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sidespart · 4 years ago

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The Fall of King Romulus Part 9

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him… Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

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Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Roman kept his back straight and his gaze cold and aloof as he watched his proclamation sink in.

It was a simple thing, to be Romulus again.

Virgil and Patton had been sent to fight and die by their Kings. Roman had listened to Logan rant, many times, about his distain of the noble classes and their control over the common men. Whatever affection they had for Roman – it wouldn’t extend to Romulus.

They would leave.

“Well yes,” Logan said, sounding annoyed “I was getting to that.”

“What?!” Roman shrieked.

“Not require our services?” Virgil stared at him incredulously, “Didn’t we hire you?”

“Logan, you knew?” Patton said admiringly, “You’re so smart!”

“Oh, he did not.” Roman grumbled.

“Well.” Logan shuffled his feet, not looking directly at him, “The Marquis de Ornella called you Romulus. And you attempted to call him by his first name, so I assumed you knew each other- a noble connection was not out of the question.”

“Ha!” Roman pointed at him, vindicated “But you didn’t guess I was a prince, did you?”

“Well, no-” Logan looked on the verge of pouting.

“What services are we even providing? In this scenario?”

“-but If I had had time to do more research then- “

“You know what! That’s a great idea.” Patton smiled brightly, “I think we could all use a little cool down time – Logan why don’t you go back to the library and read up on Nothalevaele”.

“Notaleveale.” Logan corrected.

Patton frowned. “It’s not -aleveale? I swear that’s what he said.”

“It’s not Nothalevaele it’s Notaleveale”.

“Then what is it?”

Roman stuffed most of his good hand into his mouth to muffle a scream.

“Seriously.” Virgil smirked at him even as he leant over to adjust Roman’s pillow. “You just can’t get service like this anywhere else.”

Roman glared at him.

“He-” Virgil jerked his head at Logan, utterly unbothered by Roman’s glare – “shouldn’t go to the library alone.”

Patton nodded seriously and gave Vigil a wide smile.

Virgil glared back.

Patton raised both eyebrows.

Virgil folded his arms.

“No one needs to go anywhere – I told you I’m leaving.” Roman complained.

They ignored him.

Eventually whatever silent argument the two men were having ended with Virgil rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Go find your bag.” He told Logan, who nodded jerkily and all but fled the room.

Roman flopped back against the pillows with a thump, too tired to maintain his princely posture any longer. “He can go by himself, can’t he,” he muttered sulkily, “we’re not actually kids.”

Virgil and Patton exchanged another glance before Virgil turned away to the bedside table, fussing with his pots and potions.

“We’re not sure how many guards got a look at our faces before we got out of the bathhouse.” Patton told him, “Better not to risk traveling alone.”

“Oh.” Roman replied, his voice small.

He remembered the bathhouse. The screams from above. Virgil’s panic-stricken face as he glanced between them and the stairs. Logan with a blade at his throat.

He swallowed hard and cast his eyes down, picked idly at a loose thread of the blanket.

“We should be back before the bandages needs changing, but if you smell anything or see any new pus there’s some ointment left in this one.” Virgil held up a blue-green jar for Patton to see, “Just wash it out first with boiled water.”

“Pus!” Roman squeaked, looking up.

“Your hand was pretty screwed up.” Virgil told him gruffly, “The infection’s what gave you the fever. You need to drink more willow tea, at least one cup every hour – we’ll have to pick up some more salve whilst we’re out.” This last part he directed at Patton, who dutifully rummaged in their stack of bags and handed over their coin purse.

It looked worryingly empty. Roman remembered the extra nights they had booked at the inn – nights which they clearly hadn’t even ended up using - and winced.

“We should look for some road food too, Virgil continued “and a map if we’re really going nor – Oh!” He looked at Roman, eyes wide “Er – about the tea, I mean, you need to drink it every hour but only If you -want to? I mean you definitely should but” he waved his hands as if trying to physically shape the instruction into something optional. “You get it.”

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek and tried to ignore the fondness bubbling up inside him. He had hardly even noticed the order.

“How long was I asleep?” He asked.

“Nearly two days.” Patton said softly. “You really scared us for a minute there kiddo.”

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, “And- thank you. For taking care of me.”

“Aw Roman! You don’t have to be sorry for anything!” Patton said, “Or thank us – that’s what family’s for.”

“You’re not my family.” Roman said quietly, thinking of his father’s cool detachment and a castle full of empty rooms.

Virgil snorted. “Yeah whatever. Listen you gotta – you should eat. And sleep some more. And we are going to have to talk about all this when we’re back, okay Ro – er, Romulus?”

He wrinkled his nose. “Jeez do we have to call you that now?”

“I think it’s a nice name.” Patton interjected “It’s very umm. Regal.”

“Surely ‘Princey’ still works as a nickname?" Logan asked, returning to the room. He threw a pale green coat at Virgil, who made a face but obediently shrugged it on, pulling an orange knit cap down over the pointed tips of his ears.

Almost as an afterthought, he licked is thumb and rubbed at the dark kohl under each eye. He smirked down at Roman. “You ran away from being a prince and called yourself ‘Princey’?

“You called me that.” Roman said sulkily, deciding not to tell Virgil that he’d only succeeded in smearing the make-up.

“Umm.” Logan stood at the head of the bed. Roman braced himself for another round of interrogation, twisting the blanket between his hands. “I suspect I should apologise for– I was just trying to test my hypothesis before started making outlandish accusations. Obviously, I didn’t realise how long you have been dealing with- I mean, it’s actually quite impressive you maintained your sanity for this long given that-”

“Okay! Less talking!” Virgil declared, as Romans knuckles started to turn white. The elf slung one arm around Logan’s shoulders, propelling him towards the door.

“I was only trying to-”

“Later.”

The door closed behind them with a resounding thud.

“So” Patton said after a moment, casually reaching out with one thumb to wipe away the tears collecting in the bard’s eyes, “Would you like food first or a nap?”

***

The library of Steveange was the crowning jewel of the city. A towering hexagonal building that sat upon the cities highest peak, directly across from the gates to the royal palace.

Which meant the journey was almost all uphill.

Typical.

Virgil huffed, breathing heavily as he stomped his way through the streets, Logan practically trotting to keep up with his long strides.

Prince Romulus of Notaleveale.

Honestly, what the fuck.

At least it explained the whole armed guards thing.

Except actually it explained nothing because if you found a runaway member of the royal family, why in the hell would you then tie them up in a bathhouse basement?

Unless they were traitors working against the royal family – but then why go after a runaway prince at all? Ransom? They hadn’t exactly looked strapped for cash….

And why a bathhouse? Why not one the extremely defensible manor houses that were scattered throughout the upper echelons of the city??

Virgil let out a growl of frustration and came to a stop.

Roman’s injuries had been too systematic to have come from a fight. The northerners had tortured him.

And now he wanted to go back there?

It didn’t make any sense…unless of course the kidnappers had ordered him to go back…

Virgil took a deep breath and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to banish that thought. If he started thinking about the curse again he was going to lose it; end up in a spiral of what had they done and what had they missed and HOW were they supposed to protect him if-

“Virgil? Do you need me to count for seven?”

He forced his eyes open to meet Logan’s worried face and let out the breath he’d been holding in a rush.

“I’m good.” He told the younger man unconvincingly.

“We could go back-” Logan started, but Virgil shook his head.

As much as he bristled at being managed, he didn’t think Patton had been wrong to split the group.

Roman – or whatever they were calling him now– was barley recovered. He’d looked so small, propped up against the pillows without a lute or sword or smile between himself and the world.

Small and scared. And puffing himself up like a songbird trying to look big for a cat.

The four of them yelling for answers at once was only going to freak him out more. Patton had a much better chance getting information out of him one on one.

Still…

“You think we’re going got get anything useful out of this trip?” he asked Logan bluntly.

“The library of Stevenage is one of the greatest collections of written knowledge on the entire continent and in times of uncertainty, knowledge is our greatest weapon... and our greatest defence.” Logan told him, a serious look in his eye.

“Right.” Virgil nodded absently, “Do you think they’ve got a copy of ‘curse breaking for idiots?”

***

Roman woke up for the second time that day with a throbbing headache on top of his other aches and pains. He spent a few minutes cursing himself for not taking up Patton’s offer of willow tea before he’d gone back to sleep and then swung his legs out of the bed.

He needed to get up. He needed to relieve himself and wash and eat and and-

And figure out what to do next.

He needed to know if Remus was safe. If he was on the throne or locked up somewhere or worse.

Which meant going home.

Which meant getting away from his friends.

No one else was going to get hurt because of him and his petty little problems.

Nodding decisively to himself he sprung to his feet. And then swiftly sat back down as the world tilted alarmingly around him.

“Roman?” There was a polite knock at the door and Patton stuck his head in.

“Hey kiddo!” the big man smiled at him, “Are you hungry?”

Roman felt his heart rate speed up and tried to summon some of Romulus’ cool detachment. Patton knew about his curse. If anyone learned about his curse, they would try to exploit it. They would use it to hurt his family, to hurt-

Roman bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of anxiety. This was Patton.

Roman was more likely to be a burden to him then an opportunity.

Before he could manage to come up with a suitable greeting his stomach growled, loudly, making him blush and Patton laugh.

“Shall I bring something up? Or do you want to come sit at the table?”

“…Table.” Roman mumbled, keeping his eyes locked somewhere in the vicinity of Patton’s left ear. Even though he knew, in his head and in his heart, that Patton wasn’t going to hurt him - he still felt oddly vulnerable with his secret sitting between them. Attempting eye contact made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

His mother had always said Romulus was shy.

If Patton noticed his odd behaviour he didn’t mention it, nor did he insist on carrying Roman down the stairs or otherwise manhandling him. Instead he hovered at his elbow as he made his way from the room, keeping up a running commentary of the house as they descended the stairs.

The room that Roman had been staying in was the attic. Immediately outside the door was a set of stairs so steep they may as well have been a ladder. Patton must have been perched out here, Roman thought guilty, giving him space but close enough to hear him get up. At the base of these stairs was a short landing where most of the items normally stored in the attic were now haphazardly stacked.

“That’s Mama’s room.” Patton nodded at a closed door, as he gingerly ducked under a rolled-up carpet which was wedged against the wall. “And that’s the store cupboard”. At the base of the next steep flight was a hallway Roman recognised: kitchen at one end, main door at the other. There was another door opposite the stairs that he hadn’t noticed on his first visit, with a moon and stars motif painted at eye level.

“That’s her work room.” Patton told him, seeing Romans curious glance, “She’s asked us to stay out of there- it’s where she sees customers.”

Customers. Roman filed that thought away. He had almost forgotten they were in a witch’s house.

Patton took him straight through the kitchen, where a back door led into a narrow garden. The herb bed was surprisingly neat, given the haphazard nature of the house, with small labels pinned neatly next to each plant. At the far end were two wooden structures. “Storage shed.” Patton pointed, “Outhouse. Do you need help using it?”

Roman shook his head vehemently - clung to Patton’s arm briefly when the movement made him dizzy – and stomped to the outhouse to relieve himself.

After a few steps though he stopped.

Patton knew about the curse. And Patton wouldn’t hurt him so-

He could ask.

“Pat?“

“Yeah?” Patton – or at least his ear – looked concerned.

“I. um. My arm is…”

Virgil had instructed him to keep his arm still in his sling until the herbs had done their work and clearly, they hadn’t happened yet. The thing was still pinned across his chest.

Not that he couldn’t navigate the outhouse one handed if he had too. But his balance wasn’t exactly great at the moment and tripping in there was one humiliation he would have liked to avoid.

But then again, it’s not like his hand was any use. He would really just be freeing up the use of his elbow and why was even bothering Patton with something so stupid and embarrassing an-

“Roman. Hold your… hold your whole body however you like.”

He nodded jerkily as his shoulder relaxed for the first time since waking up, letting his arm drop a little lower.

He didn’t look at Patton as he made his escape to the outhouse.

***

When he returned Patton had pulled a tin bathtub from who-knows-where onto the slab of paving stone by the kitchen door and was testing the water’s temperature with his elbow.

“Virgil left us some potions.” He told Roman as he approached – “This is another one to help healing and this-” he held up a red tinted bottle “-should give us bubbles!”

Roman stared at the bath almost hungrily. Hot water was a luxury under normal circumstances and between the travel, the bath house and the fever he knew he must reek of sweat and dirt. Surely, he deserved a little pampering before the journey North?

“It’s still too hot.” Patton warned him before he could launch himself into the water. Instead, the other man gestured to a pretty wrought iron table and two chairs set against the left side fence. He produced bread and jam alongside a mug of tea, advising him to eat slowly as went to grab another bucket of water from the cauldron simmering away in Tay’s kitchen.

Although Patton had been careful not to make an order, Roman still made sure he followed his instructions carefully. He had no desire to make himself sick. Or to make more work for the other man.

He pulled his bread apart into small bites and ate them one at a time, watching Patton critically as he limped his way back to the table.

“Did you get hurt…in the bathhouse?”

“…A few bruises.” Patton told him honestly, spreading a thick layer of jam on his own bread, “Nothing too bad”

“I’m sorry.” Roman said again, pulling his remaining bread into smaller and smaller pieces.

“Ro-man!” Patton said cheerfully – “you don’t need to apologise! It was those Ornelly guys that hit me not you!”

“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

Roman hunched and cursed himself. Sorry sorry sorry. Couldn’t he say anything useful?

“Roman hey – can you look at me please?”

It took more effort than he would have liked, but Roman did. Patton’s eyes were big and blue and very, very kind. Roman jerked his gaze away immediately.

“None of us blame you for what happened. Okay?”

“You got hurt because of me.” Roman blurted. “Logan nearly died- “

“I told you, that was on the Ornellans, not you-“

“Who were there specifically because of me! That excuse doesn’t work Pat I-“

He cut himself off, eyes glued to the floor once more. Hadn’t he just decided he didn’t want to cause any more trouble?

“Sorry.”

He heard Patton sigh and tried not to flinch, but when the other man spoke his voice was still gentle. “How many bubbles do you want?”

***

Whenever Virgil got upset, he always wanted space. It was something Patton found difficult, as his instinct was to smother the other man with affection until he smiled again, but experience had given him the patience to wait until his friend was ready.

When Logan got upset, he always claimed he needed space – but what he really wanted was an audience. He needed to talk through the problem, often at length, and know that someone was listening, even if he didn’t always want their advice.

Roman though – Roman liked attention. Roman liked fuss and pampering and his favourite food and to know, demonstrably, that someone was worried about him.

It didn’t mean he was great at asking for it. Patton remembered vividly his insistence on hopping half a mile on a twisted ankle before Patton had all but begged him to accept a piggyback.

He also remembered a time after a poorly received show when Roman had spent the evening sulking, sighing loudly and dramatically and slumping against each of them in turn until Patton had laughingly pulled him into a hug. Oh my god Vigil had snarked were you not hugged enough as a child?

It had been funny. At the time. Sort of.

Not so much now.

Since lying back against the tub’s rim would aggravate the wounds on his back, Roman was hunched forward in the tub, his bandaged arm hanging over the edge.

“Did I ever tell you how Virgil and I met?” Patton asked, settling on his knees next to the tub.

Roman twitched. There was a tactic agreement amongst the four of them not to discuss their pasts. This was more than fine with Patton, who was much more concerned with making new, happy memories then revisiting old ones, but he didn’t blame Roman and Logan for being curious.

Whenever the pair were on watch together, conversation often turned to whispered debate over the southern pair’s origin. Whilst he felt a bit bad for pretending to be asleep, Patton quite enjoyed their speculation.

His favourite was the circus performer theory. Virgil would probably has made a good acrobat.

“It was in the war.” he continued, scooping up some of the water and wetting Roman’s hair.

