and the benefits of real leather over synthetics.”

Much, much later, a sleepy Erza murmured to a sleeping Lucy:

“Next year, I want to celebrate Valentine’s Day and No-Longer-Valentine’s Day…”

[END]

tags:  @shell-senji @nalufever @eliz1369 @lockandk3yfiction @furidojasutin @miss-zei @strawberryliaelleth

[ettadunham]

A Buffy rewatch 3x19 Choices

aka everyone’s just dying to give each other a piece of their mind

Welcome to this dailyish text post series where I will rewatch an episode of Buffy and rant about it in 10-3k words. What you can expect: long run-on sentences and disjointed observations, often focused on one tiny detail about the episode. What you shouldn’t be expecting: actual reviews that make sense.

And I’ve been waiting forever for today’s episode to finally discuss some quality Willow and Faith feelings... And it turns out that it was just a 2-minute-scene all along? Still, we’ll be making the best out of those 2 minutes, folks.

There’s actually a lot going on in Choices, but I want to get the main rant out first, before I get lost in all the small details of it.

So... Willow and Faith.

Fun fact, did you know that that is actually the 5th most popular BtVS F/F pairing tag on Ao3? Right after the popular canon, the popular “it’s basically canon and you can fucking sue me” ship, the pairing of the two main female characters (shout out to the Wuffys, I got you) and the less popular canon ship.

Which... wasn’t really what I was expecting? I mean, I also wasn’t expecting #6 being Faith/Dawn (having a 2 fic-lead on the ultimate OTP because you’re all heathens), so I guess I know nothing.

Some of those switch though if you filter for the F/F category, look, I have charts:

(Meanwhile Buffy/Kendra has like 12 fics, you really are all heathens.)

Anywho, thanks for coming to my Ted talk about the math of Buffy femslash. Now, back to Willow and Faith specifically.

Once I thought about it, it did make sense that this is actually a popular fandom pairing I guess? On one hand, it’s a common denominator situation, as in note which characters pop up consistently on that chart... On the other hand, in this episode alone Willow taunts Faith to which she responds by punching her and threatening her with a knife... And that’s pretty much how foreplay works as far as Faith’s concerned.

Faith just likes it rough, okay? Remember the screencap I used for Consequences after Buffy punches her?

I rest my case.

But I’m already way off topic here. Because what I was actually planning on talking about initially was how Willow felt about Faith, and the source of those feelings.

I already pointed this out, but I feel it’s worth repeating - Willow’s dislike of Faith goes back to two episodes in particular: Bad Girls and Consequences. As far as I was able to discern this time during my rewatch, there were no previous signs of animosity between the two preceding that two-parter.

In Bad Girls, Buffy blows Willow off for their study session to go out with Faith, and starts rambling about how Willow and Xander wouldn’t understand anyway what she and Faith do.

Willow is deeply hurt and jealous... She actually blows Buffy off too in return when she tries talking to her at school in the next episode, and only listens once Buffy shows up crying at her doorstep not knowing what to do about the whole Faith killed a guy situation.

In the same episode, Xander lets it slip that he and Faith had sex... And Willow is once again obviously hurt and jealous. She even has a good cry about it in the bathroom.

And I guess that that seems like a stronger emotional response than how she reacts to Faith stealing away Buffy from her, but it’s still coming from the same place. Note her line in that episode when she acknowledges her biases:

I'm not the most objective, I know. I kind of have an issue with Faith sharing my people.

“Sharing my people” - she’s pointedly talking about both Xander and Buffy here.

And there is a specific kind of betrayal that she feels from Xander, and that’s going to translate to pretty much all of Xander’s relationship... But at this point, it’s not really about her wanting that relationship with Xander. She had the option and she rejected it.

Still, if Xander has that with someone else, that makes their shared experiences feel less special. It makes her feel like less special in his life. (Which unfortunately tracks with a lot of Xander’s behavior about how he’s always chasing the new, shiny and unattainable thing in his life.)

Meanwhile with Buffy, Willow is mostly supportive of her relationships... up until to the point that she feels like they’re taking up the space that she occupies in Buffy’s life. And that very much happens with Faith in those moments, as Buffy suddenly feels like she can’t share with Willow what she and Faith has. (I swear, I’m not even trying, these sentences just turn out this way.)

So... yeah. Willow is super pissed at Faith for having the audacity to try and take away her people from her, and then hurting the both of them.

And I guess we can see some of that same kind of jealousy with Faith (I can and I will read parallels into Willow and Faith’s characters, just you wait) and her whole thing with Buffy and Angel in Choices... Except it’s weirdly misdirected? Like is the Mayor and the show seriously trying to tell us that Faith is jealous about Angel not wanting to make out with her, when that whole thing was all about Buffy in the first place?

Really, Mayor Wilkins? Really?

