#also side note but turnabout corner is GOOD actually

[aceattorneyrambles]

One of my favorite character moments (and the thing that immediately made me love him) for Apollo that I think is so intensely important to understanding him goes way back to Case 2 of Ace Attorney: Apollo Justice.

In that case, Trucy stages a “kidnapping” by using Mr. Hat to distract the court, and when Apollo rushes out into the lobby and sees her safe and sound…

He cries.

He’s so overcome with worry and relief that he cries for a girl he barely knows. A girl who, for all intents and purposes, almost cost him the badge he worked so hard to gain. A girl who focused most of the time they did know each other teasing him and not taking him seriously.

And yet, he cries for her anyway. He sobs, even.

It’s a throwaway moment, likely done for comedic effect, but it really hit me, and Trucy’s immediate earnest response telling Apollo not to cry and then him doubling down with protective rage on her behalf hit it home harder, y’know?

Apollo Justice, at his core, cares. Despite his surly attitude a lot of the time, this is nonetheless a defining trait of his. He cares, so much, and so easily, and we see it firsthand right there as he cries for a near stranger.

(And I also think it’s worth noting that the first time we really, truly see Trucy lower her performance mask and cry herself…it’s to Apollo.)

[obscure-sentimentalist]

“I need a hug. A six hour one.”- Flommy 😊

[Thank you, Anon!! Another one I’m months-late on, but with the way this idea decided to go, I do think it was well-suited for the wait, experimental as it is. Using (but not actually featuring) Klarion the Witchboy as a plot device seems rather Halloween-y to me. ;-)]

From the Comforting Cuddles Starters list

Loath as Tommy is to think it, sometimes he misses the days when the evildoers of Starling City were simply morally-corrupt businessmen and crime lords running the too-close-to-the-surface underworld. Obviously, still bad guys, but their powers were at least material and predictable: money, weapons, martial arts training from a mystical murder cult that also offers a minor in megalomania. And for the most part, Tommy wasn’t in direct confrontation with those seedy types, spending more of his time adjusting to the nauseating shift in worldview they presented, and then hanging on the sidelines to lend the occasional hand in the crime-fighting process.

Straightforward, unsurprising, fairly distanced—those are the types of villainy with which Tommy knows how to deal. But the world’s gotten weirder, and so have the enemies; it figures that he’d be thrown face-first into the unknowable machinations of some magic-wielding, whackadoodle…

“…C-list Scooby-Doo villain,” Felicity seethes, voice finally puncturing Tommy’s thoughts like a splinter. She turns sharply on her heel to pace in the other direction, the clack of her footsteps echoing off the basement walls. “I’m gonna get him.”

Though she isn’t facing him, Tommy glimpses her hands going up, claw-like, in front of her, and shaking in an imaginary stranglehold. It’s an adorably familiar enough gesture that it almost puts him at ease.

(Almost.)

“And his little cat, too,” Tommy agrees, slipping from his tongue as an instinctive reaction of humor. As if nothing’s… off about this picture.

“Yes, the cat!” Pale blue-painted fingers snap, leaving the index finger triumphantly pointing up. “You know I love kittens. But that thing? Last time, when it tried to…”

“Last time?” Tommy repeats, head tilting in curiosity. He belatedly realizes the rudeness of interrupting like that, but the discomfort of not knowing has a firm grip on the wheel. “You’ve dealt with this Puritanical nightmare child before?”

In the space between questions and answer, Tommy drifts the remaining few feet over to Felicity’s workstation. He doesn’t dare sit in the chair—that’d just be courting death, or at least a truly withering glare—but leaning against the table provides him a… grounding, of sorts. It’s the best thing he can get until this whole situation is resolved and reversed.

Depending on the response Felicity has for him, maybe that’ll come sooner than expected.

Both the interjection and the movement make Felicity’s spine snap pin-straight—an instantaneous shattering of illusionary comfort—and she slowly pivots to glance back at Tommy from the opposite end of the floor. Yet as useful as it might be to her, too, Felicity doesn’t make a single move towards the bank of computers and empty chair (towards Tommy), instead hugging her arms to her chest and rooting herself in place.

“Oh, yeah, a… a couple times, now,” she stumbles, biting her lower lip. “I don’t know, there’s just something about us—my team—that keeps him coming back on chaotic reunion tours. But this is the first time I’ve been his plaything of choice, and he’s never done something quite of…” she extricates one hand and waves it aimlessly around her “…this magnitude, before.”

“The Great Felicity Swap,” Tommy murmurs absently. It’s neither a joke nor a judgment, just a phrasing of the situation, but Felicity shifts her shoulders at the words.

“We’re going to fix this,” she says, quiet yet firm. “Even if Klarion’s gone to ground, or is hiding somewhere out of all of our reaches, we can still set things right without him. I refuse to believe anything else.”

Although she says “we” throughout those first two statements, that last part just solidifies what Tommy hears instead. It’s Felicity not voluntarily wanting to do this alone, but also fully prepared to do so—her expectations of being denied help higher than the ones she has of help being offered.

It’s painfully recognizable—one of the similarities Tommy wishes he wouldn’t find between his… universe’s Felicity and another’s. But at least the consistency confirms that the move he’s about to make is the right one.

“Well, I’m not really the guy with the plans around here, but I make for a pretty good gofer,” he starts, pushing off of the worktable and taking a few casual, tentative steps forward. “Tell me what to look for, what buttons to press, what you want for a meal break, and I’m your man.”

In yet another instance proving the importance of connecting his mouth to his brain every once in a while (and maybe looking into a script editor), Tommy cringes the second that last bit slips out and Felicity’s eyebrows shoot up into her hairline.

Lending a hand to your maybe-sort-of-just-starting-to-call-each-other-by-the-terms girlfriend’s doppelgänger (whose relationship with your own is a pretty big gray area, because she won’t say much except that she cares a lot about him) is the polite thing to do. Doing so in a way that sounds like you’re offering more than just help, thanks to poor, unconscious word choice, is just plain stupidity.

“He does that too,” Felicity says after a moment’s pause. “My… my Tommy.”

Surprised by the reaction, Tommy tentatively cracks one eye back open to meet Felicity’s gaze. “I should have figured that foot-in-mouth was a chronic, multiversal affliction.”