“I um. I volunteered you know? All the boys in my town did. I think we thought- well I know I thought it was the right thing to do. Finaley’ed was the enemy after all, we had to keep our families safe.”

He chuckled sadly, focusing on making sure every strand of Roman’s hair was damp before gently capturing a handful of bubbles and placing them on the other man’s head.

“Made you a crown.” he giggled.

Roman turned just enough to peak at him incredulously through one eye and Patton winced.

“Right. Sorry.”

Roman turned away again but Patton though he saw him suppressing a smile. Score!

“Um anyway” – he poured a measure of oil from one of Virgil’s bottles and rubbed it between his fingers before leaning over to begin massaging Roman’s scalp – “It was okay at first. I was in a regiment with all my friends, it was a bit of an adventure honestly.”

“And then there was this Major. He came to inspect us before we got done training and he – he said I was good. That I should get a chance to really make a difference in the war.”

He dragged his fingers through Roman’s hair, gently detangling the strands.

“He put me in a new regiment. All big guys. Like me. And they- they gave us this – I’m not even sure what it was. My buddy Micha used to say it was ground up swamp frogs but I don’t know.”

He started scooping up water again, rinsing some of the bubbles and oil from Roman’s hair.

“It made us…strong. Angry. Scary. Berserk well– that was the point. I don’t. um.” Some of the water sloshed over his cupped palms and Patton realised he was shivering.

“I killed a lot of people…. I mean I definitely made a difference to them.” He finished bitterly.

“…s’not your fault.” Patton glanced up to see Roman had twisted to look at him, was doing his best to maintain eye contact despite Patton’s confession. Patton smiled at him. Roman really was a sweet kid.

“It’s what I signed up for kiddo. Just faster.”

He sighed, nudging Roman gently to turn around so that he could finish rinsing his hair. “I’m not. I’m not saying it’s the same as what you’ve gone through. I know it isn’t. Just – I get it. A little. What it’s like not having any control.”

For a moment they sat in silence, the only sound the trickle of water as Patton continued lifting handfuls to Roman’s scalp.

Then the bard let out a shuddering breath and said: “My major’s name was Julius.”

“Oh?” Patton whispered.

“He was my dad’s friend. He was supposed to find a way to break the curse, but he didn’t. Then he just…started helping me figure out how to live with it. He was helping me. He was supposed to be…”

Roman took a deep breath “He’s the reason I-ack.” He broke off, coughing. Patton reached forward to hold him up, alarmed.

“Ro?”

“I’m okay.” But he didn’t look it, red faced and scowling. “I-” he gripped Patton’s arm looking right into his eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

Patton nodded slowly, understanding. “You can’t – not because you don’t want to.”

Roman nodded.

Patton frowned. “Can I – could I order you too? I could undo what Virgil said about your arm right?”

Roman sighed shaking his head. “The curse is. It’s fickle. But words are important -if you don’t know what you’re contradicting it’s almost impossible and Julius he – he was very good at giving orders.”

“Right.” Patton frowned. “What if I guess? Like Logan figured out the curse?”

“You can try.” Roman laughed bitterly.

“Hmm okay – was he the reason you left home?”

Roman span around so quickly water splashed over the side of the tub. “Patton! How’d you know?”

“Well gee kiddo! The frog pills didn’t rattle too many cells loose!” Patton laughed tapping the side of his head. Then frowned. “Well, I hope not…”

Roman winced. “Patton I – I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

“Well.” Patton smiled sadly, “Likewise Ro-Romulus.”

The other man sighed, sinking low in the tub again. “I liked being Roman.” he blurted out suddenly, a look of abject misery on his face.

“Then – why stop?” Patton whispered.

“I-” He frowned. “I would like to not be naked for this conversation.”

“That’s fair.” Patton nodded and helped him to his feet.

***

By the time Roman was up, towelled off and dressed in one of Patton’s old shirts that he had long ago claimed as a sleep shirt, he looked about ready to pass out again. Patton left him sitting at the table to finish drying in the sunshine whilst he dashed upstairs to change the sheets on the attic bed. When he returned with the laundry pile, he found that Mittens had emerged and settled himself on the bard’s– the prince’s – lap.

Roman looked up at him guilty - “Your allergies.”

“It’s easier outside.” Patton waved him off. Mittens had been the key to them finding Roman, as far as Patton on was concerned, the cat’s comfort was worth a few sneezes.

He took a seat at the table and nudged the remaining bread towards Roman, who took it hungrily, eating with much more enthusiasm than before the bath.

“So you were saying...” Patton prompted.

Roman pouted at him, cheeks stuffed with bread.

“’u first.” he swallowed, “You never got to how you met Virgil. Was he in the berserkers – in the special regiment too?”

“Oh, no.” Patton shook his head vehemently. “Virgil wasn’t like me. He was a conscript – for the other side.”

An exceptionally fat bumble bee had found Tay’s herb garden and was repeatedly bouncing off the side of some chives. Patton focused on the bewildered looking insect rather than Roman’s face and his finished the story.

“A small group of us had got separated from the rest. It was quite deep in the forest, away from the main battle. We were meant to find their camp and pick them off there, but we couldn’t find them. And then we couldn’t find the way back.”

The bee, finally free of the chives, crashed headfirst into a Rosemary bush.

“It was like… like my blood was on fire. We hadn’t been so long without it before. And then...”

“And then?”

“We stumbled on a group of them. Of Finaley’ii soldiers. And there was a fight.” Patton closed his eyes. Screams and sobs and blood on his sword and in his eyes and Micha gasping uselessly around the arrow in his throat “I don’t remember it much. But when it was over it was like I…woke up.”

He smiled.

“And there he was. Virgil. Pointing s crossbow right at my face.”

“He what!” Roman yelped and Patton laughed.

“Well, we were on opposite sides kiddo and I had just…well. The thing was, it was only us left then. No one was ordering to kill each other and so we just…didn’t. Neither of us was in any big rush to find our armies again so….”

“Virgil asked me to help him find his mom, so we headed east. We couldn’t find her, so he said he’d help me find my town and we went west. That was gone too.”

“The whole town?” Roman as looking at him with sorrowful eyes.

“That’s the problems with wars kiddo – they don’t stay in one place.”

“What about your family?”

Patton shrugged. Mittens hopped down from Roman’s lap and began to stalk the errant bee.

“Maybe they got away. I hope so.” He glanced at Roman again. “Virgil was the one who suggested we keep going west. Get away entirely, see if we could find any refugees, look for our families.” He smiled fondly. “He’s always been the brave one, not me.”

“And – and did you?” Roman asked. He was bent forward, eyes fixed on Patton’s own.

“No.” Patton sighed. “I like to think they’re safe and sound somewhere. Set up a new house, found new people to care for. Like I did. But… “

He trailed off. But most likely they were dead. Like Patton should be.

“What if…if you knew where they were.” Roman said quietly, “Would you go see them- check on them?”

Patton rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the multitude of scars that littered the right side. “I don’t know.” He told Roman honestly. “I would like to know if they were okay but…I don’t know if they’d want to see me.”

Roman nodded.

On the other side of the garden, there was a sudden yowling from the rosemary bush. Mittens came charging towards them with his tail fluffed up and circled Roman’s chair twice before leaping onto the fence.

Patton giggled – “Well that’s what you get for trying to fight a bee you silly cat!”

“I think my brothers in danger.” Roman said in a rush.

Patton blinked.

“Your brother?”

He was back to staring down. Both fists clenched tightly together. “I left him. Back home. I thought I-” he coughed again. “I thought he would be safe but now I’m not sure.”

“In danger from what kiddo?”

“From Julius.” Roman breathed. “I saw him. Or. Or I think I did.”

Slowly, haltingly, Roman told him about meeting the Marquis. About the bathhouse basement and the northern soldiers and the figure he called the grey man who had slipped in and out of Julius’ face.

Patton did his best to keep his own face clam as Roman casually described being forced to hurt himself, even as his own knuckles turned white from his grip on the chairs’ arm.

“He said he had sent Lucius to the inn after some – some escaped prisoner? And he found me. But Lucius knew about the curse and he never did before so- “

“Roman?” Patton interrupted. “Sorry - can I give you a hug?”

“Oh!” Roman blinked at him, blushing slightly, “If you – if you want to?”

“I really do.” Patton scrambled to his feet, wrapping the younger man in his arms and feeling Roman sag against him. He resisted the urge to squeeze, mindful of his injuries. “You’re safe now.” He whispered. “I gottcha.”

Roman giggled wetly against his chest. “Julius. He said he’d assumed I’d died.” He mumbled. “But now that he knows I’m around? He’ll try again Pat I know he will. I- “

He drew back, looking up at Patton with tear filled eyes. “I can’t risk you all getting hurt because of me.”

“That’s not your decision to make Roman.” Patton told him softly. “We think you’re worth the risk.”

“But I’m not Roman.” He whimpered. He hadn’t relinquished his grip on Patton, who began to run his hand soothingly up and down the prince’s back.

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m not Patton.” Patton rested his head on top of Roman’s own. “Me and Vigil picked new names after we left the war and I – I like being Patton.”

There was a pause. Roman squeezed a little tighter.

“I like Patton too.”

Patton laughed; some tension he hadn’t realised he was holding draining away. When Roman drew back this time, he had a shaky smile on his face.

“So.” He stepped back, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist. “I need to…go back north. Check on my brother. Avoid Julius and Lucius and anyone connected with Romulus. You sure that’s worth the risk?”

“Yep!” Patton said instantly. “And we need to break the curse!”

“I guess.” Roman shrugged. “I really do think it’s impossible Pat’.”

“Eh.” Patton waved a hand dismissively “That’s never stopped Logan before.”

When Roman laughed then, he almost sounded like himself.

If you enjoyed this chapter please hit ~ reblog ~

#roman sanders #patton sanders #royality #sanders sides fic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #creativitwins #sanders sides #ts: fall of Romulus #this chapter ended up ENORMOUS #i had to cut it in two #rip analogical library times we will get to you next week.#sidespart writes

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starryeyedweeb · 4 years ago

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Valentine’s Day with BNHA

A/N: I know it’s late for Valentine’s Day, but this is about the fifth time I’ve tried posting this because every other time it never got a single note even though all of my other stuff does pretty well??? So not to be that person, but if you see this I’m begging you to give it some love because it’s one of my favorites!

*DISCLAIMER*: As I’m over eighteen, I write all underaged characters aged up to be eighteen or older.

Contains: As always, sickly-sweet fluff; gender-neutral

Characters Included: Todoroki Shoto, Bakugou Katsuki, Yaoyorozu Momo, Shigaraki Tomura, Dabi/Todoroki Touya, Aizawa Shota

Valentine’s Day with...

Bakugou Katsuki

As expected, Bakugou thinks that Valentine’s Day is kind of ridiculous and isn’t too keen on celebrating

When his friends ask him what he’s planned for the holiday, it results in a bit of a rant

“Valentine’s is a shitty holiday for shitty partners to try and make up for being shitty. I take them on dates and spoil them all the time, so why should I make a big deal about a random day in February?”

But because he wasn’t a shitty partner, he knows he has to do something for you

“Oi, do you want to go hiking?” he asks shortly on Valentine’s morning, already dressed for the occasion. “We can go to that spot you’ve wanted see for a while.”

You agree- eagerly.

You honestly weren’t the biggest fan of hiking until you started dating Bakugou, who’s obsessed with it

It’s like meditation to him- one of the best ways for him to find a calm and clear mindset- and the two of you always have your best conversations when you’re out on a hike

Plus he looks amazing in his hiking clothes

The trail in question is further outside the city than most, and when you arrive, it’s pleasantly deserted

With backpacks swung over your shoulders, the two of you start down the rough path, which cuts through a thick forest

When you first started hiking, you could barely keep up with Bakugou, but you had gotten much better at it over time and are now able to comfortably keep pace with him, even holding his hand part of the time

The trail is mainly uphill, though, and periodically he will all but force a water bottle into your hands

“Get a drink. I don’t want you getting all dehydrated on me.”

When you reach the peak of the trail, which is a flat clearing overlooking the city below, Bakugou indicates for you to sit down and pulls out two bento boxes that he had packed prior to the event

Though there’s nothing heart-shaped nor unnaturally red or pink inside, the box is sweetly filled with all of your favorite bento foods

And of course, they all taste amazing

“Katsuki, this is so good!”

“I know.”

“Come on.” You playfully push his arm, feeling his muscles rippling beneath his jacket. “Seriously, though, thank you. Life has been so crazy lately, and this little break was perfect.”

“So you’re not upset we didn’t do anything more, I don’t know...” he trails off, furrowing his brow and running a hand through his hair, “...on theme?”

“Of course not. Stuff like that is for shitty partners who use a holiday as an excuse to make up for being shitty. They’ll go right back to their behavior the moment the day is over.” You interlace your fingers in his and hold his arm with your free hand. “This was perfect.”

Bakugou can’t resist a smirk and short chuckle at your sentiment, realizing exactly why he’s with you

“Hey, what’s that look for?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Kiss.”

You reach up and press your lips to his, and his arms wrap around your body, holding you close

When you pull away, you cast a glance out at the tranquil cityscape below and reluctantly check the time.

“Do you think we should head back down?” you ask.

“No. I want to stay here a little while longer.”

Todoroki Shoto

As one of the top heroes, Todoroki Shoto is a hard man to get alone, but you have high hopes for Valentine’s Day.

On the morning of February 14, the two of you check into the luxury hotel he had booked for a romantic staycation, awaiting an entire day of activities planned around the resort: lunch and dinner reservations, a couple’s massage, seeing the hotel’s nightly show...

Only for it to all be completely foiled before it even starts when Shoto gets an urgent call about a villain incident gone badly wrong, with as many heroes as possible desperately needed to help.

“Go ahead and do everything we had planned,” he urges as he’s leaving, rushing through a parting kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

But you know that it’s not going to be as simple as “I’ll be right back.”

The moment the door shuts behind him, you can’t help but turn on the TV and flip to the news, trying to find out just what Shoto had gotten himself into

The danger of the situation makes you sick with anxiety, and you have to turn it off almost immediately for the sake of your own sanity

Trying to follow his wishes, you go through the motions of the day you had planned, but instead of reaping the intended benefits of rest and relaxation, your brain is completely clouded with worry for Shoto’s safety

Which is only amplified when the hotel lobby has the news on with a crowd of people clumped together before it to see what’s going on, and the receptionist approaches you to ask if you’re alright

Dark falls with no sign of Shoto, but your heart leaps when you get the news notification that the battle is over

You turn the news back on for live coverage of the heroes that participated being interviewed about the events, but your stomach knots once again when you see no sign of Shoto

They haven’t mentioned any casualties, you wonder, but have they missed him or something?

When a knock echoes throughout the room, a cold feeling of dread washes over your body

You freeze and merely stare at the door, sure you’re about to receive the news that’s the worst nightmare of any partner of a hero

Until the door opens, and reveals Shoto holding a bouquet the size of his torso, looking a bit battered but otherwise alright

You launch yourself across the room, and he drops the flowers to engulf you in his arms

“God, Shoto,” you sob. “No matter how long I’ve been with you, waiting and worrying never gets any easier.”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs back, stroking your hair. “But I’m here now. I’m fine. I ran here the moment I could get away.”

When you finally allow him to pull away, he hands you the flowers, and you call room service for a vase and a first-aid kit

You sit Shoto on the bed and tend to his minor wounds, then order some of your favorite comfort foods for a very late dinner

Shoto is never one to discuss his missions right after the fact, so instead you just talk about nonsense things, like the most recent episode of your favorite show to watch together, and where the two of you wanted to go on your next vacation

Afterward, the two of you lay in the dark, so tangled together that it’s nearly impossible to tell who’s whom

Neither of you are tired at all, realizing fully that the privilege of getting to hold each other like you are was almost taken away that day

You feel your eyes start to well up at just how much you love the man next to you, realizing how much you need him

Shoto seems to sense that you’re going to a dark place, so he traces his fingers lightly against your cheek and breaks the silence.