Well, I guess he is evil.

Back to Willow though, we have this scene where she gets taken hostage, and after she murders her vampire guard with a pencil (amazing), she decides to get comfortable in the Mayor’s office and read through all 5 tomes of the Books of Ascension??? It’s such a delightful nonsense.

Of course, I’m definitely with her on the whole “knowledge is power” notion. Even if they were to prevent the Mayor from having this Box of MacGuffin, there’s no way to tell if that would actually stop the Ascension. But knowing what’s to come and what they could do about it? That’s a definite win.

The issue is that as Faith puts it, being caught red-handed while gaining that knowledge makes Willow some very strong murder material for the bad guys. She could’ve just put the books in a bag, and tried escaping with them, or get the hell out there the moment she discovered those sensitive pages.

But do you know what I think? I think Willow just wanted to have the chance to confront Faith. She was ready to die just to give her a piece of her mind.

Willow: It's way too late. You know, it didn't have to be this way. But you made your choice. I know you had a tough life. I know that some people think you had a lot of bad breaks. Well, boo hoo! Poor you. You know, you had a lot more in your life than some people. I mean, you had friends in your life like Buffy. Now you have no one. You were a Slayer and now you're nothing. You're just a big selfish, worthless waste.

That’s commitment.

Notice also how she highlights Faith having Buffy in her life and not appreciating it enough to keep fighting. I do feel like Willow is deeply offended by that. I talk about her jealousy a lot, but her commitment to the people she loves is usually her more dominant character trait. Feeling like Faith stole her friends from her hurt her; but her anger mostly comes from the fact that Faith hurt Buffy and Xander in unimaginable ways.

I guess this episode did give me a lot of Willow feelings.

Someone else who shared Willow’s need to impart some wisdom in the most inconvenient times was the Mayor. And honestly? I didn’t care a whole lot about it. Angel and Buffy has a million other conflicts that come before him being immortal.

Like, I get that it’s supposed to shake them out of their own little bubble a bit, and face the fact that they don’t really see a future together. I believe the phrasing I previously used was that being together prevents them from becoming the people they want to be.

Their initial exchange at the graveyard is kinda hilarious though. “You never take me to any place new” - I’m still laughing, ngl.

At the same time, Xander and Cordelia still appear to be having their bitter verbal conflicts. Which is weird, especially after Earshot, an episode that I praised for including Cordelia in the group once again. (I guess maybe Earshot was written with a different place in the season in mind for it initially? I know that it didn’t air when it was supposed to too, because of the school shooting aspect...)

Here, the two of them are once again out to get each other. Even Buffy ends up in the crossfires, as Cordelia aims one of her pointedly cruel jabs at her. Yikes.

But we also find out here that Cordelia is working in a dress shop now, so there’s that.

And this episode of course is also about everyone’s futures. Willow decides that despite being accepted into literally every school ever, she’s going to attend UC Sunnydale with Buffy. Not just to be with her, but because she enjoys saving the world and all that jazz.

Oh, Willow, if you only knew...

This of course also presents a welcome contrast for Buffy, who feels like she doesn’t have a choice but to stay in Sunnydale. It’s a really nice moment between them, as Buffy realizes herself that she too very much made that choice herself. Because that’s who Buffy is. Someone who could never turn her back on the people who need her.

Buffy:  I kinda love you.

We all do, Buffy. Just ask Oz, and his decisive ingredient smashing move that annihilated the whole argument about whether or not they should rescue Willow. (”That’s your future wife!” - me @ Alexis Denisof in that scene.)

Also, shout out at that whole Mission Impossible heist premise we got going on in this episode. I always appreciate a weird clash of genres.

[eldritchsurveys]

o83.

[[ Random Survey Questions // By @x-hallie-x ]] 1. When you wake up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, what kinds of things are you likely to do? How often do you find you have trouble sleeping? >> I read when that happens. I don’t have trouble sleeping all that often, but sometimes I’ll have trouble getting to sleep (especially if sleep paralysis is getting in the way) or staying asleep. They’re not really chronic issues, though, and are pretty recent developments.

2. What was the last lengthy packet you filled out? >> I can’t remember the last time I had to fill out something like this. Maybe when I first visited Heartside Clinic?

3. Are you a patient person? What is one way you have a lot of patience? What about not very much patience at all? >> I have a pretty high capacity for patience, just in general. Specific situations that might cause me to be impatient are things like waiting to go somewhere cool or dealing with a situation that I have no investment in but am forced to deal with anyway for whatever reason.

4. At what time during the day do you tend to feel your best? What about the worst? >> I don’t know. I feel pretty much the same no matter the time of day, unless I’m sleepy.

5. What was the last thing you did that you wish you could take back or do differently? >> I guess I could wish I hadn’t had Sparrow take me to Urgent Care when the situation magically cleared itself up on the way there, but the walk back home wasn’t too bad and no lasting harm was done, so... like, whatever.