She flushes a bit at that, eyes flitting to the side in embarrassment. “That’s not… I mean, you’re right, you both have that in common,” she stumbles hurriedly. A deep breath in, and she gets back on track, facing Tommy again with a knowing look. “I was actually talking about the other thing—about not being the one with the plans, only good for being pointed in the necessary direction. You don’t get to pull that on me.”

Tommy’s mouth audibly clicks shut at that, any jokes or affirmations of his original statements shriveling in his throat under the weight of Felicity’s stare.

“He minimizes his skills like that, makes himself just the right size and shape to fit with whatever anyone else needs him to be,” she explains, plain and simple. “He’ll play up a few things, make jokes here and there about how looks and charm and the like come effortlessly to him, because that’s what people expect.”

Tommy shifts his shoulders in an odd sort of shimmy, as if those observations have physically burrowed under his skin and set off an unbearable itch. It’s one thing to be called out so plainly by someone he knows so well, and a whole different one when it’s an alternate version of said person. It’s both the discomfort of being so easily read by a relative stranger, and the realization that if this other Felicity knows, then there’s a fair chance that his does, too.

Unsubtle as it must be, Felicity sees his twitching, and her face goes soft.

“The cooking, though, that’s a talent he owns in full, and will make it well-known that he’s the only one he trusts in the kitchen,” she notes thoughtfully. A split-second of silence lingers between the words, before she rushes, “Which is fine by me, because I’ll just burn everything anyway—at least that’s not as bad as making a full dish that’s arguably toxic, unlike some people…”

Amusingly, they both shudder at that—Tommy at the mere concept, and Felicity presumably at the memory of an actual offending meal. They each catch the other’s mirrored motion, and their gazes snap to meet in faint embarrassment.

It doesn’t last, as Felicity flaps a hand to break the connection and get herself back on track. “Point is, he’s capable of so much more than he likes to tell people, and I’m willing to bet you are, too.”

On that note, she tilts her chin up and offers Tommy a pointed, challenging stare. It’s an achingly familiar look—a Felicity Signature—offered to anyone who might cross her; not a dare to prove her words right, but an offer for her to wipe the floor with the recipient and their flawed rationale of why she’s wrong.

No matter where she comes from, Tommy’s not taking that opening with any Felicity.

That said, he does have his own, different sort of reply.

“See, this goes both ways, because I know my Felicity,” Tommy points out, leaning in as closely and carefully as he dares without making Felicity uncomfortable. “How she’s always prepared to take on things by herself, even when she doesn’t have to. When she has someone—and usually multiples—in her corner to back her up.”

Tommy tilts his head and raises his eyebrows knowingly, before continuing with quiet sincerity. “We can figure this out together, but I’m still on board with my original offer. Tell me what you need, and I’ll handle it.”

Felicity makes as if to argue, but after a moment’s consideration, she purses her lips and narrows her eyes suspiciously back at Tommy. “Turnabout is fair play, huh?”

“Something about this whole situation has to be,” he notes, grinning cheekily.

Felicity rolls her eyes fondly at that, but her expression goes quietly pensive a moment later. “I guess there’s one thing I can think of,” she murmurs almost absently, gaze drifting down as her breath hitches.

“Anything,” he assures her. A hand comes up to hover over her shoulder, though it doesn’t land.

The motion is still enough to snap Felicity back into her thoughts.

“I need a hug. A six hour one,” she blurts, and almost immediately turns red. Her head shoots up whiplash-fast, eyes wide (and lightly sheened) and lips already tripping over an apology. “Wait, no, forget I said that, that’s way too weird. We’re… not the wrong versions of each other, that sounds mean, but this you and this me”—she flicks a finger between the two of them to illustrate—“we don’t have any sort of relationship. Sure, hugs are perfectly platonic, and it’s not like we’re really strangers, but six hours is a long time for anything physica- agh!”

“I did say ‘anything’,” Tommy cuts in before Felicity can spiral any deeper (or either of them can turn too red at that last bit), finally settling a hand gently on her shoulder. “And maybe six hours is a while, but let’s just not put on a time limit at all. However long you feel you need.”

Looking at Felicity Smoak—no matter the universe from which she hails—and claiming that the fight has gone out of her is a concept Tommy would never dare verbalize, but something does seem to recede enough for the one in front of him to fall against his chest. His arms lock supportively around her lower back as her hands press at his shoulder blades for stability, and so they remain.

Not even a six-hour embrace would be convincing enough that the one in their arms is theirs, but maybe a fraction of that time can confirm a friend in the familiar, and comfort enough to carry on.

[nosybookworm]

Ninja Academy vs Hero School Rant

Naruto was my jam back in the day. I stayed up late to watch the new episodes, bought the dvd box sets and manga volumes, collected toys and cards just to stare at adoringly, even pretended to be sick so that I could stay home and watch a Naruto marathon. Point is, I LOVED Naruto.

I was invested in the characters. My heart ached for every single character that gave me a backstory. I ugly cried on more than ten occasions.

The action and moral dilemmas sucked me in and spit me out, made me the person I am today thinking critically about the stuff I love because wow that universe is in no way safe or sane for the people living in it lol.

The villains absolutely TERRIFIED me DESPITE STILL WANTING TO SEE MORE OF THEM, Orochimaru alone had me sleeping with the lights on and ripping the arms off his action figure just to be safe.

When I started watching My Hero Academia those old happy feelings started slapping me in the face drawing me in. MHA hits a lot of the same points that Naruto had and I didn’t really notice until the end of season 3 because those points weren’t as in-your-face or emotionally impactful as it was in Naruto I guess. Not to say it didn’t have an impact! Just that it rolled off me a lot easier which might just be a me problem.

I Mean:

The main character getting bullied/excluded because of something he can’t control. 

Underdog character then meeting or making an emotional connection with a mentor figure truly feeling “acceptance” for maybe the first time and taking that all important first step toward their life long dream. 

A teacher willing to sacrifice himself to protect the students. 

A school training teens to protect/serve. 

Rivalry that may or may not be actual friendship.

Students fighting against each other to “rank up” by showing how capable they are to their superiors.

Enemies invading to terrorize the kids and escaping to terrorize another day.

Traumatic family backstories that child will now attempt to seek justice through own power.

Previous underdog character actually having a secret power that no one knows about but a select few and that he has to train to learn how to use, but it makes him a powerhouse that is always surprising the enemy and inspiring his fellows.