“I forgot to tell you. I extended our stay here so we can still celebrate like we were planning to. I’m sorry I had to go today.”

“Shoto, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cup his cheek back, a few tears spilling out of your eyes as they meet his. “I’m just so glad you’re safe and that you’re here with me.”

Yaoyorozu Momo

Recently, an adorable little paint-your-own-pottery studio had opened on yours and Momo’s route home

You two had always meant to go for a fun date, but never really had the time, so when a Valentine’s event is announced, you both leap at the opportunity and reserve your spots right away

When Valentine’s Day arrives, you and Momo show up half an hour early for the event, wearing coordinating shades of red and pink

Laughing at your accidental matching, the two of you kill the time until the event begins by taking a million photos together

When the doors to the shop open and you’re finally allowed in, Momo’s eyes nearly pop out of her head in excitement, and you just know it’s going to become a regular date spot for the two of you

The shop is decorated like a romantic tea shop straight out of a cheesy movie, with lace doilies marking work stations, faux roses as centerpieces, and red, white, and pink balloons covering the ceiling

The special event involves painting spindly teacups with handles shaped like hearts, the workstations supplied with punch and sweets, all colored and shaped for the holiday

“Look at these!” She exclaims, picking up the ceramic cup at her workstation. “What should we paint on them?”

“Why don’t we do a matching design?” you suggest. “That way we can remember this even better.”

“Yes, let’s do that!” she agrees. “What design should we do, then?”

You two decide to keep it simple: paint the mugs solid baby pink, stamp tiny red hearts all around, and then Momo would use her elegant handwriting and paint both of your initials in calligraphy on one of the faces.

You ready your stations and sit shoulder-to-shoulder as you work, chatting and giggling the entire time, occasionally nudging each other playfully with your legs

“Could you hold the cup at this angle for me while I do the calligraphy?” she requests, which gives you an excuse to sit even closer to her, the scent of her rosy perfume engulfing you

“I wish I had handwriting like that,” you whine, watching her paint the graceful swirls of your initials, followed by the date below.

“I can teach you,” she offers, coming to stand behind you. “Here.”

She puts her hand over yours, and guides it along in the shape of the letters, her free arm looping around the front of your shoulders in a casual hug

“See? You’ve done it!”

“It still doesn’t look nearly as good as yours.”

“Well, my heart stamps don’t look nearly as good as yours. I don’t think I applied enough pressure.” She returns to her own seat, stares at you for a few moments, then giggles. “Speaking of, you’ve got paint on your face. Come here.”

You lean forward so she can wipe off the paint with a gentle touch, and she places a kiss on the now-clean spot.

“There. All better.”

When the two of you finish painting the mugs, you turn them into the counter so they can be finished in the kiln, then sit by the window of the shop to enjoy your sweets while you wait

“I’m very excited about these cups,” Momo says, reaching out for your hand. “They’ll be a lovely little keepsake.”

“Me, too,” you agree, resting your head on her shoulder. “It’ll be nice to have tea in them every evening.”

“Exactly. And if there’s ever a time when we have to be separated, whether it be for hero work or some other reason, we can bring our cups with us to remember that the other is always there, waiting to come have tea together.”

Shigaraki Tomura:

Despite his villainous ideals, in romance, Shiggy is actually quite sweet, if not a little clumsy

When you first became close to him, his unhealthy lifestyle and lack of self-care worried you, so you made a habit of cooking for Shigaraki, and leaving a week’s worth of nutritious meals in the League’s fridge for him

He had never revealed this to you, but he appreciated it so much, and wanted to return the favor

When Toga mentioned something about Valentine’s Day, he knew that it was his perfect opportunity, and made his plans by ordering everyone of the League to get out and stay out for the night

He then did some research about something good to make you, wracking his brain to try and remember what you’ve mentioned liking, until he remembers a very important fact:

He can’t cook.

At all.

Has never even once tried.

Which poses an obvious problem.

He panicked for a few moments, until he landed on a new, and possibly better, idea

When you arrive for the date, dressed comfortably (because, as much as you love Shigaraki, you know that there’s no way you’ll be going out for Valentine’s Day), you’re a little bit surprised to find him standing in the kitchen

“Shiggy?” You approach the counter warily. “What are we doing tonight?”

“I can’t cook. I want to know how.”

“You want me to teach you how to cook?”

“Yes. I want to know how to make your favorite meal.”

“Okay. That’s simple enough.” You make to join him in the kitchen, but he blocks your path.

“No. I want to make this for you. Just sit down and...tell me what to do.”

That proves to be quite a bit more difficult, as you never truly understood just how hard it would be to explain cooking to someone that has never used more than a microwave before

The music you had put on in the background was quickly drowned out by his frustrated swears, and you can tell that there are times when he almost loses his temper, but holds it together for the sake of your Valentine’s gift

A couple of utensils do fall victim to his decay, though, and he subtly tries to sweep the remains away in embarrassment.

At one point, his poor knife technique leaves a decently sized cut on his finger, and you jump into action, running for a First-Aid kit

“I’m not a child,” he mutters as you clean the small wound, avoiding your eyes.

“I know,” you reply lightly, pressing a playful kiss to the bandage you had just secured.

As Shigaraki comes close to finishing the meal, you raid Kurogiri’s stores for your favorite bottle of wine, pouring two glasses and setting them out on the table.

“Does this look right?” Shigaraki asks once the final timer goes off, warily holding out his creation.

“You tell me,” you answer. “I’ve made this for you before. It looks the same to me.”

When the two of you sit down and portion out the meal, Shigarki neglects his own plate as he watches you take your first bite

You fight to keep your face neutral, because honestly, it’s god awful, even though you had been right there the whole time, telling him exactly what to do

But you really didn’t expect anything more from a first time-cook, and even though the flavor is completely wrong, you still enjoy it, because you can practically taste how much this prickly mass-murderer actually cares for you

And as twisted as your situation is, you wouldn’t change it for the world

“Is it good?” Shigaraki mumbles from across the table, pulling you from your thoughts.

You take a sip of your wine. “Thank you so much, Tomura. This was such a thoughtful gift. I really appreciate it.”

“I knew it. It’s shit.” He pushes his own plate away in frustration. “I just wanted to pay back a favor and I can’t even do that right.”

“Shig, what did I just say? I appreciate this so much.” You round the table to his seat, rubbing his shoulders and planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Of course your first attempt doesn’t work. But that gives us something new to do together. For tonight, we’ll order some takeout, but starting tomorrow, I’ll give you another cooking lesson, and then another, and another, and another... as many as it takes until you can make a whole meal for me by yourself. Deal?”

He meets your gaze with a puppy-dog expression, placing his palms over where your hands rested on his chest.

“Deal.”

Dabi/Todoroki Touya:

Let’s just say that Dabi isn’t one to ignore traditions.

He’s one to very openly and dramatically oppose them.

You were anxious if not a little worried to see what he was going to have planned for Valentine’s Day- but, honestly, as his partner, you’re equally as unconventional in your own ideals

And he doesn’t disappoint, coming home with tickets to a ghost tour at the most haunted spot in town.

“Do they even do these on Valentine’s Day?”

“Obviously. That’s when I got the tickets for.” He shrugs. “Apparently it’s a thing that people do.”

“Hopefully not very many people. You know how we hate crowds.”

“And hopefully it’s not overtly themed for this asinine holiday.” He takes your waist and whispers the next words in your ear. “The idea of a dark room and an invisible audience is romantic enough.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“I just made you more excited, didn’t I?”

“You’ll have to wait until the day to find out.”

When Valentine’s Day arrives, you dress for the occasion and meet Dabi at a glamorous hotel in an older part of town

Before the tour begins, the guide allows the guests to go to the bar for some drinks, and begin to tell the story of the hotel and the paranormal activity that had sparked the attraction

Dabi seems uninterested, taking in the architecture of the historic buidling and peering down random hallways

“I’m getting bored of this,” he mutters in your ear. “I’m ready to see something interesting.”

“Shh, Dabi, I’m trying to listen,” you whisper back.

He responds by pinching your ass. “So, are you in a naughty mood tonight? Noted.”

“Stop it,” you mutter, lightly pushing him away, but your flushed skin is a dead giveaway to how you truly feel about the situation.

When the tour actually starts, you and Dabi round out the end of the group as it descends into a long, dark hallway.

Eventually, you feel Dabi’s hand leave its spot around your waist, but you’re so distracted listening the tour guide tell stories at the front to even notice.

Until cold hands grab you from you behind and give you a violent shake, growling animalistically in your ear

You let out a terrified scream, but the laugh that comes after is all-too-familiar

“Dammit, Dabi!” you gasp, doubling over to your breath and quiet your heartbeat.

“Aha.” His hands trail down your sides and squeeze your waist. “Gotcha.”

You eventually reach the main event of the tour, which is an old storeroom that had been unused for years due to the intense paranormal activity

Dabi actually stood still next to you with his arm slung around your shoulders, interested for the first time that night as the guide used the ghost box and actually got answers from the spirits that occupied the room.

Though there are a few times when you have to stop him from pulling some prank to scare the other people taking the tour, trying to convince them that they’re actually in immediate danger of possession

When the event is over, however, and the guide is ushering people back down the hallway, Dabi pulls you into a closet, igniting a small flame on his palm and pressing a finger to his lips

When the noise of the crowd filing out is gone, he presses forward forcefully and starts to bury you in deep, passionate kisses

“Wait, wait.” You pull back once you realize what his idea is. “Isn’t this a little...scary?”

“Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

Aizawa Shota

Valentine’s Day happened to fall around one of Aizawa’s busiest times at UA, and he was so tied up and tired that you had barely seen one another lately.

So, when he remembers what’s coming up and drowsily asks you what you want to do for Valentine’s Day, you surprise him.

“I’ve already made plans for us,” you reveal, handing him a printed itinerary. “I booked us a spot at a day spa. Those are all the treatments we’ll be doing.”

“Why’d you choose this? I’m curious.”

“You need some time to relax, and I want to spend time with you when your mind is on something other than which one of your students is going to get broken next.”

“Fair enough.”

On the morning of, the two of you check into the spa, and are instructed to go change into the fluffy bathrobes they provided

“Do I really have to put this on?” he complains, holding it as one might hold a dirty diaper.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask, already changed into yours.

“I don’t know how I feel about my chest being out on display like this.”

“Well, I’ll like it.” You snake your hand up his shirt and rake your nails down his skin. “C’mon. We’re going to be late for our couple’s massage.”

Once Aizawa has reluctantly changed, the two of you start off your day with massages and facials

You had arranged for him to get a special eye treatment, and the small sounds of relief from his table reveals that your gift is very much appreciated.

“Are you relaxed?” you inquire as you move on from the massage room to your next destination.

“More relaxed I’ve been since I stepped through the doors of UA for the first time.”

“Well, are you relaxed enough to get a hair treatment?”

“Honestly? Bring it on.”

When Aizawa is laying back in a chair, a towel wrapped around his head and a styling cape draped over his robe, you can’t help but snap photos of the slightly comical scene

“Are you taking pictures?” he grumbles.

“Do you mind that I am?”

“Just as long as my students never see it.”

“Noted,” you reply, adding the photo to an album of embarrassing pictures you planned to show them at the end of the term.

After finishing the hair treatment- Aizawa’s hair looking better than you could ever dream yours would- and moving on to a high-tech infrared light treatment, you finished out the day with a soak in the spa’s top-rate onsen, reserved for just the two of you

You sit in comfortable silence in the hot water, bodies pressed close to each other

Shota’s arm was draped around your shoulder, and you loosely held the hand that fell across your body

When you lay your ear on his chest, you notice that his heartbeat is the calmest you’ve ever heard it

“So, did the spa serve its purpose?” you ask, tilting your head up to gaze at him.

“It did. Though I think it was less the spa’s doing, and more the fact that I spent an entire day with you.”

You hum happily, reaching up and tapping his chin. “Nice and well rested now, are you? You sure look pretty.”

He chuckles lightly, running a hand through your hair. “So do you.”

“Well, there’s still about an hour left until our dinner reservation,” you observe, noticing the clock on the wall. “Is there anything you want to do to kill the time before then?”

“We’re both sitting in hot water, naked,” he replies matter-of-factly. “The answer should be obvious.”

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wings-of-a-storm · 4 years ago

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Alrighty lovely peeps, here is the final part of my thoughts on Victor’s infamous ‘love-triangle’ journey in episodes 9-10 (and why the undercurrent is full of Benji).

MOURNING A LIFE WITH A LOVER ALMOST LOST: HURT AND ANGER

Our first understanding of how Victor is holding up in episode ten is through the visual of the wedding invitation he is holding. It’s a very strong visual with so many connotations -- weddings are romantic, full of love and celebration, and most importantly a lifelong commitment to a loved one. That is Victor’s dream too and one he was working hard on (not necessarily a marriage but certainly a life-long commitment). But the person he wants to work on that commitment with isn’t talking to him and quite likely easing them into a separation.

What is even more of a mockery is the envelope -- Victor and Benji’s names are printed together in gorgeous cursive, like they are a team, a unit, a done deal. It’s almost like how their own wedding invitation might look, if they ever wanted to have one. But it is a dream that only exists on a piece of paper right now.

It is clear in this scene that Victor is feeling a mix of three things: sad, hurt, and anger. The anger is quite clear when he puts the invitation aside with the shake of his head. He’s angry that Benji ditched the wedding commitment last minute, yes, but no doubt a lot of that anger is born from how hurt he is that Benji is seemingly giving up on them. A glance at his unanswered message to Simon where he says something similar confirms it.

This anger is channeled into a practical matter -- the etiquette faux pas of being a last-minute wedding guest now messing up catering. Victor needs to find a substitute plus one (which to be honest feels like a plot device but shh). Enter Rahim, sans Pilal. Once again, Rahim is a welcome friend that Victor knows he will have fun with, be comfortable around, and more importantly experience a nice distraction with again.

Fast-forward to the next key scene, for me: Victor’s fascinating response to hearing Harold’s and Veronica’s wedding vows. Which brings me to:

VICTOR’S DESPERATION FOR SOMEONE TO LOVE HIM ENOUGH TO FIGHT / BUILDING A SAFETY NET P2

Guess what themes happen to be in the wedding vows Victor hears? A) Fighting for a relationship you love. B) Not giving up on someone in the tough moments.

“I know there will be tough days but it's on those days that I vow to love you the hardest” / “I vow to always remember that we are worth fighting for. Forever. No matter what.”

Gee, what an extraordinary coincidence!

And what does Victor do in response to hearing a loving couple voice his own feelings and goals? He looks at Rahim. Or rather, to Rahim. He knows Rahim is a romantic (like himself and Benji are), so he knows Rahim would share those goals too. And Rahim certainly is transfixed by the vows, very much feeling their sentiments too.

Rahim just ticked a box Victor is currently desperate for: someone who looks like they value fighting to beat the odds for the person they love, unlike what Benji is seemingly doing. Victor can project that onto Rahim. In reality, there is no way of knowing what Rahim would actually do in a relationship, but he feels safe right now.

It rather feels like VIctor was trying to distance himself from Benji in that moment and find a sanctuary with someone else who would give him the love and commitment he really needs right now. Like a protective, defense mechanism. He is so terrified that Benji has reached his limit of fight; that this time their argument and Victor’s breach of trust pushed Benji too far and Victor will end up severed from him and alone. With each hour Victor is closer to processing the end of that relationship and is now trying to put up a shield to block the impending tsunami of pain that he really doesn’t want to be hit by.