6. Are there any blogs that you check first thing in the morning or on a regular basis? In general, what kinds of blogs do you like to follow? >> I get notifications for updates from some blogs, so I’ll just check those blogs when I do phone-related activities in the morning, and sometimes throughout the day depending on what else I’m doing. I follow way too many blogs to have a type, lol.

7. How frequently do you stay overnight somewhere that isn’t your own home? What things do you miss about home when you’re away? Do you tend to get homesick easily? >> I stay overnight at other places so infrequently that I actually have a difficult time falling asleep anywhere that isn’t home or the Wayland house (for the first night, particularly; after that, it evens out). The Wayland house gets off easy I guess because I stayed there for the first month when I moved out here. I usually just miss the freedom of being in my own apartment and knowing where everything is and having all my stuff within reach. But I wouldn’t say I get homesick per se, like I love to be other places; I sometimes get the “I want to go home” feeling when I’m overloaded, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I actually want to go home, ya dig.

8. Do you tend to eat more in the beginning of the day or at night? Do you have a tendency to snack when you’re bored? If so, what kinds of snacks do you normally go for? >> I’m not sure. It’s summer right now, so I just eat less in general, which makes my eating habits more nebulous and harder to track. I snack sometimes when I need something else to do with my hands/face, but sometimes I just chew gum for that.

9. If you have any dietary restrictions, do you ever miss foods you can’t have? If not, what’s something you haven’t had for a long time that you wish you could eat again? >> I would love to eat Louisiana food again. One day.

10. What was the best thing to happen to you today? What about the worst? >> I won a $15 Wendy’s gift card at Resident Appreciation Day (Sparrow won $25 to Papa John’s, which we’re going to use later today). The worst thing is, I guess, that I didn’t win the $25 AMC Theaters card, because I really wanted that. :p 

11. Is there something you still can’t do even though you’re an adult or might be expected to do this thing? >> I don’t do well on phone calls and I avoid them as much as possible. I am also pretty unemployable.

12. When was the last time you changed your opinion on a relatively big or serious issue? Overall, do you feel your opinions on things have changed a lot since you were younger or do you still feel the same about many things? What is one opinion you never see yourself changing? >> I don’t remember the last time that happened. But yeah, my opinions on things have definitely changed -- or, expanded might be a better word -- since I was younger... as an especially mercurial individual, I’d be kind of weirded out if they hadn’t. I don’t think I’ll ever change my opinion on religion, though -- I will always be fascinated by it and supportive of it in general, and I will also remain unsupportive of specific religious practices that divide and belittle people.

13. If you have a mental illness, in what ways has it made your life different from those around you? What challenges have you faced, what have you overcome, and what have you had to miss out on? >> I think of myself as neurodivergent, despite the fact that I haven’t been tested for that -- I could be wrong, of course, but then that’d just make all these experiences I’ve had in life even weirder than they already are. Neurodivergence is actually the Occam’s Razor conclusion here. So that would mean my brain developed differently than is common, and my perceptions and philosophies and understanding of the world around me are equally divergent from what is common. I process things differently, I experience emotions differently, I socialise differently, and so on. It’s a pretty pervasive thing. My social development was pretty stunted until adulthood (when I was able to do something about it). I had to learn the intricacies of communication, the differences in the way I respond to things and the ways other people do, how to navigate the world without sticking out like a sore thumb, how to recognise danger, how to avoid social traps, all that shit -- and I guess I picked both a great and terrible place to learn all that stuff in, in NYC, but at least I managed. I’ve missed out on childhood because I feel like I really wasn’t fully present for it, trapped in my own head as I was; I’ve missed out on half of high school because I was usually hospitalised (I’d developed a moderate-to-severe cutting habit due to trauma); I fell off the socially-accepted life path somewhere in high school and never managed to get back on (once the train leaves the station, catching up only gets more and more difficult as time goes on). None of this really bothers me by now, because if there’s one thing a born wanderer will always do, it’s carve a place for itself no matter where it is. I have blazed my own trail. It is mine alone, and I am glad for it -- because no other path would have suited me.

14. Again, if you have MH issues, do you ever wonder what your life would’ve been like without them? If you could snap your fingers and make your illness disappear, would you? Or would something stop you from doing this, and if so, what? >> I mean, I guess I’ve wondered that for funsies, but I can’t imagine being anyone but myself, so. (And the thing about neurodivergence is that it’s literally built into the fabric of who a person is -- if my brain had developed “normally”, I wouldn’t be the same person at all. And I can’t imagine myself as anyone else, so the imagining falls apart.) I do not want to snap my fingers and make a completely different person appear in my place. I do love who I am, it’s just difficult being who I am sometimes. I can handle a little difficulty. I’ve done so this far, after all.