Sure all that can be tied to any story when generalized like this, but the way MHA presents them is pretty similar to Naruto.

(Okay, ALL OF THIS is going to be my personal opinion. Things I want to say to get out of my system so that I can move on. It’s long too. So, now that you’ve been warned continue on.)

The more I got into it the stranger it felt because despite hitting those same points I loved they hit in a different way that....well... made me a little uncomfortable to sit through.

Like Aizawa

Very clearly the Kakashi in MHA. He’s sly hardly ever telling his students the truth but has incredibly high expectations of them, has been known to expel students left and right until his most recent batch of kids, is ready and willing to throw himself in harms way for them, and surprisingly competent despite his exhausted persona/personality. However the way these two teachers act get two very different results from me. Naruto got a chance to introduce Kakashi in a way that endeared him to me, the bell test was more than just showcasing the kids current abilities it was introducing Kakashi (the Jounin that is a kind of jack of all trades, the known perv that will publicly read porn, the guy that will happily mess with a bunch of kids to “teach them a lesson” and because its funny, the guy that requires the students under his care to care about each other because caring for his team matters to him more than any mission, that guy). MHA gave the quirk test. Aizawa mostly in the background taking notes and jotting down scores after his speech about expelling whoever comes last. We didn’t get to hear Aizawa’s thoughts until the very end when Izuku surprised him. 

I didn’t really feel any connection toward Aizawa until I stumbled across fanfics that wrote him more involved with the students and I think that’s the problem. Aizawa is dedicated to his student’s education, he believes they will all be amazing heroes one day, but he hardly ever interacts with them. He can be seen watching their training from afar, sleeping in a corner as another teacher takes over for a bit, protecting them from danger or fighting along side them, and proudly declaring that Bakugo would never turn villain but all of that means very little emotionally when I can’t see him making connections with these students to make this standoffish confidence understandable. He comes off as one of those super smart teachers that have undecipherable lessons because he has no idea how to connect with his students enough to explain in way they understand. Similarly, he like jots down that he’s taking note of Bakugo and might need to step in before he goes down the wrong path but then does nothing and confidently tells the press Bakugo would never be a villain.

Kakashi was pretty standoffish too, no denying that, and the little episodes when the kids conspire to try to see him without his mask are the kind of outside interactions that would be weird for a modern teacher-student relationship like in MHA, so I get why Aizawa doesn’t really have that with any of the kids. However, Kakashi saw the path Sasuke was going down and spent time with him and confronted him about it (it did nothing to stop him but he tried). He took time to find a teacher for Naruto. He was present and awake for just about every milestone in there education with him. He told them when he was proud of them not other people. He involved himself in some of their high jinks to measure their growth and as such was able to have confidence in them when they went off on their own.

The Villains

And My Hero Academia villains, namely All For One. 

I felt nothing when he showed up. I was all caught up in All Might and his passing of the torch. The guy without eyes didn’t feel threatening, didn’t feel like the big bad he was suppose to be. The League of Villains really didn’t feel like “serious enemies” either cause I actually really enjoyed them when they were on screen for their dynamics with each other. Similar to how I liked the Akatsuki in their more light-hearted scenes when they where super strong idiots banded together by sheer force of will and explosive personalities that refuse to leave a job half finished. With the League I would be just as entertained (probably more so) if they were in a slice of life anime just being terrible people together.

I get the feeling All For One was supposed to be MHA’s Orochimaru. (And I say this despite knowing Orochimaru’s introduction is probably a lot closer to Stain what with the confrontation and all, but his whole “the world is corrupt, I will cut out the wrong and remake it into the pure world it should have always been” aligned more with Pain especially with his quick turnabout saving Izuku.) 

Orochimaru always felt in control even when he was in hiding or on the run, he felt like he had more up his sleeve which is the only thing I got from All For One when he was imprisoned. Both Orochimaru and All For One showed up out of nowhere, very obviously in a class of their own that the teenage main characters had no hope of beating, and a mysterious backstory that clearly put all the adults in the know on edge. But I just don’t see All For One as a villain. Nothing about him screamed “Run for your lives this man will smile as he tears you apart!” like Orochimaru. Nothing about All For One’s secret Mad Scientist lab gave me creepy vibes that left me on the edge of my seat clutching at the nearest pillow the way the Sound Village that practically worshiped Orochimaru and the many base of operations he had did.

Terrible Parents

The Todoroki family. 

...

Look. The world of Naruto has terrible parenting, but they also live in a dictator/military run nation where kids can be a front-line defense or key players in a war zone so it’s hard to measure how to view these people. Cause a father that beats his kid and yells at him to get stronger has genuine reasons to rightfully freak out when children as young as 8 get sent to ninja academy. Families that have a rare genetic trait like the Hyuga or Uchiha have every right to be tough and stern if they feel that will protect their kids when they know putting them out into the world makes them an easier target for enemies that would rip out their eyes. 

I can judge their actions based on their consequences. Like the Uchiha clan planning a revolt forcing their eldest to massacre them to keep the peace and their youngest to live with a crazy amount of trauma. Like the Hyuga clan branding their branch members to protect family eyes, but forcing them into being lesser than the main branch and all the trauma that forced on Neji’s poor head. The stupid level of expectation set on Hinata’s young shoulders that she couldn’t meet in the way her clan wanted that made her self-confidence practically non existent. The Hokage leaving Naruto mostly alone for his entire childhood in a village that openly hated him. The Kazekage trying to have his lonely three-year-old assassinated multiple times once by his beloved uncle - the only person that was kind and loved him - that scarred him so entirely that he carved “love” into his forehead and rampaged around the village and did casual murder intentionally for years before meeting Naruto. 

All that... I can get behind as abuse. I want those sad kids to be happy. They deserved better and I will happily lose myself in a fix-it fic where they get that.

MHA gives me similar scenarios but without the clear-cut consequences that shows when parenting for that world is abuse. 

Endeavor is not a good husband. He is emotionally abusive to his wife to the point she has a mental break and attacks a child. 

However, in a world of heroes, in a world where high school students are trained to protect and serve and that self sacrifice is a noble heroic trait. How do I compare such a society to my own? They put children in harms way with hero internships yet don’t allow them to defend themselves if they don’t have a hero license, that would be like getting a learners permit but not being allowed to practice driving.