BENJI MAKES HIS OWN VOW

Victor doesn’t know it yet but we, the audience, get a hint of good news: the romantic vow exchange cuts to Benji staring at a picture of Victor on instagram, clearly missing him. From that piece of storytelling timing, we know what that probably means… (Flashback please to Benji’s declaration of “I don’t think I could give up on you. Even if I wanted to.”)

Benji is fighting. Or trying to.

What seals the deal is the beautiful conversation Isabel has with him -- her promise that Victor adores him and that Victor did actually stand up for Benji to the point of impressing her with his moxy. For a lot of the season, that is so much of what Benji needed -- to know he was worth standing up for, fighting for. Gee, what a familiar theme…

The next time we see Benji, he has come to the wedding reception, after his shift, as Victor’s belated plus one. His appearance symbolizes a promise, a vow of his own that is yet to be said out loud: that he is committed to fighting for their relationship to work.

I found that a really nice piece of storytelling -- that Benji is linked to the wedding vows at Brasstown and then fulfils them (or at least will try to make the sentiment a reality as best he can).

VICTOR’S CROSSROAD

Unfortunately for Benji, Victor does feel a connection with Rahim. New friendship is exciting and thrilling on its own let alone having the opportunity to suddenly slow dance with that person. Lines can get blurred. Plus the atmosphere is completely romantic and Victor has never had the opportunity to experience this particular romantic act before.

Victor and Rahim spend quite some time staring deep into each other’s eyes without even saying a word to interrupt the Moment. Because it is a legitimate moment of intimacy between the two. Which is exactly why Victor doesn’t stop immediately and run straight to Benji as soon as he notices Benji has come to see him. His head is still half in the Moment and it is tricky to extricate himself from Rahim.

That Moment is also why Victor doesn’t keep chasing Benji through the yard after Benji sasses him with his ‘Sure, Jan’ energy after Victor insists Rahim is just a friend.

Consciously Victor thinks he is telling the truth, but his “That was crazy, I’m not allowed to have a friend?” defense had the same energy as S1 Benji’s “I know I didn’t do anything wrong when you kissed me!” before scuttling his ass out of Brasstown with all of his belongings. Hello guilt.

The question is how much is Rahim a friend-cum-something-more. Which is the crossroad Victor finds himself at when Rahim confesses his feelings and kisses him.

We have Rahim who confessed so sweetly and endearingly, who at this moment is comfort and warmth and safety because Rahim isn't going to break up with Victor any time soon. And whom Victor does feel a connection with.

And we have Victor’s relationship with Benji which feels like a dying ember, especially now that Benji is even more furious at Victor and it will be a very hard battle to win him back around again. It won't be a romantic running into each other's arms moment if they were to reunite…

So Victor has a dilemma to figure out now in Mia’s room: does he fight a very hard uphill battle with Benji to win him over (a fight filled with inevitable painful emotions being unleashed), or does he just let it go since that appears to be the trajectory for them... Or does he try exploring things with Rahim where there is a 100% success rate guaranteed in the short-term if he accepts Rahim’s declaration…

If the big theme of this episode is vowing to love someone on their tough days and committing yourself to a relationship worth fighting for (something Victor had been obsessing over even before he heard the wedding vows), it would feel like a strange conclusion for Victor to choose Rahim over the partner who proved he was mutually willing to fight for their relationship against the odds, especially when they have already been tested through tough times and found their way through. (And of course Felix’s visualisation exercise would have reminded Victor of all the qualities he loves about Benji...)

THE WINK OF VICTOR’S PARENTS’ PARALLEL

And finally we have the culmination of an underlying parallel: Victor's parents’ relationship, which also slips into the theme of those wedding vows.

Isabel and Armando, the high school sweethearts who were stuck in a cycle of fighting, fore-sake choosing a new partner with less baggage and instead make the choice to get back together. This doesn’t influence Victor’s decision because he doesn't know about his parents’ progress yet but we, the audience, do know. We can see the underlying parallel there. They are making it work, so so too can Victor and Benji if they keep putting the work in to understand each other better and learn how to communicate.

But that’s just my take on ep 10.

#Love Victor #LV appreciation post #Venji #I promise to never write anything this long again XD #LV S2 analysis

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tobesobri · 4 years ago

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Bust | Part One: Chisel (7.8k)

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

It’s not her forte. Her hands don’t know how to hold onto things. They tremble under pressure. They mess things up no matter how hard she tries.

Not that she had really tried very hard to begin with.

Sculpting was just not something she saw herself doing. Ever. Not with her lack of agility and poor attention to detail. But to appease her whining best friend… she’d do just about anything.

The class was held in a little art studio with large windows for ventilation and tall ceilings to display the mass amounts of student artwork on butcher block shelves. She never thought she’d be back in a classroom type setting after graduating college, but here she was.

Learning, what she proclaimed as, a useless skill.

The studio was smack dab in the middle of an inclined street. Little quaint buildings that sat on an angle because why not pour foundations on a hill and make her weekly walks to the studio a little sweatier than she would have preferred. Even if it was winter in their little beach village town. Sweat still happened. It just happened underneath a scarf and a hand-knitted beanie from the sewing shop next door.

She could not deny, however, that the late afternoon classes every Wednesday and Saturday brought her way more joy than she’d anticipated. She looked forward to meeting up with Rose at the bottom-of-the-hill cafe, sharing the daily special with her before making their way up to the studio. It was calm in the middle and end of her hectic weeks that she most definitely needed.

What she didn’t need, however, what she most certainly did not look forward to, what she could have done without, what took her joy and smashed it against a wall was him.

The instructor.

Harry ‘I have nice hands and a misleading smile’ Styles.

It had only been two weeks into their classes and he had already told her one of her bowls was garbage. That the way she sculpted a face was terrifying. That she couldn’t draw for shit and that made her attempts at sculpting even worse.

So by Saturday of their second week, she didn't care anymore. He was a jerk and she would be the best pain in his ass she knew how to be.

While everyone called him Harry, like he’d asked them to the very first day, she called him Mr. Styles. Just to see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his nostrils flared. While everyone asked him insightful questions, like what glaze was best to use or what tool sculpted eyes most efficiently, she asked him if she could use the bathroom.

She got a fucking kick out of irritating him. Knowing he went home after their classes just as irritated as she’d been. With clenched fists and a pounding headache.

It helped that he was insanely too attractive to be teaching a bunch of millennials about sculpting in his free time.

“You should really leave him alone, he might kick us out, you know,” Rose said on their first third week walk up Justice Hill. There was no justice in walking uphill, and most fucking certainly not in the humidity-ridden beachside town. She found the street name personally offensive.

“Oh fuck him. If he kicks us out, he’ll have to refund us.” Y/N did not, even for a second, bother to lower her voice as they neared the studio, knowing any one of the other students could hear her if they were to walk by.

“Refund us what? We got the class for free, remember?”

Y/N racked her brain like she’d completely forgotten that little detail before shrugging it off. “Whatever. He won’t kick us out.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Before she could make some stupid remark about how Harry secretly liked her pestering him or about how much he seemed much too impressed by Rose’s progress to ever get rid of them, the devil himself turned the corner in front of them.

He came out from an alleyway that connected the street to a tiny parking lot. And while they were going uphill, he was coming down. He was hard to miss and so were they, but still he attempted to not see them.

“What a prick,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as they got closer to each other. And almost as if he could read her lips, he rolled his eyes so fucking hard she thought maybe they’d finally pop right out of his head this time.

“Shush,” Rose warned as the three of them finally met in the middle, at the door to the studio that was decorated with a bright yellow ‘Open’ sign, children’s drawings, hand-painted hours of operation, and one too many polaroids of past students and their sculpting creations.

They all stood and stared at each other for a moment before he opened the door first, holding it as, to Y/N’s surprise, he let them go in first. And while she was still in shock at the gesture, his body language said it all. Like he was forcing himself to be nice to the dynamic duo, to the bane of his existence. While she was too distracted by Harry and his clay-stained trousers and cable-knit sweater with a cartoon deer embroidered on it, Rose walked into the studio first. Giving Harry a polite smile that he returned almost… genuinely.

And right when Y/N made a move to follow, Harry stepped in front of her. She jolted back as he just about let the door slam her in the face.

Today was going to be fantastic.

* * *

“Right, so,” Harry began, clapping his dry hands together as he took a seat behind his messy table at the front of the studio. “I know some of you haven’t finished your heads yet, but our focus today will still be on the bodies. We’ll have a catch up on Saturday to make up for it.”

Y/N sought out her head on the wall where she’d placed it last week beside Rose’s, realizing for the first time just how ugly it really was. And to think she’d been trying to sculpt Harry’s annoying face. Even more annoying that no matter what she did, he was always a lot more handsome than her hunk of polymer clay.

“... because, like I mentioned, we have special guests today who will be modeling for you.” Harry stood again while two very thin and very conventionally perfect people came out in white robes. Y/N couldn’t help but gag.

“This is Hope and Jordan.” Harry motioned as he introduced them, not getting any further in his instructions before Y/N raised her hand in the back of the class.

Rose attempted to get her to put it down, too, because Harry was clearly in the middle of something, but it didn’t really work out so well. Y/N was a stubborn son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” He pointed at her, sighing while planting his hands on his hips. He knew nothing she had to ask was going to be at all beneficial to the group.

She cleared her throat and just from the smirk on her face, he braced for impact. “Are they going to be modeling nude?”

She made just about everyone blush, except for Harry. He hated how she never took anything seriously. That the art he’d spent years perfecting enough to teach meant nothing to her. It was all just a primary school joke in her eyes.

“Yes, actually,” he answered bluntly and then returned to what he was going to say before Y/N’s interruption. “So I want everyone to get a piece of paper and while they’re modeling, do a rough sketch of what you might want the body of your sculpture to look like. The importance is to get the proportions down so that when you use the clay, you’ll know how much you’ll need for each part. Just like we did for the heads.”

Harry walked around the class once the models were stripped and the sketching began. Rose started immediately, concentration on her face as she flipped between the female model and her piece of sketchbook paper.

All Y/N had was a scratch piece of grey-toned mixed media paper she’d found laying on their table. And absolutely no clue where to even begin.

She stared at Harry instead of the naked models, watching as he helped others around the room, pointing at their sketches and where they could improve. His other hand behind his back that gave her perfect access to stare at his rings. Remembering how he’d taken them off guide their first few sculpting lessons. Remembering how his hands had so gently but so fucking firmly caressed the mound of clay into the exact shapes he wanted like he knew exactly what to do with those things.

“See it’s going just as I expected back here.” When his voice was at her ear, she jumped out of her skin and out of her daydreams. Twisting her head around to him as he stood behind her, she found him staring over her shoulder at her blank piece of paper.

She narrowed her eyes at him once she’d fully processed what he said. “Sorry I’m trying to figure out the best way to scale up that dude’s micro-cock, proportionally, if you don’t mind.”

He just about choked on his own spit, and rightfully so. But when he glanced to her eyes instead of her disappointing blank canvas, with his eyebrows furrowed and his cute little nostrils flared just the way she liked them, it was clear his reaction wasn’t for the reasons she’d intended.

He was quiet. Lips pursed, mind completely empty apart from hearing her say cock over and over again. Echoing against his skull. Making a home for itself in his hippocampus for later purposes. When he was not in a class full of students with their eyes on him, watching him get hard at the fucking way she said cock.

“Leave you to it then,” he cleared his throat and continued on.

“He may not kick us out, but killing you is still an option,” Rose whispered once Harry was a safe distance away from them.

Y/N leaned back in her seat to watch him walk down the rest of their row. His hands behind his back again, eyes wandering over shoulders.

As long as he had those rings on while he choked her out, she was okay with that.

* * *

Everyone had moved on to their bodies. Gathering the clay they needed from the front and using their sketches as guidelines to build around the pre-made wire and aluminum foil armature. Most everyone had some sort of a form being attached to the heads of their sculptures by the time Y/N even got started.

Because she decided on using Harry as reference after all and he would just not stand still.

With the models gone, they were on their own, with help from Harry of course. He played several videos and gave various demonstrations to aide them. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, but after she gave it her all for about ten minutes, she was ready to give up. Her body looked like a very lumpy, very deformed version of Shrek.

She took a break again, watching Rose sculpt for a while instead. She watched Harry sometimes too as he walked around the class again in gloves this time. Smoothing out features and picking up tools to aid in the process of forming collarbones and wrinkles.

The studio was in its typical state of disarray. Random cups of milky water on every table, pieces of clay smushed into the tile floor, tools and used gloves strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Harry thrived in that kind of environment while Y/N well… she hated it.

She wanted organization and cleanliness. Her nine-to-five called for that kind of thing. But she was slowly getting used to it. To letting go and embracing the mess while she was here. She wasn’t the one that had to clean it all up anyways.

The only time she wasn’t daydreaming was when Harry started up their aisle again, walking in front of their table this time however. He helped a couple others at the end of their row, watched some of them work before eventually landing right in front of Rose’s station.

He cocked his head to the side while he watched her struggle to form an even pair of breasts on her headless lady. And even though Y/N was trying her best to look busy, she just couldn’t help it.

Rose handed her work in progress over to him with a frustrated huff after he offered his assistance. And like… no way was Y/N missing out on Mr. Harry fucking Styles fingering some clay into the perfect set of boobs. No way.

Especially fucking not when he removed his gloves and used those fingers in their bare glory the way she wished he’d use them someplace else. She watched while he slapped some more clay on Rose’s poor flat-chested model and proceeded to smooth it out with his expert fingertips. She watched the clay melt under his touch, watching him dip into their shared cup of water to aid the process. She looked away long enough to admire the concentration on his face, the way he bit down on his lip and furrowed his brows the way she was used to. She watched again while he fixed all of Rose’s mistakes just by gliding his thumbs over the two perfect little lumps on her sculpture that sure as hell hadn’t started out so perfectly.

She had no idea why Harry sculpting a tiny set of breasts on what would eventually become a mermaid got her so hot and bothered but… it did. It did so fucking much, she was almost salivating like a dog by the end of it, thinking about what his hands could do with the real deal. But then he handed it back to Rose with a content smile on his face and burst Y/N’s little bubble.

“Might be better,” he said softly and Rose nodded in agreement. She hadn't noticed before, but when he stood to his full height it was clear he’d been leaning over on their table. Closer to the both of them than he’d ever really been before. And she knew he was tall, taller than Rose, who was five foot seven inches herself. And not just that but his shoulders were broad and his arms were a humble amount of muscular. Almost like he was a sculptor that kneaded clay a hundred hours a week. Maybe that was why she was a soaking wet mess.

He stretched his gloves back onto his hands and glanced Y/N’s direction. Eyes going straight from her disaster of an art piece to her flushed face and back.

“Don’t even know where to start to fix yours up,” he commented while moving slightly to his right until he stood directly in front of Y/N this time.

She looked at her abomination, wondering if it would be her worst idea to push more of his buttons or not. But, she went for it anyways. Her lack of impulse control would definitely come back to bite her in the ass one day.

“It’s the penis. Still haven’t gotten that down yet.”

He nodded, amused rather than his previous reaction to her antics. “Can see that, yeah. He’s got a bit of a crooked willy there.” Harry poked at it with his index finger and she became hyper aware of his closeness this time while he leaned over her tabletop again. Because his hands were right there, almost touching her own. And they were big, bigger than she realized. She could see him perfectly through the transparent gloves, his long fingers with clipped nails at the end that were well taken care of, considering.

She would need to soak herself in holy water for a while after this.

“Oh, is that not what the male anatomy looks like?” She teased, not fully realizing they were getting along for the first time and it was because of dicks. Because she’d put an oddly shaped protrusion on her figure before she’d even done much else with the blob of clay stuck to her form.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head at her and standing up straight again. “Maybe if you paid attention when the models were out here, you’d know that.”

“Maybe if you hired someone who’s cock I could actually see from all the way back here without a fucking magnifying glass.” She was only slightly aware of how fully immersed she was in the debate over this penis.