15. Are you good at getting along with other people even if they have vastly different views from yours? When was the last time you had to interact with someone like this, and how did it go? >> Yeah, I can usually get along with someone if I really feel like it, no matter what they think -- with some limits, obviously (there’s no way I’m ever going to get along with a neo-Nazi, let’s be serious). But here’s the thing: most of the time, I don’t care enough to try in the first place, lmao. So it doesn’t matter.

16. What is one way you show another person you care about them? What are things that make you feel cared about in return? >> If I give someone my time and attention, I usually care about them in some fashion. I really don’t just go giving that out, and I don’t feel bad about withholding it if I don’t care about someone enough. Like, what are they going to do, be mean to me? Big deal, I’d have to care for that to matter. So if I care, I at least want to pay attention to them and listen to what they have to say and try to understand where they’re coming from even if I don’t fully grok it. It’s the effort, I guess -- I put effort in. As a pretty apathetic person, that means a lot coming from me, even if other people see it as unremarkable. I feel cared about when people pay attention to me and remember things I’ve said and respect my boundaries and appreciate my creations and encourage me and stuff. 

17. When was the last time you congratulated someone? Were you happy for them, indifferent, jealous? >> I don’t remember. I was probably indifferent emotion-wise, but like... idk, if I say “congratulations” then I at least want you to feel good about whatever it is you did or got. I don’t have to feel anything for that to be true.

18. Are you typically happy for other peoples’ successes? Was there ever a time you just couldn’t bring yourself to be, no matter what? >> I’m typically emotionally indifferent to other people’s successes, but I still want them to succeed. Like, I wouldn’t discourage them or downplay their success, I’m just not going to jump around the room or whatever-the-fuck. It’s okay, I don’t expect anyone to do it to me, either (unless they want to, obviously). And yeah, there are plenty of times when envy or dislike or whatever prevented me from even going through the motions of happiness on their behalf. It be’s like that sometimes.

19. What was the last milestone you reached in your life (graduating, buying a car, starting a family, etc)? What milestone are you going for next, if any? >> The last milestone of that nature I reached was co-signing the lease for this apartment, I guess? I don’t know. What even is a milestone. I want my next milestone to be moving out of this place, tbh. But I think the next one is probably marriage, unless we really do move in March when our lease is up again.

20. Do you feel as though you’ve lived your life according to what society typically expects, or is your life more unconventional? >> No, my life has been quite unconventional. This is the most conventional it’s been since the beginning, and that’s why I’m often so weird about it. Sometimes, to a wild thing, safety can feel like a cage. It’s a brain glitch, don’t mind it.

21. Do you enjoy getting comments or messages? How likely are you to leave comments or messages for other people? >> Sure, I like to socialise. I don’t know how likely I am to do it -- just whenever the desire strikes, I guess. I don’t think too hard about it.

22. How would you describe your handwriting? Is it what comes naturally, or have you ever purposely worked to improve or stylize your handwriting in a particular way? Do you know anyone who has particularly interesting or unusual handwriting? >> My handwriting used to be damn good, especially seeing as I was raised by someone with impeccable handwriting and calligraphy skills, but it’s degraded as I started to buy my own computers and shit. Now I’m almost exclusively a typer, and I haven’t written anything by hand that wasn’t an address on an envelope or a short form for some government thing in a long time. But my handwriting is still better than Sparrow’s, lmao, so she always has me write things out. I could always get better at it again, because it’s not difficult; I just have to care enough. I’m still considering it.

23. When are you most likely to scream (either out of fright, anger, or whatever)? Do you scream or yell often? When was the last time someone screamed at you (or in your presence)? >> I don’t scream, really. I don’t even like yelling, I just... I have one of those voices, lmao -- it’s quiet usually, but when I get passionate or upset about something, it really projects. I’d probably be great on a stage. The last time I recall being screamed at was over the holidays, at the Wayland house. Not an event I really feel like rehashing, either.

24. Do you ever ignore other people? How do you tend to react to being ignored by someone? >> Sure, I've done that. Just not frequently. I usually ignore people when they’re either trying to piss me off (like a troll on tumblr) or trying to manipulate me into responding by being antagonistic. I can’t remember the last time I was legitimately ignored by someone, so I don’t know how I’d react. I’d probably just go on about my business, like... what’s the point of doing anything else, really? Maybe whine to Can Calah about it, or something.

25. When was the last time you felt like your feelings werent being respected? Do you think you do a good job of respecting the feelings of others? >> The last time I felt like that was when I was trying to set boundaries for myself in my last relationship, and it felt like I shouldn’t even want what I wanted (listen, don’t ask, by now I don’t even remember why it felt that way), but like, that’s ancient history now. (I mean, it is to me, anyway. The only reason I thought about it now is because it’s the answer to the question, but other than now I haven’t thought about it any time recently.) I don’t know if I do a good job of respecting the feelings of others; I just do my best and hope it’s good enough. Isn’t that all any of us do?