All this to say I have a hard time telling when bad parenting falls into abuse when it comes to MHA. Endeavor is not a good parent, he is an abusive husband, but is he an abusive parent? As a hero training up the next generation of heroes can it be argued that he is pretty okay even if his methods are a little harsh? None of his children fear him from what I’ve seen. Shouto happily tells him his plans to never use his fire and all the reasons why without fearing he might be punished for it. The other kids seem to be pretty okay going on with their lives. Toya being the exception but again I don’t know what happened to him and he’s a follower of Stain so did he have a falling out with heroes or did his father push too hard?

Nighteye & Tsunade

Okay so this is where I get super rant-y. I have feelings on Nighteye and none of them good.

Nighteye being the estranged comrade of All Might the underdog’s teacher, Tsunade being the estranged comrade of Jiraiya Naruto’s teacher.

Tsunade has been hurt deeply. She ran because she felt that was the only way to save herself from more pain. Here comes Jiraiya with his new little tag along demanding she come back home, she gets appropriately angry and tries everything she can to get them to leave her alone. Naruto being the special little underdog that he is immediately gets under her skin reminding her of all the loved ones she lost bringing back all of that old pain back, so she gets even. She beats him down and challenges him to an impossible challenge to show him how small he really is and get out of her own responsibilities. But he wins. He wins, and shows Tsunade how closed off she’s become forcing her to face reality head on and face her fears at last. He changes her whole world view through action.

Nighteye has been hurt deeply. He sees the future for every person he touches and as such sees futures in which people he loves get hurt and sometimes die. He believes there is nothing he or anyone can do to change these visions. All Might is his hero, His friend and mentor, his comrade. His friend gets hurt in a way he can never fully recover from and he sees a vision where his friend dies on the battle field. He then tells All Might who refuses to retire and leaves without a backward glance. They don’t speak until years later when Nighteye picks out a successor for One For All, but Toshi chooses Izuku and never meets Nighteye’s pick.

Izuku, needing an internship not Gran Torino, goes to Sir Nighteye All Might’s old side kick. He gets tested, told he’s not worthy of One For All, and has to work under this man as he tries to get Izuku to see how Mirio is more worthy of All Might’s quirk. Facing off against Overhaul when they are at their most desperate Nighteye uses his quirk to see what will happen and sees the worst possible scenario. They lose. Then Izuku flies in sweeps Eri into his arms and fights Overhaul saving the day. Izuku proved, unknowingly, that the future Nighteye sees is not set in stone with his actions and on his death bed Nighteye acknowledges that without acknowledging it.

Nighteye’s treatment toward Izuku makes me uncomfortable. This is a man in a position of power over this student telling him that he is not enough, will never be enough, and that he is a disappointment.

His glorifying of All Might makes me uncomfortable. He was All Might’s partner and yet he practically had a shrine of the man in his office. He made him more than just a man, built him up as The Symbol of Peace and kept him there (as many of Toshi’s friends seem to do except for Nedzu and Naomasa) despite getting close enough trusted enough to learn about One For All. And despite all that “love” and “devotion” he left Toshinori alone to deal with his new normal of a permanently damaged system alone for years then takes out all that frustration and grief out on his friends chosen successor.

Then when all is said and done and he’s dying and he’s confronted by Toshinori and Izuku what happens? Does he apologize? Explain his actions? Get closure in his final moments?

No. Well, Toshinori got some measure of closure. Izuku got a few words that essentially boiled down to “Good job, your better than I thought.” without talking about the newfound hope Izuku’s action gave him that his visions are only possibilities not absolute. All of his attention then goes to his choice for One For All, Mirio. 

Understandably. 

He’s dying and Mirio was always his main priority as a mentor, and you know who Mirio looks like? All Might. He’s blonde, buff, blue-eyed, cheerfully friendly, and with a happy-go-lucky persona about him. Sir Nighteye taught him to smile. Chose him to be the new wielder of One For All and without telling him anything planned to introduce him to Toshinori to make his choice reality. Doesn’t that sound... I don’t know... uncomfortably close to manipulation? Grooming? To taking this child under his wing and molding him to be pretty close to a new version of All Might?

I don’t know. Maybe if Sir Nighteye had lived this uncomfortable impression I have of him would be lessened as he began to internalize the full extent of possibilities for the future that he never thought possible before and acted more hopeful, more willing to take gambles because his visions were no longer a guarantee of what will happen. 

[antiadvil]

Roses are Red

summary: Dan wants to buy his best friend Phil an anonymous rose, and also maybe confess his feelings. The problem? Phil is the one selling the anonymous roses.

Luckily, PJ has a plan.

rating: PG13

word count: 3.7k

a/n: this is for @flymetomanchester as part of a valentine’s day fic exhange! additional thanks to @itsmyusualphannie and @sudden-sky for betaing and hyping me up throughout the writing process.

read more or on ao3

Buying his crush a rose for Valentine’s Day really shouldn’t have been so hard. Dan didn’t even need to put his name on it, for God’s sake. The roses sold by his high school’s student council were distributed anonymously. He just had to pay for it, put Phil’s name on it, and write him a note.

The only problem was that Phil was not only the student council president, he was also Dan’s best friend. So Dan was left awkwardly standing near the table, hoping Phil would leave for a few minutes so he could buy Phil a rose from the student council vice president, who was sitting next to Phil, instead.

“Do you want to buy a rose?” Phil asked.

“What?” Dan snorted. “Why would I want to buy a rose?”

Phil shrugged. “Just wondering. You’re kind of hovering.”

Dan snorted again. “I am not.”

The bored-looking girl sitting next to Phil handed Dan a tissue.

“I was, uh, just wondering if you needed any help.”

“We’re good,” Phil said. “Kate and I have got everything covered.”

Dan shrugged. “Just thought I’d ask.”

“Thanks,” Phil said. “I really appreciate it. But I think you’re scaring away the customers. See you in English?”

Dan nodded, giving up and slipping back to the lunchroom.

“Did it work?” his friend PJ asked when Dan joined him at their lunch table.

“No,” Dan said, scowling. “He wouldn’t leave the table.”

PJ took a long drink from his water bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Damn,” he said. “That sucks.”

Dan nodded glumly. “He’s never going to leave the table.”

PJ shrugged. “I mean, it’s just a rose. You can get roses just about anywhere.”