But all he heard was cock again. She really needed to stop saying that. Because this time his mind was a little more imaginative while he stared at her lips and thought about the way she might say that on her knees in front of him.

He shook his head clear. She was an insufferable nuisance that he just barely tolerated on a good day. He didn't need her clogging up his brain with her cock talk too.

“Just fix it.” He mumbled.

She huffed when he left her to her own devices, not even bothering to offer his help, but she really shouldn’t expect any less. If he helped her, he would be doing it all for her. And that was hardly the point of taking a class to learn how to sculpt if the hot instructor was just going to do everything for you.

“Is there a reason why you’re arguing with him about penises?” Rose asked, hushing her voice around the apparently taboo word.

“It’s fun. And if I’m going to sit here in this stupid class with you I’m going to have some fun.” Y/N, on the other hand, was not hushed or subtle at all, as she ripped off the phallic piece of clay from her sculpture.

Rose cringed when she glanced past Y/N to find Harry looking right at her. He had been helping someone a few seats down and clearly not far enough away to have missed what Y/N said. All of his features drooped and he looked genuinely upset. Rose wished she could put a filter over Y/N’s mouth to save everyone from her insensitive outbursts. Especially Harry. He always tried so hard and for Y/N to brush everything off and boil it all down to a ‘stupid class’ even broke Rose’s heart a little. So she could only imagine how Harry felt.

After their typical hour and a half was up, once everyone at least had some semblance of a body minus the legs and arms, Harry called the class back to order.

“Alright, that’s time. You can put your armatures back on the shelves, carefully. As always, I’ll be around for a little while after. Have a great rest of your night, I’ll see you all on Saturday.” He finished his spiel, turning away to help clean up before a lightbulb went off in his head and his voice rang through the studio again, “Oh, and make sure you bring your sketches back with you!”

Everyone worked on cleaning up, including Harry. And while Y/N took both her and Rose’s sculptures over to their respective spots on the shelves, Rose walked up to the front of the class without any warning whatsoever.

She tapped Harry’s shoulder and watched while his smile faded just the tiniest bit after he turned to find her. That Rose’s poor face had to be associated with the thunderstorm that was Y/N.

“I just wanted to say sorry… about Y/N.” Both Rose and Harry glanced at the girl in question near the back of the studio, playing with their two sculpted bodies like they were barbie dolls. “I forced her to do this with me so she hasn’t really taken it seriously. But I’m really enjoying the class, you’re a fantastic instructor.”

His smile returned again and if he was being honest with himself, it really did make him feel better to hear her say that. He had some sort of a reasoning for Y/N’s horrible attitude and while he wished it was her apologizing and not Rose, he figured it was good enough.

“Thank you. You’re doing really well so far. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him one last polite smile before trotting back to Y/N and helping her clean up the last bits around their workstation.

“Please do not tell me you were flirting with him.” Y/N gagged, using a ball of clay to gather the little pieces spread across their table like a magnet.

“No, actually, I was apologizing to him for your behavior.”

Y/N snapped her head up, first at Rose and then Harry all the way across the room from them. “You what?”

“He’s just trying to teach and you’ve been a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N gasped in fake offense, which was actually slightly real offense. “Excuse me, he made fun of my bowl the first day, you seem to have forgotten about that.”

“A toddler could have made a better bowl than that, Y/N, and you know it.”

She frowned, grumpily averting her eyes to the table with her arms crossed over her chest like she really was a toddler.

“I’m just saying,” Rose started, a bit calmer this time, “stop pestering him.”

* * *

Y/N thought about everything Rose had said. About how much she wished she could take things seriously and not constantly get on people’s nerves all the time, but she simply did not know how to. Taking the piss out of things and making jokes was how she got through her days.

But she did agree. Harry didn’t deserve her behavior. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk to her to begin with, but insulting his class might’ve been crossing a line.

Because she didn’t actually think it was stupid. She quite enjoyed listening to him. She liked learning something new and following his instructions as he walked them through some of his techniques. She liked being connected to all the people in the little studio, even if only briefly. Complete strangers all shared that one little thing in common and it made her all fuzzy and warm inside each time she met up with Rose at the end of every Wednesday and Saturday.

Hiding behind a bit of humor, however, was a lot more comfortable than admitting she found pleasure in anything as corny as sculpting classes.

On Friday night, boredom got the best of her and she took a chance upon searching Harry’s name on Instagram while she took her weekly bath. It had been Rose’s idea, the bath, not stalking her attractive sculpting instructor online. That decision was completely her own. But the baths at the end of stressful weeks had a little influence from her best friend, as did most aspects of her life. Baths were a waste of time, in her opinion, and she preferred the efficiency of showering. But Rose had given her nice smelling soaps and weird fizzy things for bath time and well… she couldn’t let them go to waste.

So, amid her regularly scheduled, once-a-week bath, she scrolled shamelessly through Harry’s feed. Because he did, in fact, have an instagram. And she only knew it was him because every fourth post was a video and in said videos were his hands. And, fuck, they were just as nice on film as they were in person.

He didn’t post much of his face, which she thought was an actual crime, but there was a lot about him and his sculpting. She found out it had been his sister’s birthday recently, who, when she smiled, looked just like him. He’d also just finished a piece he seemed really proud of, a clay head and bust of a pit bull, to which he linked in the caption about a local shelter who rescued the breed specifically and needed donations. Her heart nearly fucking melted.

Harry wasn’t much of an open book, though, unless he let his art do most of the talking. He seemed to enjoy sculpting women the most, which is probably why he’d been so good at de-lumping the breasts on Rose’s mermaid. But all the female sculptures he made weren’t sexual at all. They had meaning behind them. Like every single clay face she clicked on throughout his photos had a story. Like he was uplifting rather than fetishizing.

And not every single one of them was skinny and had perfect features. She was shocked to see at least half of the creations she’d skimmed through were of larger women with imperfect breasts at times and asymmetrical faces. Not sticking to typical European beauty standards as she may have originally assumed he might.

It made glancing down at her very much imperfect body feel a little less like an attack. Because Harry spent his time putting all his love into his little sculptures with diverse body types that she almost felt ashamed for ever hating hers.

Once she was done clicking on just about every single post he’d ever made, she finally found a selfie. Well… not really a selfie. Someone else had clearly taken it of him candidly while he had been working. But there was an awfully cute smile on his face and very familiar dimples poking into his cheeks that make her heart warm up again.

He wasn’t a damn thing like she’d assumed he was from the beginning. She thought his art centered around the ideal, and that maybe he was a little condescending because of it. But his Instagram told a different story about his art. And she wanted to know so much more about him.

She was completely lost in her dreams about him that just the smidge of distraction led to accidentally liking a photo of his from two years prior.

She’d have to move countries. Change her name. Delete everything. Never look back. Y/N? A distant memory.

Before dropping her phone in the tub and really making a complete ass out of herself, she threw it, instead, onto her furry rug in the middle of the bathroom and sunk herself down into the water. Wondering if it would really be so bad if she just drowned a little bit.

Because she desperately wanted to. There was nothing she could do. Not even unliking the picture would help. He’d still see the notification. Still click onto her page and realize who in the fuck had just liked a two-year-old post of his that he, himself, had probably even forgotten about.

She wanted nothing more than to sink her head under the pink-tinted water and never come back up. Her mind would not stop with the visualizations of what his reaction might be. Things he might be thinking. Like is this that fucking bitch from my sculpting class? Or whether or not she might find herself blocked by morning.

God, just make it stop.

But suddenly her phone buzzed and her heart just about stopped beating. It had to be the notification that Harry blocked her. Was that even a thing? Did Instagram notify you if someone blocked you? And why was her phone on silent? Because her Instagram notifications and her text messages made very different sounds. If it was just a text, she’d consider ignoring it. She’d continue marinating in all her shame a little while longer. But it ate her alive not knowing what the buzzing was from.

So, carefully, she pulled herself upright and reached across the floor until she had her phone in her hand. Before she clicked the screen on, though, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

But when she opened her eyes and found out why her phone had buzzed, she let that breath out and settled her ass down again. It was Rose.

Hey, I can’t make it tomorrow for class. Felt like absolute shit at work today and had to go home because as it turns out I have the flu.

“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go alone because facing Harry after she just did what she did was one thing, but doing it all by herself was another. But a part of her did still want to go tomorrow. The part before her horrific accident when she was full on getting a love boner over Harry. She’d wanted to see him again so fucking bad.

Okay. I probably won’t go too then

Y/N physically frowned at the idea of waiting another five days to see Harry again. Her brain really needed to make its fucking mind up about him. Did she want to see him or not?

No! You have to go and tell me what I missed!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but felt relieved. Even after her embarrassing slip up, her desire to see Harry again still prevailed. And she hated it. How was she even supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, both of them knowing damn well she’d been stalking his Instagram back to two fucking years ago?

* * *

It was beyond weird sitting in their usual cafe on Justice Hill alone, even without the whole Instagram fiasco of the previous night she was trying everything in her power to forget about.

However all the desperate attempts to bury that awful experience were fruitless when she glanced across the room over her latte and found a very familiar set of grumpy-looking eyes already staring at her. But once she did notice him, he immediately looked away, stepping up to the counter to order his own cup of coffee.

She nearly choked on her drink, having to set it down and wipe what had spilled onto her chin off with a napkin she’d already used to sop up another one of her messes.

Of the three weeks now they’d been going to classes and frequenting the cafe just before, she’d never seen Harry. It was like he didn’t have a life outside being an instructor. He just popped up in the studio and she always left before him so she had no idea what he did after class either.

But seeing him here was like seeing a fucking unicorn in real life.

She couldn’t help watching him either, even if she knew she shouldn't. But, in her defense, he was wearing beautiful wine-colored corduroy pants with a tight white t-shirt tucked into them and a beige coat thrown over his arm to match. And for shoes he had on his usual white vans that had gained a few more scuff marks since the last time she’d seen him. His fashion would look terrible on anyone besides him.

He glanced her way again, briefly, when he left the counter with his cup, fighting his legs from walking in her direction but not exactly winning that battle.

And to her surprise, he stood right in front of her, behind the chair where Rose usually sat.

And when she looked up at him, he completely forgot why he had come over. He had no fucking clue what he was doing there. But it was too late now for him to back away and pretend like it never happened.

“Your friend's not coming?” His voice shook, but she didn’t notice with the way he finally took his fucking eyes off of her and gave her a chance to breathe again. He glanced at his watch just to confirm that it was, in fact, only five minutes until class started and it seemed reasonable to assume Rose wasn’t meeting her before then.

She pulled herself together and pretended like his close presence wasn’t intimidating her in the slightest.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Lucky me.”

He left her so fucking speechless, that after he started backing away from her table, reminding her to not be late, she still ended up being late. Because she sat in her chair for what felt like a century repeating his two words over and over again in her head.

Lucky me.

She knew he was only teasing but the way he’d just gone along with her original joke and how his voice sounded when he said it, she could not believe it. She could also not believe how Harry had some kind of massive hold on her that she sat staring at a wall for ten minutes trying to figure out how to operate properly again just to get up out of her chair.

Lucky fucking me.

She could scream.

If she wasn’t in public.

There was an extra pep in her step as she took Justice Hill alone this time, partially because of how giddy Harry had made her and partially because she was late… right after he told her not to be. But how was she supposed to be on time after what he’d just done to her emotions. And to the throbbing mess between her legs, but that's another story entirely.

Everyone was all over the place when she’d finally arrived, though, so it made slipping in the back that much easier. Not that she got past Harry’s watchful eyes, though, but at least she wasn’t interrupting anything while the class readied their workstations for another full night of going ham on their sculptures.

Harry kept his eyes on her mostly the entire time she did the same at her empty little area, watching as she tucked her purse under the desk for safekeeping and threw a couple tools he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her use onto the table. When she wandered off to the wall of shelves to retrieve her absolutely horrifying work of art, he finally gave her some privacy again. But he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been worried sick when she didn’t show up on time after he’d just seen her at the cafe, thinking something horrible could have happened to her between there and here.

So making sure she was unscathed before he, too, got his area organized was essential.

She sat in her chair and stared at what she had made the past three weeks. They’d started with something simple on the first day, taking a pre-cut slice of clay and free-handing a bowl with a few tips from Harry thrown in here and there. Then they jumped straight in after he showed them a few clips of sculptors working, pausing to explain specific things about creating a head and face. They were given everything they needed to make sculpting a complete figurine of a human body as easy as possible.

And still, she managed to create a combination of Shrek and the abominable snowman.

She huffed, wondering if she asked nicely enough Harry would let her just start all over. But before she could even think to do so, he clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention for today’s mini-tutorial.

He explained smoothing to them and how there were many different ways of doing it so that your end results weren't littered in fingerprints. He reminded them to use water to smooth out the initial shapes of the clay they wanted and if they were having a really hard time with too much warmth from their fingers to use the gloves.

He ventured a little into detail work of the bust, showing a short clip of another artist forming collar bones with just two tools and her fingers. He explained what tools those were and why they were the most efficient for details and went on some more about other detail tools that were good for different things.

And the entire time she was far too lost in his voice and how his eyes lit up passionately when he rambled to even think about the fact that she wasn’t taking a single note for Rose’s sake.

They’d done a few lessons on details for the face, but they had yet to really get that far, only having put on tentative eyelids, lips and a nose for their heads before he really dove deep into details in what she assumed would be a full class later on.

And when he finally took a break to ask for any questions, she was, of course, the first to raise her hand. He thought about ignoring it, knowing all too well that anytime Y/N raised her hand in the back of his classroom, she was up to no good. But he was too nice to do that to anyone, even her.

So he called on her by nodding his head and she cleared her throat while he grimaced, expecting the worst.

“So, um, for example if we were going to do bigger details like abs on a male figure, what would be the best tool for that?”

He could have sworn he was having a heart attack. He had to blink a few times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was actually asking him a legitimate question, and a good one at that. He had to repeat what she said in his head first, just to make sure it was real, before he answered, completely unprepared.

“Um… well after you lay out the clay where you want on the body, you can use one of the knives to blend the edges,” he held up an example of one for her, “and then a large ball or oval tool like this,” he held up another, “to smooth everything out. You’d probably want a more blunt pointed end to shape them, though, after you blend the clay in.”

She nodded like she’d been fully absorbing every single word coming out of his mouth and then he watched as she dug around quietly in the tool kit on her desk, in search of the types of tools he’d mentioned.

He could not fucking believe it though. She finally showed a stitch of interest in learning about sculpting. And he had no idea why she decided to right now. Maybe it was because she was without her partner in crime, but either way he was stunned. Absolutely fucking marveled.

After a few more questions and some demonstrations, he let everyone go and continue working on their projects while he circled the room as he normally did. And he found himself glancing at her from time to time, all by herself in the back with a genuine look of concentration on her face as she attempted making her creature a little less loch ness monster and a little more human.

Eventually, after he figured she was giving it enough effort for him to step in and help if she needed, he headed her way. And just as she sensed him walking down her aisle, while she was busy shaving off clay, a piece of it went flying into the air, completely out of control.

He stopped in his tracks after almost being smacked in the face with a chunk of clay and bent over to pick it up before someone squished it into the bottom of their shoes. He leaned over the edge of the table in front of her again, setting the piece of clay down next to her gently while she bit her lips between her teeth and tried to hide her embarrassed red cheeks behind her hands.

“Sorry!” She squealed at him, further digging herself into a hole.

He shook his head, “S’alright. Not the first time that’s happened.”

She laughed at the thought of him actually getting hit in the money maker with a hunk of clay and it eased her worries a little.

“So how are those abs going then?” He asked.

She stared at her sculpture for a moment before she sighed and turned it around to face him. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still pretty rough.

“Mind if I…?” He held his hands out and she, without a single hesitation, handed it over to him.