26. If you have a pet, what is one personality quirk that they have? If you don’t have pets, was there ever a time when you had one or wanted one? >> I’ve had pets briefly, but really, I don’t... even want one at this point. They’re more trouble than I have patience for.

27. What would you say is your STRONGEST emotion? Maybe not the most frequent, but the most intense? And what emotion do you feel most weakly, even if you might feel it more often? >> I don’t know what my strongest or weakest emotion is. I’m really not emotionally connected, in case that isn’t already clear, lmao.

28. When was the last time you were up to see the sunrise? Do you tend to pay attention to things like that (sunrises, sunsets, rainstorms, etc) or do you not really care about that sort of thing? >> I was awake at the time of sunrise this morning, but I wasn’t watching it or anything. I do pay attention to the weather, but I won’t necessarily drop what I’m already doing to pay attention to it. Unless it’s a thunderstorm. I love those.

29. What was the last thing you bought for someone else? What about the last thing someone bought for you? And the last thing you bought yourself? >> The last thing I bought for someone else was... I think a book for Rez’s birthday? That was months ago, but I don’t think I’ve bought anything else? Unless it was something for Sparrow, but like, we live in the same household, we just kinda spend our money that way by default. The last thing someone bought for me (that wasn’t Sparrow) was the mindfulness book that Hallie bought me last month. The last thing I bought myself was a Gatorade (lmao not a hot one! a blue FROSTI BOI) and a pack of bubble gum.

30. How do you feel about the day you’ve been having so far? Or if it’s just started, what kinds of things do you plan to do today? >> My day was all right. A good old Saturday.

[ruminativerabbi]

COVID-Diary, Week Eleven

I had the most remarkable experience this last Tuesday, one I resolved on the spot to write about this week. And I also want to bring you all up to date on my COVID-era project of re-reading Mark Twain and learning what I can about the human condition from one of its greatest and most keenly trenchant observers. So, a two-part letter this week!

First, the Tuesday experience. As some readers know, I served the Canadian Jewish Congress (Pacific Region) as its chairperson for Interfaith Relations for more than a decade when we were still living in British Columbia. (This was long before the organization closed down operations in 2011.) I enjoyed that experience a lot. For one thing, I met all sorts of interesting people into contact with whom I would almost definitely not otherwise have come—particularly Sikhs and Muslims, but also Hindus, Christians of all flavors, and a sprinkling of other types. For another, serving in that capacity meant I was invited to all sorts of events and celebrations that I’d otherwise never have even heard of, let alone be invited to attend. So that was the good part. But there was also something almost irritatingly anodyne about the whole operation, almost as though it went without saying that the only sure way to maintain friendly relations between the various faith groups involved was almost obsessively to avoid controversy at all costs, a goal attained by refusing to discuss any topic that could possibly lead to friction, debate, or disagreement. The last thing any of these people wanted was to disagree, at least in public, about anything at all! And that part I didn’t like much at all.

The notion that the members of different faith groups can get along solely by ignoring the issues that divide them rather than by listening carefully and respectfully to each other and agreeing to disagree—that notion felt (and feels) to reflect a basic insecurity about the ability of people courteously and civilly to speak honestly to each other. Some other time I’ll write about some of my actual experiences serving as Interfaith Chair for the CJC during our Vancouver years, but I only bring it up today to provide a sense of the background I brought with me on Tuesday when, in the middle of the afternoon here, I signed onto a world-wide zoom platform to participate in a truly remarkable interfaith encounter, one spearheaded by my friend and colleague, Rabbi Tamar Elad-Appelbaum in Jerusalem. 

I’ve known Rabba Tamar (as she’s known—the Hebrew title rabba is what non-Orthodox Israelis call female rabbis) for years and had the privilege of editing her very interesting commentary on Pirkei Avot as part of the Pirkei Avot Lev Shalem volume published in 2018 by the Rabbinical Assembly. But Joan and I are also her occasional congregants: when we’re in Israel, we often attend the Friday night service at Tziyon, the congregation she serves in the Baka neighborhood of southern Jerusalem. And it was for that reason, I think, that I received an invitation last week to participate in something the flyer referenced as “a one-of-a-kind online global gathering” to be hosted by a group called Maaminim (“believers” in Hebrew) that was also to be “a spiritual joining of religious faiths and art from the sacred city of Jerusalem” and also “a digital prayer for healing by religious leaders and communities from across the globe.” I get lots of invitations to events like this, particularly in these last months. But because I know Rabba Tamar—and also because I met one of the participants, a Hebrew-speaking Franciscan monk from Italy named Alberto Pari whom I once met at Rabba Tamar’s Friday night table—I decided to bookmark the event and to tune in at the appointed hour.