Dan glared. “But can I get special, anonymously sent roses with an attached note just about anywhere?”

PJ rolled his eyes.

Dan sat back. “That’s what I thought.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

Dan had been cast as the lead in their school play three years running. “Me? Dramatic?”

PJ rolled his eyes again. “If you’re so attached to these roses, you’re going to need a better plan.”

“What, do you have one?” Dan asked.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Okay,” Dan said. “I’m listening.”

PJ smirked. “Meet me outside the cafeteria tomorrow.”

“To do what?” Dan asked.

“You’ll see,” PJ said mysteriously.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Dan said. “I’m going to kill you.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past ten years and it hasn’t happened yet.”

“It will,” Dan promised. “Just wait.”

“Sure,” PJ snickered. The bell rang. “See you after school, nerd.”

“Not if I kill you first, dork,” Dan responded.

Dan’s next class was English. He slid into his seat next to Phil. “How are sales going?” he asked.

“Pretty good,” Phil said. “We’ve made a ton of money so far. Decorations for turnabout might not be that bad.”

“Decorations for turnabout are always bad.” The rose sale was the only source of funding for their spring dance other than ticket sales. Student Council did their best, but Dan and Phil’s high school was not known for its beautiful and well-run school dances.

Phil shrugged. “Well, hopefully they’ll be less bad.”

Dan gave up. He knew this dance was important to Phil, and supporting his friend was more important to him than making fun of their school. “Of course they will be,” he said. “You’re doing them.”

Phil smiled. “Thanks, Dan.”

Right on cue, their English teacher entered the room, disturbingly cheery for someone teaching Hamlet to a bunch of second semester high school seniors.

“How was last night’s reading?” he chirped.

The classroom was dead silent. Dan highly doubted anyone in the entire room had read more than the sparknotes, if that.

“What did you think of Hamlet’s treatment of Ophelia?” More silence. “Come on, guys, don’t make me start picking volunteers.”

Someone sitting in the front hesitantly raised their hand.

“Yes! Jamie?” their teacher asked.

“I didn’t like it,” they said.

Their teacher sighed. Dan took that as his cue to zone out. He zoned out in the rest of his classes as well before finally stumbling out of school to meet PJ by his car.

“You’re late,” PJ said.

Dan rolled his eyes. “You’re late.”

“Whatever. Get in the back.” Since Phil had gotten there first, he got the passenger’s seat, and since PJ was driving, that left Dan to sit in the back. Normally, he would be annoyed, but today he didn’t mind being a little more alone with his thoughts than usual. He leaned back and stared out the window, letting Phil and PJ do most of the talking.

“Do we really have to go to Hot Topic today?” PJ asked, interrupting Dan’s thoughts. “You never even buy anything, and if someone sees me there in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty, I’ll lose all my street cred.”

“What street cred?” Dan asked. “And if Phil is dragging us to Lush - ”

“Phil buys things at Lush!” PJ protested.

“I’m just saying, your street cred - ”

“Dan’s right,” Phil said. “You don’t have any street cred.”

Dan smirked. “And neither of us complain about Barnes and Noble, so shut up.”

“Yeah you do,” PJ mumbled under his breath.

Phil shook his head. “We love Barnes and Noble,” he said, with sincerity so sweet Dan nearly believed him.

PJ rolled his eyes. “You two are so lucky I still drive you places.”

Dan let the conversation fade out again. Phil and PJ bickered some more, Dan’s stomach twisted itself into knots, and in just a few more minutes, PJ pulled into the mall parking lot.

“Last one out is gay,” PJ announced, hopping out of the car. Phil, who had been out since middle school, rolled his eyes.

Dan, who had been out for a significantly smaller amount of time, also rolled his eyes and climbed out of the car. “Shut up, token het,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dan and Phil behaved in Barnes and Noble for approximately five seconds before their shenanigans began. They followed PJ dutifully through the stacks before Phil beckoned Dan the other way and held up a book.

“How does this shit get published?” Phil said, giggling at the summary on the back.

PJ glanced back at Phil, annoyed. Phil ignored him, plucking another book from the shelf.

This was their usual Barnes and Noble routine: Phil dramatically read the backs of romance novels to Dan, Dan and Phil fell over giggling at the overly dramatic, flowery language, and PJ pretended not to know who they were.

“You guys are so embarrassing,” PJ said.

“Don’t tell me you’re capable of taking this seriously,” Dan said, while Phil leafed through another novel, looking for the cringiest romantic dialogue he could make Dan act out with him.

PJ just rolled his eyes in response and drifted away. Dan felt slightly bad for a moment - he and Phil had been a unit since grade school, and it usually wasn’t very fun to hang out with them with no one else around. PJ had put up with the third wheeling for a lot longer than most.

His guilt quickly dissipated when Phil thrust his latest find out at him. “You be the girl,” he said.

Dan raised his eyebrows. “That’s what he sa - ”

“Shut up,” Phil whined, but he was also giggling. “You know what I meant.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Fine, but only because my falsetto is incredible.”

“That’s the spirit,” Phil said, but before they could start reading, PJ appeared from around the corner.

“I got the book I needed,” he announced.

Phil let the romance novel in his hand drop limply to his side.

“I’m ready to go,” Dan said. “Unless you needed anything?” he asked Phil.

Phil shook his head, putting the book back on the shelf. “I’m ready.”

“Race you to Hot Topic,” Dan said.

“We’re not going to Hot Topic until after we finish at Lush,” Phil insisted.

PJ rolled his eyes. “You have until I get to the cash register to sort this out. Just, like, fight to the death or something over it.”

Dan and Phil lingered behind to play rock, paper, scissors. Phil won. Dan sulked.

He really didn’t mind going to Lush as much as he pretended to. The soaps all smelled really nice, and the free samples were definitely a bonus. If it wasn’t for the heavy weight of societal judgement he could feel hanging over his head whenever he walked into his house, he would probably buy a bath bomb or two for himself.

He couldn’t help but watch a bit enviously as Phil and PJ picked out products to buy. Their parents didn’t think boys had to constantly act a certain way, had to only use certain products. Dan’s parents were reluctantly accepting of his sexuality, but they still had expectations for him. Expectations he’d never meet.

Dan contented himself with looking at and smelling everything Phil handed him. God, everything here smelled amazing.

After Phil and PJ were done buying their things, the group lingered in the entrance before moving on to the next store.