He immediately grabbed the shaving tool she’d been using, and since it still sat next to her where she’d put it down moments ago, his fingers brushed against her hand when he picked it up. Sending every one of her nerves in the general area on a field day to mess with her nether regions again. It’s just… his fucking hands were an art form in and of themselves. His knuckles prominent, stretching soft skin around the bone. His veins protruding every time he made a more delicate move that required precision. Even the ones on his arms underneath the ink when he was a bit more rough with her sculpture sent her over the moon, while he shaved off bits and pieces with firm pressure to define the shape of the body and somehow create a human-like figure from her mess.

Then he started smoothing down the surface with a little water on his fingers and she went batshit. His hands while dry were one thing, but sparkling, wet, slippery fingertips? Lord have mercy.

She watched him spread a chunk of extra clay onto what would be the figure’s chest to build it up a little more with the knowledge of their previous conversations about dicks and abs making it clear she was attempting to make a male figure. She couldn’t help but watch his muscles flex underneath his tight white t-shirt. From far away across the cafe it had caught her attention. And now right here, she was definitely not letting it go unnoticed. It wasn’t too tight that he looked ridiculous, but just the right amount to show off every curve of his biceps and triceps and whatever other -ceps he had hiding underneath the shirt. He was normally in oversized tops so she was taking full advantage while she still had the chance to.

When he handed it back to her, it was like he’d done some kind of magic spell to get it to look so good after what she’d given him to work with. He leaned forward a little more and pointed at the figure’s chest and she was only halfway paying attention to him when he spoke, mostly focusing on how close he was and every single time he accidentally brushed his skin against hers.

“So if you want to make the abs,” he paused to glance over and dig through her pile of tools until he found the one he was looking for. “Use this to kind of sketch out the shape like we did with the faces,” he took the ball tool and rolled it down the middle of the chest, making a short indent to separate where the pectorals might be, “then you can add on the dimension like I was saying earlier.”

She took over the tool when he flipped it around and gave it to her so she could try for herself. And he watched for a short while as she did what he said to do, sketching out tentative abs, but not really knowing exactly what they looked like to come to any sort of realistic end. Her figure started to look like a shirtless Johnny Bravo.

He just giggled and pointed his stupid finger back into her personal space, smoothing down her mistakes until they disappeared, “Have you never seen a six-pack that wasn’t on a cartoon character?”

She racked her brain, trying to say something funny, but once she looked into his eyes, nothing came to mind. “Of course I have. I just don’t know how to make them look realistic.” She couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d been faced with a naked man’s chest, but she had seen them before.

“Well…” Harry sighed, resting his head on his hand and staring at her sculpture sideways, “he doesn’t have to have abs.”

And then she said it. Something worse than her earlier set of words back at the cafe. She had no clue what was going on with her tonight, but she needed an ass-kicking for it.

“Do you have abs?”

“Me?” His eyes flickered up to hers in shock and it was far too late for her to backtrack, she was here and she had to face what she’d done. Even while he looked at her like she was fucking insane.

“Uh, well. I mean…” She had no fucking clue what she meant. And even if she did, she sure as shit wasn’t telling him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “You’re not using me as reference, are you?”

After a solid three seconds of just staring at him, she laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Hope so after you gave him that wonky penis.”

She sighed once they were through it. Once he’d proved, yet again, that he didn’t make her embarrassing statements feel as bad as they really were. He kind of just... went along with it.

But then she made it even worse.

“So yours isn’t wonky and crooked, then?”

Jesus, fuck Y/N just shut up.

His smile never faded, however, and instead, he leaned close again and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #sculptor!harry

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noctilucid · 4 years ago

Text

DannyMay Day 15: Nature

**References my Day 4 (Stars) drabble, but stands alone.**

"Circle up everybody!" Ms. Teslaff barked, rapping her walking stick on a boulder embedded in the trail. "This camping trip is required by the state to be educational. Therefore, you will be given a group assignment designed to meet municipal standards." Mr. Lancer opened his messenger bag and started passing around packets and paper bags. A ripple of complaints and muttered curses spread out through the group. "You will be assigned a partner, and together you will search for and identify these plants. Bring back a leaf for each plant in the packet to receive full credit."

Paulina grimaced and looked down at her shoes for the tenth time that day. She had thought they'd stay close to the cabins for this trip, and her usual cute flats would have served her just fine on the broad, packed paths cut by hundreds of students' feet in the years before. But here she was, hiking in them. The mud was bad enough, but all the uneven terrain was putting creases in the material every time she had to put her weight on the balls of her feet. And now she was expected to go on a scavenger hunt? What was she, five?

"Paulina," Mr. Lancer said with a tired drawl as he read the names written on the brown paper bag on the top of his stack, "you will be partnered with Sam Manson." He handed her the bag and a packet before moving on to the next group.

Uhg, perfecto. I'm with Creepy Manson. They did this on purpose, didn't they? Paulina cut her eyes at Sam as she stomped over in her combat boots, looking equally thrilled.

"How many plants do we have to find?" Sam sighed, taking the packet from her. She flipped through the pages. "Well, at least these are all pretty distinctive."

"I'm sure you're disappointed none of them can lay eggs in my face," Paulina returned with an edge. She still hadn't forgiven Sam for that incident at the aquarium all those years ago.

Sam narrowed her eyes, not looking up from the paper. "Spores."

"What?"

"Plants don't lay eggs. Some of them have spores." She folded back a few pages and held up a picture of a fern they were supposed to locate. "This one can lay spores in your face."

Paulina raised her hand and waved at the teachers. "Miss Teslaff, I want a different partner! I don't want Sam to murder me and bury my body in the woods. I'm too pretty to die."

"No changing groups!"

Paulina huffed and crossed her arms. "Tough break," Dash said to her as he and Valarie headed off on one of the forks in the path.

"Good luck!" Kwan chimed in, who was paired with Tucker. "Hey, you got a plant identifying app on that thing…?"

"Do I ever!"

Danny put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder as he followed Mikey uphill. "Try not to be too hard on her?"

"No promises," Sam grumbled.

Soon the path had cleared out except for the two of them and two pairs of band nerds peering over their packets together.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Sam said at length, grabbing Paulina by the wrist and hauling her off in a random direction.

"Ow! Hey, get off of me!"

Sam did let go, and then scuffled up a tumble of boulders to a trail on higher ground. Paulina let out a dramatic and frustrated groan before following her up much more slowly. By the time she caught back up, Sam was standing in the shade of a tree growing out of a split in the rock, studying the packet again.

"Oriental Thuja?" she said, forehead creased. "Why would they even put that on here? It's not native to this area."

"So we won't be able to find it?" How much is this stupid assignment worth anyway?

"No, it could be here, but it's invasive."

Paulina rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to be sacrimonious about plants now too."

"Oh, of course," Sam returned. "Because you only like nature if it's pretty and flatters you. You can't be bothered to learn about something complicated like an ecosystem." She headed down the trail at a brisk walk, grabbing a sapling and using it as a hand-hold as she swung herself down another steep portion.

"Would you stop doing that?" Paulina yelled after her, but Sam didn't slow down. "¡Joder!" she swore under her breath. Somehow, she was going to make Sam regret this by the end of the day. She just had to figure out how.

***

A brooding 45 minutes later, and Sam had found five of the plants they were looking for with little help from Paulina.

"Next is the purple coned larch…" Sam said, more to the paper held in front of her face than to Paulina. "We should probably go uphill to look for it…" Paulina died a little more inside. No more climbing hills!

"Oh, is that one of the ones that's going to lay spores in my face?" Paulina sniped as Sam strode on ahead for the hundredth time. "I guess you would end up with some weird kinks after being possessed by an ugly plant ghost."

"You're the one who brought up the face eggs," Sam said, nonchalant, and notably not slowing down. "I think that says more about you than about me."

Paulina clenched her fists. "Ugh! You're such a freak, you know that?"

"Aaaand personal attacks mean you have no convincing arguments left in your arsenal! Looks like it's Sam two, Paulina zero for the day so far." Sam was steadily moving out of range, and Paulina was forced to follow if she wanted to continue the argument. She was busy trying to think of a better jab while watching where she put her feet, but Sam beat her to the punch. "It's kind of sad that you're still hung up on this actually. Move on already."

Paulina gritted her teeth as the angle of the slope forced her to grab a muddy point of rock to haul herself up with. "Would it kill you to apologize? ¡Dios mío!”

"For what?"

"For harassing me with a starfish, Miss Don't-Be-Cruel-To-Animals!" She stood up and tried to wipe her hand clean on a tree trunk. "And I mean a real apology, not that stupid letter the teacher made you write."

"Oh, yeah, to be clear, I didn't mean that apology letter."

"It was clear," Paulina said, quiet and venomous.

"I hope you shredded it or something. I'm kind of embarrassed to have my name on the bottom of it."

"I threw it in the fireplace as soon as I got home that day."

"Well, that's a relief," Sam said with a performative grin. "And no, after what you did to Danny, you'd better believe I'd eat a hot dog before I'd apologize to you."

"I only went out with Danny to get under your skin!"

"Exactly."

Paulina's hands spasmed between gestures as she tried to collect herself. "Did you ever think that maybe, if you weren't such a self-absorbed piece of shit, maybe your friends wouldn't get hurt as much?"

Sam's face went blank for a telling second before she focused back on the paper. Paulina was a little surprised that jab had worked, actually, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She couldn't think of anything to follow up with, so she decided to allow the silence to be her victory.

And she's back to climbing again. Someone kill me…

They had almost reached the summit of the hill they were on— Paulina was debating to herself whether it was tall enough to be considered a mountain— when Sam finally found what she was looking for. The tree she was examining was scrawny and gnarled, squeezing its roots into the veins of available soil, and it was barely taller than they were.

"I think this is it. The needles look the same," Sam said, holding up the page for comparison. "It would help if the picture wasn't in black and white, though."

Paulina cast a glance over the diagram and the plant in front of them. "No, it doesn't have the little cones," she grumbled. I swear to god, if we have to climb any higher…

"This one's pretty young. I don't think it's old enough to have fruited before. They take a couple of years to get established."

"Well how can you tell if this is the right one? There's a thousand different Christmas trees on this hill, and they all look the same." Paulina shook her head. "You know, whatever. Let's just take a branch and go—" She sputtered to a stop as Sam pushed the packet and paper bag full of samples into her hands. Paulina adjusted the materials in her hands and watched as Sam stooped down, fished in her combat boot with two fingers, and pulled out something long and thin. She pulled off the makeshift cap, revealing the stubby tip of a well-used oil pencil.

Kneeling in front of the tree, Sam drew some intricate shape on the trunk with the dark blue pigment, then murmured something Paulina didn't catch. In the shadow of the trees branches, Paulina saw the symbol glow faintly green, and the same light snaked up the tree along the ridges in the bark until it reached the closest branch. With a quiver, the end of the branch put out fresh needles and then a tiny purple cone.

"See?" Sam said, breaking off the end of the branch. "Perfect match."

Paulina gaped like a fish. "You— Holy shit, you—" Magic. That was honest to god magic! Paulina felt lightheaded. She had been… dabbling. Combing the internet and old bookstores. At first, she had hoped to find a spell that could summon a ghost, or anything else she could use to get Phantom's attention. But as the weeks had stretched into months, she had become desperate to find any scrap of genuine magic. And here it was.

"Are you— is that Wicca?" she finally managed.

Sam shook her head. "Semitic Neopaganism. There's a difference."

Paulina paused to think on it. Could I learn Jewish magic if I'm not Jewish? Would it even work for me? She chewed on her lip. What am I saying? There's no way Manson would teach me anything in the first place. Then Sam started speaking softly, and Paulina had to shake out of her thoughts to catch it.

"I did think about apologizing," Sam said. "Properly. I was… kind of a mess in fifth grade. Um. And sixth and seventh too, actually." Her eyes remained focused on the pine sprig in her hand as she spoke, slowly rotating it between her fingers. "I've never liked you. But that didn't make it right for me to pick on you." She stood up and took back their paper bag, tucking the sample inside. "But then you pulled Danny into it. So, I'll never apologize." She finally looked up and met Paulina's gaze. "And neither will you." Paulina opened her mouth to retort, only to realize that Sam was an image of perfect calm. It was not an accusation, not a barb, just a statement. And Paulina had no idea how to respond. "We're both petty bitches," Sam continued. "It's in our natures. So… let's just move on." She extended a hand to Paulina. "Deal?"

The offered hand was stiff and formal, as if this were a business meeting rather than two sweaty girls talking on a hiking trail, but Paulina saw an earnestness in it. Slowly, she reached out and slid her own palm into Sam's.

"Deal." She watched Sam for a moment, her unwavering gaze, the ridiculous purple contacts, the stillness which had come over her, like a stone come to rest. Not sophisticated or refined, as Paulina sought to be, but… very Sam. Very self-assured, in a way Paulina pretended not to admire. "We don't like each other."

"Naturally." Sam released her hand and turned to head back down the slope.

"But we… don't hate each other either. We just... are. Now."

Paulina saw the little quirk of a smile enter Sam's lips. "Yeah."

"And maybe… we can talk about magic sometimes?" She shook her head, slightly embarrassed. "Like, over text, so nobody gets the wrong idea?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. That sounds fun."

A smile crept over Paulina's face in spite of her attempt to hide it. Oh, what does it matter? Sam's not looking at me anyway. She gave herself a moment to squeal silently in her head. Real magic! She'd found someone who knew real magic! She shook her head again. Of course it would be Manson. Of course.

She picked up her pace, in spite of her sore feet, in spite of the damage she was doing to her shoes, to catch up to Sam. It was easier going downhill. "What do we still have to find?"

Sam extended the packet to her, pointing to one of the plants. "Just two left, lady fern and honeysuckle. They both like to grow near water, so I saved them for last. We can head down and check the creek on our way back." Oh thank god, we're almost done. Paulina leaned in to get a better look at the fern diagram. "You know, there's a spell I've been working on that uses ferns. Maybe we should grab a couple extra?"

Paulina squealed out loud this time, and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled through her fingers. "Solemn. Solemn goth witch." She folded her hands in front of her and tried to look composed. Sam laughed.

"Nah, you don't have the wardrobe for that. Go on, be as pink as you'd like." She stepped down a bank of tree roots and held a branch back for Paulina to follow in her wake. Paulina paused in surprise before accepting the gesture.

This will take some getting used to.