The experience was exceptional. For one thing, there were hundreds and hundreds of people gathered on the Maaminim zoom platform. Some people added their locations to their signatures, so I could see people signed from all over North America and Israel, but also from many European countries (including Vatican City), from Australia, and from many Asian countries as well. It was a varied group, too: not only multinational, but also multi-generational, multi-ethnic, and very multi-spiritual. The event was led by Rabba Tamar and a Christian priest, who began by speaking to each other—openly and deeply—about the specific way that the vulnerability that the COVID-era has naturally engendered in us all has also made us all more aware of the degree to which we need to rely on each other, to turn to each other, to encounter each other in ways we might otherwise not have even realized possible. There was music too—and lots of it, mostly performed in Jerusalem by members of the various faith groups represented and all of it soulful and heartfelt. And then we were all asked to participate by writing a word or two on a piece of paper and holding it up to the camera, a word we wished to share with this remarkable gathering of people of faith from all across the globe.

Some of what  people wrote was what you’d expect: shalom, strength, courage, unity, health, etc. But there was a secondary theme present too, one suggestive of the core idea that the way to negotiate the COVID-crisis is precisely by engaging with each other, by using the sense of brittle fragility we’re all experiencing not solely as a negative thing to be avoided for as long as we can and then abandoned as quickly as possible, but as a positive thing to be embraced, as something to be accepted as native to the human condition (albeit one we generally try to repress or ignore) and then used as a basis for reaching out to others, for building a community of people who are—paradoxically, but really nonetheless—made stronger by acknowledging their weakness…and more sturdy in their faith by facing the instability that crises like the one upon us naturally engender.

I am usually more than slightly cynical about this kind of undertaking. And yet here were hundreds and hundreds of people from all across the globe, people who looked different from each other and who would normally have no way to join together—and yet who had been prompted by the pandemic to see themselves in the eyes of others and thus to find the common humanity we all share in the contemplation not of how similar we all are, but how different…and how the right dose of humility—and particularly one rooted in an acceptance of the precariousness of the human condition—can allow us to look past the cosmetic and see ourselves as each other’s partner in the great goal of coming out of the COVID-age whole, sane, and well.

In other news, I finished my re-read of Tom Sawyer. I first read the book back in high school, at which time I remember finding it irritating that we, sophisticated tenth-graders that we were, were being asked to read a children’s book. And that really is how it struck me back then—as a book about children and meant for children. Twain himself promoted the book that way back in the day, but he knew perfectly well that it was going to be marketed to adults and read by them—he was, after all, one of America’s bestselling authors when the book came out—and he obviously also knew that a lot of what he was saying in the book would only be intelligible to adult readers anyway. 

In the 1870s, the nation was still reeling from the terrible carnage of the Civil War, America’s bloodiest conflict. So by setting his 1876 book in the 1840s, Twain was inviting his readers to look back to an earlier, happier age. Indeed, by making Tom and Huck into eight- or nine-year-olds (their actual ages are not made clear) in the 1840s, he was also making them precisely the right age to have become soldiers during the Civil War and thus inviting his readers to remember a time when the young men of that generation were not soldiers trying to kill each other, but little children wholly unaware of the conflagration to come and its terrors. In his own way, then, Twain was doing something not entirely dissimilar from what Rabba Tamar was trying to do the other day: to invite people reeling from catastrophe to find comfort and resolve not in contemplating the catastrophe itself but in accepting the vulnerability the contemplation of catastrophe can engender. The book is set in Missouri, a border state that never quite joined the Confederacy—by war’s end 110,000 Missourians had served in the Union Army and only 30,000 in the Confederate Army. So would Tom and Huck have fought for the North or the South? It’s hard to say…and that, of course, is the point: by setting the book where and when he did, he makes of his children-heroes into future soldiers who could have ended up on either side of the conflict and who only might have survived. (Twain himself spent exactly two weeks serving as a volunteer in a Confederate militia called the Marion Rangers before quitting, a detail that seems to have been more or less totally forgotten by most. For more, click here.)

The story, unlike how I remembered it, was far-fetched and unlikely…but just possible enough to lend the book a breezy, almost dream-like quality. The children are innocent beings throughout: even when contemplating lives of crime and piracy, Tom and Huck are depicted as naïve and unambiguously pre-pubescent. (When, for example, Tom and Becky Thatcher end up spending several days together secluded in a labyrinthine cave, there is no hint at all of untoward behavior.) And that too was the point of Twain’s goal, I think: to remind readers that all people start out innocent and guileless, that forgiveness can come from reaching over the present into the past, that the sense of extreme vulnerability engendered by the horrors of day-to-day reality in wartime (be the enemy a virus or an actual enemy army) can be exploited to bring people together and make them feel connected and eager to support each other, just as do the people in the Tom’s town—who are depicted as being kind without being insensitive to wrongdoing, moral without being blind to the nature of childhood, and mutually supportive without transcending the mores of their own day.