Phil poured a generous helping of his new rose-scented lotion into his hands, gesturing for Dan’s hand and wiping off the excess.

Dan ran his extremely dry hands together, rubbing the lotion in. “Smells nice,” he said.

Phil smiled. “And now maybe your hands will stop bleeding all the time.”

Dan looked at the cracked skin on the back of his hands. “Sure,” he said.

Phil sighed. “It’s actually concerning how dry your skin is.”

Dan was slightly touched by Phil’s concern, but he’d never admit it. “Are you my mom or something?”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“Both of you shut up,” PJ said. “And hurry up, I have a paper due tomorrow.”

Knowing PJ, his paper was probably completely finished and just waiting for him to make one last glance over it for typos before submitting it several hours before the deadline and going to bed at precisely ten o’clock.

Sometimes Dan resented the guy, but honestly, under his harsh exterior, he was too sweet and helpful to hate. Dan couldn’t even count the number of times he’d called PJ late at night, panicking about an assignment he’d forgotten about, only to have PJ calm him down and walk him through the entire process, no matter how tired he would be the next day. Dan hoped that someday PJ wouldn’t feel the need to hide behind his sharp remarks. That he’d feel okay sharing the softer side of him.

For now, he let PJ pretend to be mad that he and Phil were taking too long and rush them along to Hot Topic.

It was true that Dan never bought anything at Hot Topic, but he loved going there anyway. Something about the atmosphere reminded him of his full on emo years. Not that that was a good time to be reminded of, per se, but it was definitely a simpler time.

Also, My Chemical Romance would always be good, no matter what year it was, and Dan was not about to apologize for that.

Phil and PJ definitely didn’t understand his obsession, but they were trying, even if they mocked him endlessly for it. PJ stifled his yawns, and Phil stared determinedly past the glaze in his eyes as Dan tried an endless number of outfits on.

“I like that one,” Phil announced for the seventeenth time, when Dan came out of the dressing room in a band T-shirt and jeans that were much more tight than anything his parents would ever let him wear.

Dan wasn’t sure whether or not Phil’s eyes were trailing up and down Dan’s body more than usual, but it made him feel warm and heavy and slightly self-conscious.

PJ nodded in determined agreement. “You should get it.”

“Maybe,” Dan said, the same way he did every time. This time he almost meant it. He hesitated. “My parents would never let me wear them.”

“My dude,” PJ said. “You are eighteen. What are they going to do?”

Phil shot him a look, but Dan just threw a T-shirt at PJ’s head. “Yell at me?”

“Fine,” PJ said, untangling the shirt from his head. “Don’t get it. I don’t care.”

“Get it,” Phil said.

Dan hesitated. His parents wouldn’t like the jeans, but the shirt they might not mind that much, and if they did, he could just wear it under a sweatshirt until he left the house.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll get the shirt.”

“Thank god,” PJ said. “Does that mean we can leave? I want to leave.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “We can leave.”

PJ pumped his fist.

Phil offered Dan the passenger’s seat on their way home, but he declined. He still had things to think about. The T-shirt he had tucked inside the shopping bag under his arm and how he would get it to his room without his parents noticing. The rose he hadn’t put Phil’s name on yet. Whether or not PJ really had a plan, or if he was just bullshitting. How tired Dan was, all the damn time.

He let his head fall back. Dan hadn’t fallen asleep in the car in years, but he let the quiet murmur of PJ and Phil in the front seats and the soft noises of the car’s engine and tires lull him to sleep.

He woke up to Phil shaking his shoulder. “I’m not strong enough to carry you to your room,” he said.

Dan blinked. “Yeah,” he said groggily, looking for his shopping bag.

“Here,” Phil said, handing it to him. “Don’t forget your backpack.”

Dan grabbed it. “Thanks,” he said. He was out of the car before he remembered PJ’s plan. He turned back, but PJ was already putting his car in reverse.

“See you tomorrow at lunch,” PJ called.

“Wait!” Dan ran after the car, leaning towards the driver’s window.

PJ rolled his window down. “Yes?”

“You’re still not going to tell me your plan?” Dan whispered to PJ.

“Nope.” PJ smirked.

“I don’t want to leave this to chance,” Dan whispered.

“Don’t worry about it,” PJ said. “I’ve got it all under control.”

“I’m worried about it.”

“Well, don’t.” PJ rolled the window back up and drove away.

Dan worried. He worried as he went home and did his homework, he worried as he went to bed, he had dreams about worrying, and when he woke up for school the next morning, he worried all through breakfast and his ride. He worried until just before lunch time, when he saw PJ waiting for him in the hallway where Phil and Kate were selling flowers.

PJ noticed Dan and waved. “Hey, Dan!” he said, way too loudly, walking over to Dan with alarming speed.

“Hey, PJ,” Dan said, moving towards PJ.

Before they could get too close, PJ tripped and fell. Hard.

A gasp rippled through the crowd. Phil immediately leapt to his feet and pushed through the crowd to reach PJ. “Are you okay?” he asked.

PJ lifted his head up. “I don’t know. My leg feels funny. I think I need to go to the nurse.”

Dan smiled and slipped through the crowd to the table where Kate was still sitting, looking anxiously at PJ.

“Can I get a rose for Phil?” Dan asked.

Kate gasped. “That’s why you’ve been hanging out near the table so much!”

“Yes,” Dan said, glancing over his shoulder. “Can you hurry up?”

“That’s so cute,” Kate said, slipping Dan the piece of paper to write his message down on. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell him.”

“Thanks,” Dan said, scribbling a message onto the paper. Keep being amazing. He handed the paper to Kate and quickly went to find PJ.

He spotted them headed down the hallway towards the nurse’s office, and ran to catch up, ignoring that one teacher who always glared at him for running in the halls.

“PJ, are you okay?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Dan sighed. “I’ll take him to the nurse, Phil. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Phil hesitated, glancing back at Kate and the table. “Fine,” he said. “See you later?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Dan said absently. “Come on, PJ.”

PJ hobbled along. Once Phil was far enough behind them, Dan turned around to talk to PJ. “You know, you don’t need to pretend to be hurt anymore.”

“Not pretending,” PJ admitted.

Dan groaned. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” PJ said, limping furiously. “Don’t tell me I’m a dumbass, I already know.”

“You’re a dumbass, but you’re my dumbass.”