#dannymay2021 #phanniemay2021 #danny phantom #Paulina Sanchez #Sam Manson #my writing

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kaleidoscopeminds · 3 years ago

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2021 Writing Self-Evaluation

thank you to @igarbagecannoteven @clumsyclifford and @lifewasradical for tagging me! i got overwhelmed looking at this the first time but i have spent some time with it and i’m giving it a go

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 21

2. Word count posted for the year: 191,436 (so close)

3. Fandoms I wrote for: 5sos and a singular atl fic

4. Pairings: cake, one lashton and the singular jalex

5. Story with the most Kudos/Bookmarks/Comments: for all of these it’s the flatmate arrangement with meet you in the back under exit lights in second

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why): i think i’m proud of different things for different reasons! i’m proud of flatmate because i never thought it would be as popular as it is, i’m proud of dream makes the sounds (that carry me so far away) because i didn’t think i’d ever be able to write something that long and i’m proud of talk to me, baby because i didn’t think i’d ever be able to write explicit fic and not hate the outcome

7. Work I’m least proud of (and why): there are things i am not proud of in pretty much of my writing but i don’t think it’s worth picking something out here

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received: WHENEVER someone tells me someone has read something more than once... something about that feels so incredibly special

bella @clumsyclifford always leaves the most delightful in depth and often incoherent comments when she reads a fic that always bring me a lot of joy

the comment jess @daydadahlias left on ttmb made me cry real tears due to many anxieties surrounding that fic and her reaction was unexpected and wonderful

and molly @burstingsunrise has publicly bookmarked two of my fics which is the best review i could ever receive

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: everything after i posted road trip fic has felt like an uphill battle but particular crises over the act of writing explicit fic, executing lashton after so many months of writing cake exclusively, trying to write magical realism and writing fics for people and being scared they won’t like it and will have to pretend to

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: the entirety of ttmb, who even wrote that fic

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing: in the same way molly consulted jess, i consulted molly and she said this from and what if you'd never smiled at me :

He lines up the bread rolls on the sheet trays, perfectly placed so when they rise they will just touch each other, enough to fuse them together so they can be pulled apart with soft tendrils connecting them. He knows exactly how many; twenty-four to a tray, six rows of four, perfectly placed equidistant from each other for evenness of rise. They will grow over the course of the next two hours; tucked inside plastic and kept warm on the shelf above the oven; the ideal proofing conditions. Calum considers whether it takes perfect conditions to make relationships grow and whether they can be ruined by missing the right moment when they need to be put in the oven.

and then i really like this from i'm not made by design, how can you be satisfied? which i often forget i wrote:

Luke is glamorous and damaged and full of secrets. He’s achingly beautiful and effortlessly sexy and a bit of a headfuck and has the longest legs he’s ever seen on a human, but he’s also just Luke. The twenty-something-year-old man who really likes croissants and always curls up on a sofa and likes that blue blanket Calum has more than any other. The man who giggles and claps when Calum tells a terrible joke and likes to catch Maltesers in his mouth. He’s Luke.

And Calum might be in love with him.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: i did just that… grow! i only started writing in 2020 and i did not ever think i would end up here. a lot of this year has been about figuring out how to craft stories and character arcs and communicate emotion. also how important pacing fics are, i’m not sure i’m particularly skilled at it but i’m a million miles away from where i was a year ago

13. How do you hope to grow next year: more writing!! just keep doing it. more experimenting more pushing myself out of my comfort zone whilst writing things i want to write. thinking less about how writing something might make you be perceived and doing it anyway. i want to try to write more angsty things and make them not be contrived and predictable. i want my grammar and handling of tenses to improve

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc): this one is funny because i have a weird thing about being pretty secretive about my fics however!

i can’t tell you how important molly has been in my fic writing this year. she has read and edited fics for me, reassured me out of multiple crises, helped me with things without knowing context, our conversations and breakdowns have inspired so much. and three of my fics were entirely written for her. molly and her skill in her own writing genuinely inspires me to be better and try harder and her feedback and enthusiasm continues to be one of the main reasons i write

i had amanda @lifewasradical on a few of my docs this year and she is amazing for encouraging and shouting at characters and reassuring that things make sense, and there’s no way those fics would have made it out without her! waking up to her comments on road trip fic really got me to write that thing

also the greatest influence and muse i have: mr luke hemmings thank you for all you are and all you do you are endlessly inspiring to me xox

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: YES mainly the meet cutes i have written. you've been stuck in my brain , shaken up and you are worth your weight in gold all were directly from real life things that happened to me. everything else has elements of things in my life from them like all the baking stuff in and what if you'd never smiled at me , all the bad dates mentioned in we're just friends and every time i mention specific london places in any fic ever (and some other stuff in others but i won’t delve into that too deeply)

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: only a couple of things as i’m only a baby writer! but here goes:

it’s okay to acknowledge that you want validation for your writing, but if the reason that you’re writing becomes more about that than it does about the other stuff, then you’re likely to be disappointed.

always question the motivations behind your immediate thought of who who should be in certain role or say a certain thing or initiate something. as fandom writers it’s really easy to fall into stereotypes perpetuated throughout the fandom or even what you “usually” do. but think about YOUR characters as their own beings! does it make sense? what would happen if you flipped the dynamic? is that more interesting to explore?

a few people have said versions of this, but if you have something you want to write just write it. even if it’s just a couple of lines of dialogue or a description of something. even if you’re in the middle of something else. give your creativity space and jump somewhere else in the story or open a new doc or write a little interaction you would like to put in something someday

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: i am very excited to get fic exchange out there as it has been a project for a while and there’s another coffee shop au that i’m excited about, but apart from that i don’t have much going on. i got some great ideas from the ask game the other day and i’ve been formulating a couple ideas for some more longer fics so we will see!

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read. very late on this so i’m pretty sure everyone’s been tagged but i have enjoyed reading everyone else's!!

#fic talk #whew ok

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sealed-family · 4 years ago

Text

Hollow looks at the Kingsmold that guards the White Palace, the Dream Nail within their metallic hand. They know, logically, that they should have gone to the Gardens first, but emotions aren’t bound by logic. They need to do this. They need to do it now.

Entering the Kingsmold’s dream, they stand at the entrance to what once was their home. They push down the anxiety slowly rising up in their stomach. If what Ghost says is true, this isn’t like the actual White Palace. He would never let buzz saws taint such a supposedly pristine place.

The whirring of deathly sharp edges brings a sort of peace to Hollow, a small comfort. It isn’t quiet in the halls, the saws and the murmurings of the Royal Retainers fill what would be sonic void.

It takes many tries to finally get to the throne room. They linger at the doorway, the anxiety coming in tenfold. They wish that they are able to scream in words and not just in pain. Hollow enters, pulling their jacket closer to their body.

The ghost of the Pale King floats above his destroyed body. Ghost must have slashed it when they came through here. Hollow can’t bring themselves to begin to care.

The ghost turns when Hollow starts walking closer, and they freeze at the sight of what once was their father.

He looks down at them-

“Vessel.” He swallows like he was the anxious one. Hollow is near shaking at this point, but they still bring up their hands.

That is not who I am. That is not my name. They sign. I am not a Vessel for anything or anyone. Not anymore.

The Pale King looks away slightly. “There was no other way.” He says as if that excused anything. As if that made anything better.

And look where we are now. You are dead and failed anyways. I am picking up the pieces of not just your broken Kingdom, but also of my own sense of self. You failed. Hollow doesn’t shake during the last sentence. Saying it makes them feel a little better, but being in the presence of the Pale King still is an uphill battle.

The Pale King doesn’t respond for a few moments. A few long, heavy moments. Then, “I know.” He looks Hollow up and down. “You lost an arm.”

Tearing it off helped keep thoughts away. Pain is not an emotion. It is a feeling. They sign coldly. They remember how it felt, too.

Stay safe, Savior-

The Pale King floats backwards, almost horrified. “You . . .”

He smiles slightly, just enough for them to see-

You didn’t just hurt me. You hurt Ghost, and Kin, and Hornet. At mention of Hornet, the King freezes. She grew up without a mother and with an absent father. Even though what you did to me was destructive, at least I wasn’t alone. Hollow remembers the first time Hornet cried in front of them. She didn’t know that Herrah woke up. She told them that she never really knew Herrah at all.

You hurt not only your Kingdom by leaving, but my family by abandoning us. Light is nothing if you don’t use it. And when you finally did, it was too late. Hollow starts to tremble. You broke me, father. What hurts the most is I think you loved me at one point. The King covers his mouth with a clawed hand. And you still destroyed me. Goodbye.

Not able to handle being in a room with the Pale King any longer, they exit quickly and head home to sleep.

They had hoped Dryya wasn’t dead. While Ogrim always had been compassionate since exiting the Egg, he hadn’t been when they were young. Dryya would bring them food she took from the kitchens after training, telling them that they must grow bigger and stronger to protect others and themself.

Dryya sits at their feet, body limp and eyes closed. She died protecting a Queen who probably didn’t know she was dead. Hollow places both of her hands on her weapon and lays her down in the long grass to rest.

May your soul have a warrior’s rest. They sign over her, and enter.

They stare at the White Lady, her body bound by thick rope. They know exactly why she did this to herself, they only hope she hadn’t told Ghost the reason.

“Vessel?” She calls a name that is not theirs. “Is that you?”

They nod, and her pale eyes glisten.

“Oh child how I have missed you.”

You called me tarnished. They sign, but they aren’t sure how much she will be able to see at this stage.

She tilts her head. “Child? Vessel?”

It seems not much at all.

“Oh, did you see Dryya outside? I know she always enjoyed training with you.” She hums, and Hollow blinks. They did see Dryya outside. They said their final goodbyes. “What brings you to me, child?” They’re not her child.

You have taken over Unn’s Land. I am here to tell you that you will be moved to a place not claimed by any being so that Unn might regain her strength. You have caused enough harm here to her Land and her People.

She blinks again. “You are . . . taking me away? From my home?” It seems she can hear them now. Hollow nods. “My Light is much stronger than yours, Vessel.”

Again with the Light. What is so significant about Light when there is always Shadow to follow?

You will be moved to the edge of Kingdom’s Edge. They tell her.

“You will never be able to move me.” She threatens.

Where there is Light, there is always Shadow. And, judging by the corpse of your husband, you are no match for Shadow.

They leave as the White Lady struggles against her self inflicted bonds.

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#sealed family au #hornet #little ghost #lost kin #ghost #hollow knight #sealed family #kin #the hollow knight #sealed family writing #the white lady #the pale king #unn #unn hollow knight #queens gardens #queens gardens hollow knight #the white palace #the white palace hollow knight

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kimbureh · 3 years ago

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harry's parents. headcanons?

oof, Harry's parents.

I've tried to imagine them, but I continue to fail. Something tells me an odinary, desolate childhood would be just fitting for Harry. Nothing spectacular. No overly abusive parents, nothing the other kids don't get dished out just as often. If he could remember his parents, he would not be able to blame them for how he turned out. Maybe at some point he tried looking for some *spectacular* failure on their part, but simply nothing come to mind. They were loving, in their own way, even if it was a toxic love sometimes he always *knew* he was loved. It is a gift they gave him: to be able to love, in his own toxic ways.

Harry replicates the toxic love with Dora, and for the longest time, it seems to work out. Or at least that's what he's telling himself. After she left, he had to come to terms with the reality that he trapped a younger woman in a dysfunctional relationship for 14 years. Or, you know, he's not coming to terms with it.

Even before his amnesia, Harry didn't think about his parents all too often; maybe they are deceased, maybe they are not close, it doesn't really make that much of difference. I believe Harry sometimes wonders if he is supposed to miss his parents, but he is a grown man now and such a thing would be ridiculous. But then he realizes, he stopped missing his parents when he was maybe 10 or 11. He'd disappear for days on adventures with other kids, and didn't think of them until it was time to get home and maybe get a beating or berating.

His dad wouldn't have been the violent type, but Harry knows he was not an easy child. Which doesn't justify anything, but he can't really bring himself to dispise his father for that either. I imgaine Harry to have a rather detached view on his childhood. Pain was integral part of it, but it was also so mundane he can't feel anything but indifference about it now as a seasoned RCM officer.

His mom? I guess sometimes he would struggle to conjure up a precise image of hers; she was there in his childhood, loyal to the man she married, even if there never had been a true spark between them. She tried her best. Harry can't bring himself to decide whether or not it was enough, and I guess he doubts it would have made a big difference either way. He would have liked for her to have had a better life, for both of his parents, but times didn't allow for it and he knows they made do the best to their ability. It's not exactly gratitude, but he can acknowledge they had to fight constant uphill battles during the messy aftermath of the revolution. It made do. Harry makes do.

Harry wouldn't be caught complaining about his parents. Nor would he say many gentle words about them. The disconnect would be too severe, but he thinks nothing for it because it hardly is a unique thing amongst his generation

#disco elysium #generational trauma is the norm in Revachol #how could it not?

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geekgirles · 3 years ago

Text

Your Heart

Chapter 5 -- Research

Word Count: 12429

READ ON AO3

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Tucker complained for the umpteenth time.

After realising the only way to end his regular meetings with Lady Arcana once and for all would be finding information on the portals she could use to help him close them, Danny took a very-Jazz-like decision; to immerse himself in countless moldy, old books in search for answers.

Only he dragged Tucker and his sister along to put an end to the torture sooner. A decision which, whereas Jazz encouraged wholeheartedly, Tucker was none too pleased with.

“Oh, quit your whining, Tucker.” Jazz admonished from the floor, a few volumes piled up around her. “Every time you complain, it’s precious time we’re wasting. Maybe I don’t mind being holed up here reading with you, but something tells me you’d much rather be tinkering with your PDA than doing this.”

Annoyed by Jazz’s accurate observation, Tucker, who was lying down on his bed, set the book he was reading down on his lap. “I’m just saying, a quick Internet search would give us many more results in a matter of seconds. If you’re worried about wasting time, then I think spending hours scanning for even the smallest piece of witch-related trivia is ten times more time-consuming.”

But Jazz wasn’t going to relent any time soon. “We already tried things your way, Tucker. Remind me again how much useful information we found online?” When her question was met by silence, she smirked, focusing again on the book she had open on the floor in front of her. “Thought so.”

“Okay, so the first few results were all about conspiratorial nutcases claiming the witches are actually aliens from a faraway galaxy and that what we call ‘magic’ is really superior technology our tiny, human minds can’t understand,” he paused to breathe, “but those were just the first few articles! I’m sure if we keep on looking, we’ll find something useful.”

“Do I really have to remind you that the most useful thing we found was a Satanist group’s website? I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly looking forward to joining them anytime soon.”

Leaning back against his bed’s headboard, the techno geek crossed his arms, feeling defensive. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Will you two just stop?” Danny finally had enough. He slammed the book he’d been reading shut before setting it down on his desk, where his own pile of books lay. Leaning back on his chair, one leg over his knee, he crossed his arms as he sent a stern look at his sister and best friend; the kind of look a father would give when scolding his misbehaving children.

Even though they had legitimate reasons to be cranky at each other, a selfish part of him thought the only one who could really act out of line was him. Tucker and Jazz tended to forget what really was on the line. True; if they didn’t find a solution to the random ghost portals soon, that could lead to severe repercussions on both dimensions, and dealing with Lady Arcana was both dangerous and nerve-racking in every sense of the word.

But the real danger came from within.

Although Danny had tried to limit their use as much as possible, the Witch Queen’s presence demanded he wore the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire in hopes of forcing the sorceress to think twice before double-crossing them. But the mere use of the two mystical items was far more terrifying than anything the entire witch clan could have thrown at him.

There was something inherently...evil encased in the ring and crown. Danny was sure of it. Damn, he could feel it with every fiber of his being. Even before donning the all-powerful objects for the first time during his coronation, the moment he held them after stripping them off of Pariah Dark’s form, they were already calling out to him.

And the most horrifying thing was that he wanted to heed their call. The relics promised infinite power to whoever was in possession of them. When, ironically, the dreaded things took possession of their wearer! After a brief moment of doubt where he almost fell into temptation and gave in, Danny understood wearing the ring and crown meant the total enslavement of his soul.

Ever since then, he lived in fear of succumbing to temptation and letting their sinister energy consume him. Whenever he had no choice but to wear the Ring of Wrath and the Crown of Fire, Danny found himself fighting an uphill battle against the hypnotising pull of power emanating from them. It was more tempting than using his powers to get back at Dash for all the wedgies. It was more inviting than dating Valerie, regardless of the very real possibility of dying by her hand. It was more dangerous than accepting to work with Vlad, who foolishly coveted the very same torture he endured every time he put those two horrid artefacts on.

Because it was a literal deal with the devil; power in exchange of his soul.

And to think he had to endure all that every time he met up with the queen of the two-faced creatures responsible for such evil in the first place, just to convince her against doing anything foolish...It was irony at its finest.

With gentle spins of his chair, Danny kept looking alternatively at Tucker and Jazz, who were blissfully unaware of his inner musings, as he talked to each of them. First was Tucker. “Tuck, I know you’ve considered books a waste of time ever since we plugged you into the Cramtastic Mark 5 to break Ember’s spell, and I’m sorry for dragging you into this, but Jazz’s brought all these books from the library and we need as much information as possible.”