So that’s what I learned from my COVID-era re-read of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Next I’ll report to you on my re-read of Huckleberry Finn, possibly the greatest American novel of them all and one that was for several different reasons specifically not assigned to us in high school.

[drferox]

20 Questions with Dr Ferox #18

Finally sat down to work through 20 more questions. I know I’d been a bit behind for a while, but here comes a flurry of questions and comments. As usual I’ve tried to tag people that were brave enough to put their names on the questions, but if you were Anonymous you’ll have to look through manually.

@tenacious-brii said: Hi! I was wondering if you might have heard of the Orthopedic Foundation for Animals, and if you have, what you think of them. My understanding is they're working to implement a higher breeding standard to prevent inbreeding / continuation of genetic diseases and disorders (like hip dysplasia for example) It sounds like a worthy goal but maybe I am being hopelessly optimistic, lol. As for tax; Which pokemon would be your main companion? Thank you for all that you do!!

The OFA would love to implement higher standards for breeding dogs, but they can't actually enforce anything. All they can do is collect the data and make recommendations. They have some super interesting data on the frequency of hip and elbow dysplasia in dogs, but there are a few potential flaws.

Number one is that it's not compulsory for breeders to disclose their hip and elbow results. If they screen a dog with bad hips, for example, and simply choose not to send those results in, then the recorded 'breed average' will be 'better' than reality.

I do have a soft spot for Ivysaur.

savageborn said:  I met a pure bred St Bernard at work for the first time today (i work part time as a vet assistant at a small local clinic) and. I was taken aback. They're so big. I've never seen one in person before and im still just amazed. I wanted to share. He was very sweet just. So Big.

Yes, they are indeed very big. Super fun as puppies though, when at even their early puppy vaccination they're dwarfing adult dogs in the waiting room.

Anonymous said: Up until relatively recently (the 1980s!), it was widely accepted that human newborns didn't feel pain. I'm not surprised if that idea hasn't persisted when it comes to mice.

Gosh humans can be stubborn, self-centred and lacking in empathy, can't they? That was probably believed to make themselves feel a whole lot better about circumcision.

agender-fordmustang said: As a vet assistant, I find egg + meat chicken production to be very interesting, despite my disgust for birds who are bred so large they cant get up out of their own excreta. What's your favorite thing which you thought you'd hate?

I don't think I really expected to hate anything, I find most of biology genuinely fascinating. I find turkey semen collection a bit weird, but there's not much on the animal side I really hate.

Humans and the things we do are complicated. I wasn't really all that fond of humans when I started out, but have come to like a larger percentage of them over time.

Anonymous said: In regards to getting accepted to vet school, would you say grades were very important? Like would an A vs a B in a class make it or break it? Also do they look at extracurriculars as much as everyone tells me haha. Everyone loves to tell me how competitive vet school is and I've just started my undergrad education so I'm trying to evaluate my priorities! Thank you so much and thank you for running such a wonderful blog! <3

When I went through, and please remember it was over a decade ago when I was applying, they looked at your academic achievements first, and extracurriculars second, but if you didn't have any extracurricular experience with the veterinary industry you weren't looked on as favourably as if you did. By the interview stage, the professors had already more or less decided who they wanted as students, the interviews just sealed the deal and maybe bumped you higher or lower on the list.

Anonymous said: I have a condition where I have random and uncontrollable nose bleeds, at least once a day and lasting anywhere from a minute to an hour. I would like to have a job with animals or in the medical field but I am afraid my nose bleeds will be in excusable in a medical environment. Can someone like me work as a vet or other medical personal or am I better off finding something else?

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how to answer this. There are definitely medical, infectious and sanitary concerns with having unpredictable nosebleeds. I'm not even sure how you're managing outside of a clinical setting, and I'm sorry I can't be more help.

Anonymous said: hello! i recently got a kitten to accompany the cat i already have (they get along wonderfully!) I was wondering though, we feed our cat purina kibble and have been feeding the kitten canned fancy feast- im planning on incorporating more wet food into the older cat's diet because i know cats get a majority of hydration from their food. anyway i know that the brands we feed them arent ideal, but we dont have a lot of money for otherwise. do you have any advice on better brands perhaps?

Cats are perfectly capable of drinking water, but I don't give people food recommendations. That's a slippery slope that I wont go down.

bettsplendens said: Am I right in thinking that "meat by-products" in the context of cat food probably means organ meat and miscellaneous scraps rather than anything actually ominous?