“Save the pickup lines for Phil. Don’t make my sacrifice in vain.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Your sacrifice?”

“They might have to amputate.”

“They won’t have to amputate.”

“You don’t know that.” PJ pouted.

The school nurse ultimately decided not to amputate, to PJ’s shock and concern. She handed him an ice pack and sent him on his way.

PJ complained the whole way back to the cafeteria, but Dan’s mind couldn’t be further away. He couldn’t wait until the flowers were delivered and he got to see the expression on Phil’s face.

The day after Valentine’s Day, Dan got a rose delivered to him in his third period class. He hadn’t expected to get anything, but it was a pleasant surprise all the same. He looked to see if there was a note attached, but couldn’t find anything. He searched the wrapping it came in, but when he couldn’t find anything, he just put it in the side pocket of his backpack.

Phil also arrived at lunch clutching a red rose.

“It’s pretty,” Dan said, smiling.

“Yeah,” Phil said, staring at it.

The expression on Phil’s face was even better than Dan had expected: the most perfect mixture of confusion, happiness, and wonder.

“Who’d you get it from?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know,” Phil said, placing it carefully next to his lunch tray. PJ had gone to eat with a different group of friends that day, citing “gross flirting and unbearable sexual tension” as his reason not to sit with Dan and Phil until Dan “got his damn act together and asked Phil out already.”

Dan was nervous, but he tried not to show it. All he needed to do was ask a few questions about the rose, confess that it was him, and then have an open and honest conversation with Phil about their feelings (ugh).

“It’s so weird, though,” Phil said, touching his rose again with an expression almost of awe. “I was watching the table the whole time. I would have known if someone wanted to send one to me.”

Dan smiled. “They must have been really sneaky.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, running his hand down the petals. “The weirdest thing, though - ” he broke off.

“The weirdest thing?” Dan prompted.

Phil blushed. “You’ll think it’s dumb.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Dan said. “Have you ever told me something that I thought was dumb?”

Phil shrugged. “Probably.”

“Okay, yeah,” Dan said. “But I didn’t say I thought it was dumb, did I?”

“I guess not.”

“Well,” Phil said, his entire face turning red. “I’ve been working on a youtube channel.”

Dan’s eyebrows shot up. “A youtube channel?”

“Yes. And, um, the note referenced it.”

Dan blinked. This was the first he’d ever heard of Phil having a youtube channel, so unless Phil was talking about a different note from a secret admirer, he was pretty sure the note didn’t actually reference anything.

“How?” Dan asked.

Phil shoved the note at him. Dan’s own scribbled handwriting stared back, the same note he had written a few days earlier. Keep being amazing.

Dan stared at Phil. “I don’t get it,” he said. “It just seems like a generic compliment.”

Phil’s face was still determinedly red. “My channel name is AmazingPhil.”

Dan made a note to look that up when he got home. “It could be a coincidence,” he said, but Phil didn’t notice.

“Do you think it’s one of my fans? Oh my god, do you think I have a stalker?”

Phil’s genuine concern made Dan hesitate. “It’s probably just a coincidence,” Dan said. “There aren’t that many words you can use to compliment people. How many subscribers do you have, anyway? He probably - ”

“Almost a hundred thousand,” Phil said.

Dan choked on his sandwich. Phil pounded his back until Dan was able to speak again. “Sorry,” Dan said, “A hundred thousand? When were you going to tell people?”

“Shh,” Phil said, glancing around. “Keep your voice down. I don’t know, okay? Mostly it just never really came up. But I guess someone who follows me must go here or something, because - ”

“Maybe, but they didn’t send you the rose,” Dan said.

“How would you know?” Phil asked.

Dan felt his heart start to pound. “It was me,” he said.

Phil started. “What?”

“The note and the rose. They’re from me.”

Phil blinked. “Why?”

Dan was startled by how clear the world suddenly seemed, like everything had jumped into sharp, eye-watering focus for a moment. “Because I like you, Phil.”

Phil placed his sandwich back on his lunch tray. “Dan - I - ”

“I mean, it’s totally fine if you don’t feel the same way,” Dan babbled. “I know we’ve been friends for a really long time, and I’d never want to do anything to lose that. But it’s gotten to a point I can’t ignore and I need to know how you feel if I want to ever move forward-”

“I sent you a rose,” Phil said.

It was Dan’s turn to blink, confused. “What?”

“I signed the note. Did you not get it?”

“There wasn’t a note with it,” Dan said.

“Well, I put a note in it,” Phil said, “Basically saying all the things you just said.”

“Oh,” Dan said, pleasantly surprised.

“Did it not - ”

“I guess not.”

“Fuck,” Phil said. “But, um, if you want to go out sometime-”

“That’d be great,” Dan said, smiling so hard his cheeks started to hurt.

“Cool,” Phil said, also smiling.

The lunch bell rang.

“See you in English,” Dan said.

Phil smiled. “See you.”

[damienthepious]

:eyes: 7. “Please don’t go out alone.” for rad bouquet??

i am. so sorry. that this took as long as it did. I am just so sorry and i have no excuse. gosh i hope you enjoy it anyway. Uhhhhh happy Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday!!!

Turnabout

[ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla, Lord Arum/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Rilla

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday. Prompt Fill, Established Relationship, Protectiveness, Arguing (mild), Play Fighting, (sort of…. i have no idea how to tag this. as usual)

Summary: Rilla may not be a knight, may not be a magician slash architect, may not be a warrior, but she is more than competent in her own particular way, and certain people would do very well to remember that fact.

Notes: So this was uhhhh SUPPOSED to be for a hurt/comfort fic, which this didn’t exactly turn into. I like what it is, but it’s certainly not H/C, so, sorry about that part also???

~

Arum leaps from the portal with his knives out and swinging, and the three-foot centipede is in multiple wriggling segments on the ground before he even lands, panting and wild-eyed.

Rilla stands from her defensive crouch, dropping the packets of explosive powder back into the pocket of her skirt, loosening her grip on the short knife at her belt. “Oh,” she says, blinking and amused as Arum spins to face her. “Uh. Thanks, I guess?”

“Amaryllis, are you hurt? As soon as the Keep told me, I-”

“I’m fine,” Rilla says, her eyebrows dipping in confusion as Arum scuttles closer and sheathes two knives so he can touch her shoulder, tip her chin up and scan over her face as if looking for very minute cuts, for some obscured injury. “Arum, I’m fine. It didn’t even touch me.”

He exhales, dropping his hands away from her, and then he sheathes the other two knives and presses his lips tight together with a visibly awkward tilt. “Good,” he says, and then he gestures to the portal. “Good, I’m glad to hear it. Now, come back to the Keep and-”

“Uh, hang on a sec,” she says, not moving. “I’m not done out here.”

“What?” He scowls. “Of course you are, you were attacked. Clearly, it is not safe for you out here.”

“Arum.” Rilla feels the frustration bubbling up in her, the indignation, and she takes a deep breath to try to mollify it because- “It’s very sweet of you to worry about me, but I’m not just going to pack up and run off home the second things get a little bit dangerous. Besides,” she shrugs, gesturing to the remains of the bug creature, which has long since stopped wriggling, “it’s dealt with, right?”

“Amaryllis, if there was one such danger, it is impossible to tell what other threats may have slipped through the swamp’s defenses. I cannot guarantee your safety, and so I must ask, Amaryllis-” he grits his teeth, raises a hand towards her, “please don’t come out here alone. It is too dangerous for you.”

The indignation boils back up, and Rilla has to clench her jaw for a moment. “Okay, alright, you do know that I’m not actually some fragile little waif, right?” She raises an eyebrow, cocking her hip out and crossing her arms over her chest. “Just because Damien is the knight doesn’t mean that I’m incapable of taking care of myself.”

Arum shakes his head. “I didn’t say-”

“I need to go out into the jungle around my hut for research and supplies all the time,” Rilla says, “and honestly? At this point I bet that the Swamp of Titan’s Blooms is probably safer for me. At least out here I know that there are some protections, even if they aren’t infallible.”

Arum blinks, frowning. “Well- be that as it may, it is still not advisable for you to simply wander-”

“I wasn’t wandering, Arum, I was looking for samples of your modified water lilies. Like the ones right over there.” She points, but Arum does not look.

“If you were hurt out here in my swamp it would be my fault,” Arum snaps, his tail thrashing behind him like a loose ribbon in a windstorm. “I refuse to be complicit in your harm, even indirectly.”

“I can take care of myself,” Rilla says again, her tone tight and pointed.

“You are being unreasonable,” Arum growls, and then he reaches for her wrist. “Come, I have had enough of-”

Rilla could let him grab her, could take this argument back to the Keep and try to talk this thing through.

A demonstration feels like it will be a more effective way to prove her point, though. More satisfying, too.

Rilla tilts her body, taking a half step back so that when Arum reaches for her he misses, overextending his arm, and she pulls a small packet from her pocket and tears it open, closing her eyes just before the flash of bright light and the bloom of smoke explode out.

That particular sample is a joint project she and Marc have been back-and-forth working on, an explosive that prioritizes brightness over force, effective for blinding and stunning creatures and people, and the new smoke effect is helpful in extending the confusion as the target slowly regains their sight.

She doesn’t give Arum time for that, though.

He stumbles, a look of almost comical confusion on his face as he furiously blinks and rubs his hands over his eyes, and Amaryllis sweeps her leg in a maneuver she learned from Damien, knocking Arum’s own legs out from under him and sending him squawking to the dirt. Before he can deal with that she draws the knife at her belt and drops on top of him, sinking the blade into the ground just beside his head in an extravagantly pointed gesture.

Arum’s vision is still swimming as he hears the thunk of the weapon piercing the ground, as he feels familiar hands on his wrists, and he’s too stunned to fight against the pressure as they’re lifted above his head.

And then she is pinning him.

Amaryllis is pinning him, her hips pressing heavy and inarguable against his own, her forearms deliberately crossing over all four of his wrists, held over his head, and as his vision recovers she is grinning a predator’s grin down at him, her dark eyes full of gleeful fire.

“See?” she murmurs, her body hot, hot above his own. “Exactly like I tried to tell you. I can take care of myself just fine, even against a big, strong, dangerous monster, Arum.”

“I-” he pants out a breath, distracted by the heat of her body and the heat of her tone, shocked beyond coherency. “Amaryllis-”

“I’m not fragile. I’m not defenseless. And while I appreciate that you care about my safety, Arum, it’s not helpful for you to try to corral me away from anything that could possibly be threatening.” She presses his arms into the leaf-strewn dirt, leaning close enough to murmur directly, distractingly into his ear. “If I kept away from anyone dangerous, I would certainly never have any fun in the bedroom, now, would I?”

“Amaryllis,” Arum barks, frill flaring as his hands flex.

“Do you get my point now, Arum?” she asks, some of the fire retreating from her expression, her eyebrow raising in fond amusement.

“I…” he pants out a breath, twisting slightly beneath her, and her weight and the way she’s pressing on his wrists make any further movement difficult. “I believe- I believe you have made yourself clear, Amaryllis,” he hisses, impressed despite himself, embarrassed to be caught so entirely off guard.

She smiles. Her grip loosens immediately, and she leans down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Arum hisses again, and he drops two hands to grip her sides, the other two tangling in her hair, a small noise of surprised pleasure slipping from him.

“Sorry to knock you down like that,” she says against his lips, though she sounds more amused than apologetic, “but you weren’t really listening to what I was telling you, so.”

He leans up, nuzzling her face with his snout until she kisses him again. “I… I apologize as well. I should know better, I think,” he says with a wry laugh, “than to underestimate you, my fierce little flower.”

“You really should,” she says, sticking her nose in the air with mock smugness. She sits back, pulling him up with her and retrieving her knife to stick back in its sheath.

He watches her, intent, as she stands and readjusts her skirts, still smiling. “I once asked you, Amaryllis, how many hats it was that you wore. The longer I know you…” he stares up at her, tilting his head as he searches for the words. “The longer I know you, the more I understand how intensely correct Damien is, to call you a genius.”

“Oh, quit that,” she says with a laugh, leaning down to help lift Arum to his feet. “Not that I don’t appreciate the flattery-”

Once he is standing he pulls, gathering Amaryllis to his chest and holding her close. “I expect that I will spend the rest of my life trying to discover every nuance of your skill, you brilliant creature,” he purrs into her hair, delighted to feel her laughing against him. “I find that I am quite looking forward to it.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, cheeks flushed and grinning. “I’ll do my best to keep you on your toes.”