More or less. It can include any part of the animal that isn't profitable to market as a labelled something for human consumption. So while it might include lots of organs, it's less likely to include hearts, liver and tripe, which can be sold separately, and may also include things like neck and cheek meat is those cuts are not popular locally, or just edges of things that nobody wanted.

Anonymous said: Why do dogs have really short hiccup attacks? Are they hiding hiccup curing secrets from us?!

Dogs can have longer hiccup attacks, but their diets are usually more regular and they're less likely to be overfed than we are. They usually grow out of hiccups in puppyhood.

Anonymous said: How about when I worked at a pet store, I had to dissuade a man who wanted a remote shock collar for his wife's 3lb Yorkie. The smallest collar we carried was rated for 10lbs minimum. He said they'd go out to check on their cattle, and the dog would jump out of his arms and race towards the cows. He said he was concerned a cow would hurt her, and he just needed "something that would drop 'er." I suggested a leash. He said, "Nah, she don't like leashes."

Humans are capable of astounding levels of foolishness.

Anonymous said: Our dog recently had to have a large patch shaved on her side due to a wound. She is double-coated, and I've always heard you shouldn't shave a double-coated dog because the coat won't grow back the same. Is this true? Obviously it's better that it was shaved or the vet wouldn't have done it, but I want to make sure this won't affect her ability to be in the sun in the future and all that jazz. (btw we love our vet to bits, but she can be a bit hard to reach for simple questions)

It will grow back eventually (assuming no endocrinopathies affecting the fur), but the guard hairs will take longer to grow back and look like they did before shaving. It's only a part of the dog that's been shaved, so unlikely to be an issue.

Anonymous: What sorts of things do vet assistants do on the job? (I'm trying to figure out if being a vet assistant is something I actually want to do or if I just think that I want to do it because I like animals) Also question tax, what's your favorite kind of flower? Thanks!

Considering Vet Assistant is not a regulated term here, it might be anything from a layperson with no training just doing what a vet instructs them to do, to being basically a vet nurse. I do not work with vet assistants, I work with trained vet nurses, so you will get a better answer asking someone who actually works under that title.

Anonymous said: Not sure if this has been asked already but one of my cat's tails vibrates and shakes. She does it all the time. I'm not necessarily concerned, but is this normal in cats?

It can be if the cat is highly stimulated or agitated.

Anonymous said: A short story for you: ever since he was little my cat has done the claw kneading thing to my hair and dribbles while doing it. It's so weird but now it's just normal to me. I assume it's just his quirk it's cute

A lot of cats will salivate while purring and kneading. It's probably a reflex left over from kittenhood, when they would knead their mother while suckling.

Anonymous said: I'm worried about my dog's bite since he is a show dog. So far he has the normal scissor bite but it seems like it's turning to a level bite. He has reached his adult height and is a bit over 1 year old. Are the jaws supposed to grow anymore?

Probably not but it might depends on breed and I can neither see nor examine your dog, and you are anonymous.

Anonymous said: question tax: for some reason i imagine that cattle really love you!? like just licking your face and trying to lay in your lap. i just get that vibe!! question: so my dog is missing a few molars for some reason. our vet says it isn't a problem and he eats perfectly well. it's got me thinking about the dogs that have missing teeth and end up with their tongues hanging out of their mouths. what causes that? my pup doesn't do it but there's a pretty obvious gap.

Dogs that are missing canine teeth often have tongues that deviate and pop out. It's more common in brachycephalic dogs, which have long tongues relative to their face anyway.

I miss cows.

Anonymous said: I work at a pet store and frequently have to deal with people who own wheezing pugs thinking "oh he just makes that sound when he's happy", do you have any advice for convincing them that their dog isn't healthy and needs to see a vet? Question tax: came for the vet stories, stayed for the vet stories, your blog is fantastic!

I tend to say something along the lines of how something might be common and been present for a long time, but that doesn't mean it's healthy. Or that something might have been normalised but that doesn't make it normal.

prepackagedsoul said:I've had two German Shepherds (so I've spent some time at the vet, like you said a lot went wrong with them but i did do everything possible to fix it) and for now I've switched over to cats and, holy shit? Like they're so hardy and long lasting my grandmother has a cat that is 20 years old. She also owns one of her kittens, and he's nineteen. They're both still pretty active too, so I guess I'll bury this cat when I'm forty if all goes well.

Cats are great. They want to live, they heal well, they're tough little buggers.

aquila-audax said: Steering away from vet medicine but still within the wonderful realm of the life sciences, do you have a favourite species/group of plants?

I am partial to foxgloves. Partly for their appearance, but also because I like foxy things and they're poisonous in a cool way.

vantastrophe said: Any fantasy authors you really enjoy? Looking for more books to read, I really like Neil Gaiman but that's the only author so far ? hope you're having a great week!

Terry Pratchett is my #1, forever and always.