He then turned to his sister, who was laid facing down on the floor. “Jazz, same thing goes for you. Except the ‘book-hating' part,” he hastily added, “you know as well as I do that if there’s someone who can find anything on the Internet, it's Tucker. Just, give him time.”

His two teammates exchanged glances before giving up with an eye roll. “Whatever,” they said in unison before getting back to reading.

Danny wasn’t quite finished, though. “There’s also the fact that I’m not even sure we’ll find anything useful in the first place. I mean, what Lady Arcana needs is either an explanation on what’s causing the portals to manifest, or a spell that can counter it. And I highly doubt we’ll find that sort of information in books from the public library.”

“Maybe if they were from Hogwarts…” Tucker snickered at his own joke. When he noticed the twin glare the siblings were sending him, he sobered up. “Sorry.”

Jazz rolled her eyes as she changed her position from lying down to sitting up, cross-legged. “That doesn’t mean we won’t find anything useful, Danny. If anything, just learning more about the witches should be of help when dealing with them, right?”

The halfa sighed. “In theory. But Tucker’s right; we’ve been reading for hours and we haven’t found anything useful, or even that we didn’t already know of.”

“Thank you!” Tucker deadpanned as he clapped his hands sarcastically.

Danny ignored him in favour of continuing. “I mean, what’s to learn about them? Their background is completely irrelevant to the issue at hand. Knowing of the Salem trials isn’t going to help me prevent disaster from happening!”

“And don’t forget we don’t even know how to tell true facts apart from naysay.” Tucker pointed out, a finger raised in the air as if that’d give more credibility to his point.

But Jazz insisted. “All the more reason to find out more about them! For instance, Danny, what did you know about witches before meeting this Lady Arcana?”

Her brother gave a noncommittal shrug. “Only what Frostbite told me and what I read in the pages I found from Sojourn’s missing journalーand no, I’m not going to let you read them, Jazz; it’s too dangerous. Besides, I don’t even have them anymore,” he was quick to add, recognising the inquisitive look on his sister’s face all too well.

Annoyed at how well her brother knew her, and at Tucker’s ill-concealed snickers, the aspiring psychologist turned her head away in a huff. “Fine, keep your sister away from fascinating topics. It’s not like I’ve been keeping your secret for years; even from you.” She punctuated with a meaningful look.

If the look on Danny’s face was any indication, they’d had that same conversation too many times before. “Jazz, careful; you know emotionally blackmailing me will get you nowhere. It’ll make me want to keep more things away from you.”

The redhead stood up and got closer to him. With her arms crossed, she used her brother’s seated position to tower over him for once, since she had long lost the ability to look over his shoulder once Danny finally hit his growth spurt. “And you know trying to play hero and keep me away is going to solve nothing. If anything, it’s only going to make me want to help you even more.”

Watching the siblings from the comfortable distance his bed provided him, Tucker knew things would only get nasty if he let the tension escalate from there. He let out a wolf whistle, effectively capturing the Fenton kids' attention. “Wow. You know you two spend too much time together when you start using the other’s methods to get what you want.”

Danny and Jazz furrowed their brow in confusion. “What do you mean?” They asked in unison.

Changing his position so his back was resting against his wall rather than his bed, which also allowed him to easily look them both in the eye, their friend just shrugged nonchalantly. He wasn’t going to say anything else; their attention was no longer directed at each other and that was enough. “Nothing. Hey, how about a break?”

“A break?” Danny echoed, incredulous. “Didn’t we just argue about wasting time? Tuck, we can’t take a break now!”

Seeing where Tucker was getting at, and that he had a very good point, Jazz sighed. Turning to Danny, she put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention. “Tucker is right. We’ve been at it for a few hours now. We’d better take a breather and continue later, when our minds are sharper.”

Danny was about to protest when he noticed their matching expressions. They were both tired after doing nothing but searching for clues for hours and bickering with each other. If anyone deserved a break, it was them. And as his own exhaustion finally kicked in, he realised, so did he.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s stop for a while.”

Satisfied, Jazz gave her little brother some space as she flopped down on his bed. “So, Tuck.” When his head snapped at the sound of her voice calling his name, she continued. “How’s your latest lady friend doing?”

It took the African American young man a moment to understand who she was talking about. “You mean Camille?”

“If that’s her name, then yes.”

“Oh, we don’t hang out anymore.”

“What?” Jazz gasped. “Why?”

Tucker looked at her uneasily. Danny, on his part, remained quiet, just listening to their conversation. “Uh, no offence, Jazz but...I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with my best friend’s sister; close as we may be.”

That made her frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s just...there’s things you don’t talk about with just anyone. And what happens between you and the people you choose to fool around with is one of them. I mean, how would you feel if my mum tried meddling into your love life?”

She just made a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “Excuse me? That is completely different!”

“It is not!”

“Oh, really?” Jazz put her hands on her hips, an eyebrow raised. “Please. Tucker, I’m Danny’s older sister, not our mother! Moreso, I’m the eldest by two years,” she put two fingers up to stress her point, “it’s not like I babysat you or cleaned your diapers. It can’t be that embarrassing!”

Refusing to say any more, Tucker just fell backwards on his bed, arms crossed. From his chair, Danny could only roll his eyes good-naturedly at their banter.

After a beat of silence, Jazz tried again. “Was it your issues with commitment? Did she want more but you got scared?”

Exasperated, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Then, he turned to his best friend. “You can intervene whenever you like, you know?”

Danny just leaned back on his chair, his arms folded behind his head and an easy grin on his face. “Nah, I’m good.”

Abruptly getting up from his bed, unamused, Tucker walked over to his desk and turned his computer on. His back turned to the Fenton siblings, he started fidgeting with a program he’d just opened. He had no idea what to do with it, but he figured it’d be better than Jazz butting in on his love life.

“So...is that it?” she ventured hopefully.

Groaning loudly, he rubbed his eyes before fully facing the current thorn in his side. “Has it ever crossed your mind that the reason why I don’t feel comfortable talking about this with you is because you’re going to try and psychoanalyse me?” Seeing as there was no reply, Tucker took it as a sign that she’d finally let it go, so he turned to face the screen.

...only to hear her whisper to Danny. “How much on them having trouble in bed?”

His face burning hot in embarrassment, Tucker slammed his head against the desk, startling the two other people in the room. At least Danny would never betray him, would he? No, he wouldn’t. It totally went against, like, fifty rules in the Bro Code.

Unfortunately, Danny was having far too much fun seeing Tucker squirm under Jazz’s scrutinising, psychological curiosity. “Well, from what I’ve heard…”

Oh, no! No way in Hell was that traitor selling him out like that! If Danny wanted war, he’d give him war, Bro Code be damned! Getting up with startling speed, Tucker yelled loud enough to drown Danny’s voice out. “Danny’s met a girl!”

Both siblings blinked slowly at him before simultaneously screeching, “What!?” Although it was impossible to tell which of the two was more bewildered by the revelation.

In an instant, Jazz was on her brother like a vulpture on an animal carcass. “Danny, is that true? You have a girlfriend?” Suddenly, she looked much more offended than dumbfounded. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

“No!” he quickly denied, before all but flying from his chair and going over to his so-called best friend to smack him on the arm. Hard. “Tucker, what the fuck?!”

“Language!” Jazz admonished.

“Where did you get the idea that I got a girlfriend? What, you’ve listened to me talking about how I fear for my life whenever I’m in the same room as the short-tempered, curse-inducing, infuriating Queen of the Witches of Amity Park and you obviously thought, Oh, man. That’s true love right there and then?!”

“Well, that definitely didn’t stop you from crushing on Valerie back in high school…” Jazz pointed out meekly.

Seeing Danny’s eyes glow green for a fraction of a second was enough to make Tucker sweat bullets. “Jazz, you’re not helping!” He squeaked. “And, dude, you’re freaking me out a little with the way you’re burning holes in my skull. At this point, I really wouldn’t put it past you to have suddenly developed heat-vision or something…”

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Danny finally got out of his best friend’s personal space. He was still pissed, though. “Talk.”

Straightening his clothes, Tucker rolled his eyes. “My, aren’t you sensitive today.”

“Well, duh! You just said I have a girlfriend! Could you be so kind as to tell me who so I don’t forget our anniversary or, I don’t know, her face!?”

The techno geek made a ‘pfft’ sound with his mouth, shrugging the notion off with a motion of his hand. “I never said you had a girlfriend. My exact words were ‘Danny’s met a girl.’ If you two are too obsessed with your love life to pay close attention to what other people say, that’s not my problem.”

“Okay, so who’s this girl?” Jazz asked, still curious.

“Yes, please, enlighten us, oh, King Tuck.” Danny quipped sarcastically.

Tucker frowned, not appreciating the quip at his past mistake, but he spoke nonetheless. “Dude, it 's Sam.”

There was a beat of silence where brother and sister just stared at him before Danny whispered, shell-shocked, “Sam?”

Jazz, on her part, was both shocked and confused. “Wait, who’s Sam?”

He would’ve smacked him right then and there if it weren’t for his best friend having ghost powers he could blast him with. “Well, duh! Dude, have you or have you not met a girl named Sam recently? Because, I’m warning you, if you thought she was a guy, I’m telling on you. I don’t care if she beats your ass; you’d deserve it.”

“Ooh! A girl capable of kicking my baby brother's butt? Now I gotta know who she is! Also, Tucker, language.” The aqua-eyed girl half-heartedly scolded him, before her expression turned into a pensive one as she redirected her gaze to Danny “...are you sure you don’t have a type, though?”

“Sam and Valerie are nothing alike!” Danny exclaimed, throwing his arms up at his sides. Then he turned to Tucker, his hands now curled into fists out of sheer annoyance. “And of course I know she’s a girl. I just don’t understand how on Earth you’d come to the conclusion that I’m into her or something.”

Not for the first time, Tucker rolled his eyes before getting up from his chair and draping his arm around Danny’s shoulders. “And, again, I never said you were. I just said you’d met a girl…” Danny didn’t like that mischievous glint in his eyes one bit. “It just so happens I know you two enough to know you’d immediately assume I was talking about a lady friend, which would then make you forget all about moi.” Tucker explained with a cheeky grin. “And, lo and behold, it worked!”

Danny narrowed his eyes on him. He hated it when Tucker used their everlasting friendship to play him like a violin. Jazz, on the other hand, hated having her queries ignored. Taking a deep breath, she raised her voice to deafening levels. “Hello? Can anyone tell me who this ‘Sam’ is?”

“Agh!” Both halfa and techno geek exclaimed, taken aback. Nursing his ear, the youngest Fenton glared at his sister. “You're louder than my Ghostly Wail, you know that?”

“I can attest to that.” Tucker muttered, equally annoyed.

Both sighed in defeat when Jazz limited herself to arching an eyebrow at them with her hands, curled into fists at her sides, stubborn as ever to get her answers. “Jazz, it’s no big deal. Sam is just a friend of Tucker’s who knows an awful lot about the occult and such. He thinks she might be able to help me with you-know-who.” He explained as he sat down on his bed next to her, Tucker following suit.

“Wait, Tucker is friends with a girl that’s not me?”

The aforementioned boy took offence at that. “Is it really that weird to see me hanging out with a girl because we’re friends and nothing more?”

The Fenton kids just stared at him blankly. “Dude, you literally hit on anything with a skirt. Remember the drag queen?”

The techno geek spluttered at that, while Jazz couldn’t help but chortle. “Dude, you promised to never bring that up again!”

Danny only chuckled at his best friend’s flushed face. “I don’t think you’re in any position to complain, Tuck. After all, you did break that poor queen’s heart...”

“Why, you!” Face burning hot in embarrassment, Tucker threw himself at Danny, ready to strangle him, ability to blast him to smithereens be damned! His own body reacting instinctively, Danny lay down on his back as he grabbed his best friend’s wrists. The two would’ve started roughhousing hadn’t it been for Jazz getting caught in between.

“Hey! Stop it you two!” With a superhuman strength that could only be attributed to an older sibling separating her little brothers, Jazz shoved Tucker off of Danny, while she kept the latter down with a hand on his chest. A few minutes passed before the two calmed down. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she turned to Tucker, trying to keep the original conversation going. “So this Sam could be of help?”

Willing his own breath to steady, Tucker nodded. “Yeah. Sam’s a Goth, so she’s very interested in all that. In fact, she’s been of help before.”

Danny’s interest perked at that. “What do you mean?”

“Remember when I’d come up with a solution to defeat certain ghosts this past year? Like Medusa, or that giant Hydra, and such? That was all Sam!”

“Now that you mention it, it did take me by surprise that you’d suddenly know what a hydra even is…”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence…” he quipped, before shaking his head to keep himself focused. “Anyway, whenever those ghosts appeared, I’d remember Sam talking about her latest mythology-related acquisition she bought from her favourite bookstore. So I just called her up, used the very convenient ghost in case to ask about its weakness and, ta-da! You’d have your way to beat them!” He exclaimed, proudly puffing up his chest. After a moment, he deflated, another thought in his mind. “The only creature she never told me about are unicorns, though. I don’t know why.”

“Maybe it throws off her entire dark, cynical persona.” Jazz guessed. Becoming Goth was a common coping mechanism for when people lost someone dear. For all she knew, this Sam could’ve lost a loved one and abandoned all things traditionally cute and girly as a way to put up a strong, undaunted façade, constantly exposing herself to the darker side of life in an attempt to grow desensitised to such things.

“Maybe,” the bespectacled young man shrugged, “but if you ever meet her, don’t go around saying things like that. Somehow, I doubt she’d appreciate having her entire identity picked out and analysed.”

As Tucker and Jazz kept on bantering with each other, Danny’s thoughts were elsewhere. If what Tucker was saying was true and Sam had indeed marked the difference between victory and defeat during those ghost attacks, then it really would be better to have her by his side.

Despite his years fighting ghosts and what he’d learned from Frostbite, his knowledge was limited to the Ghost Zone, which was why the presence of mythological or legendary ghosts tended to demand more of him than, say, facing off against Technus, or Johnny 13. Magical artefacts and abilities fell under that category, as well.

Aside from the lack of portal-creating and visits to the Ghost Zone, the witches, on the contrary, seemed to be knowledgeable of ghosts. And that put him at a clear disadvantage he couldn’t afford. But if Sam also happened to know about witches, maybe even partake in rituals for the sake of it, then having her near would be for the best. He would only have to make sure to keep a close eye on her in case the witches found out and went after her in retaliation.

And also, deep down, he was sort of looking forward to meeting her again.

...............

The seemingly never ending corridors were doing nothing to alleviate her already suffering nerves. Despite the velvet-carpeted floor that would other times muffle her heavy steps, she now felt as if every step she took resonated throughout the manor like the screeching tiles of a wooden floor. From the rich, maroon walls were hanging the portraits of every astounding witch their clan had ever witnessed; from queens and Council members, to especially adept sorceresses or even heroines who had saved their sisters one way or another. All those women she usually looked up to for guidance in difficult times now seemed to be silently judging her with their cold, unforgiving eyes.

She walked in complete silence, afraid to disturb the peace if she were to utter a word. After discovering the grimoire she used to travel to the Ghost Zone wouldn’t be of any help in her mission, Sam was blindly following the beginning of a hunch; the spark of an idea whose outcome she still knew nothing of. But, even if she wasn’t sure what she was looking for, it was all she had.

Sam had no choice but to follow that inkling.

Hurriedly trying to keep up with her, Star and Paulina were close behind. Once again, their position within their Queen’s inner circle allowed them to understand Sam’s thought process better than most. Only they knew the true reason behind the Queen’s unprompted visit to their clan’s archives.

“Your Majesty, what do you expect to find inside thー?” Before Star could so much as finish her question, Sam interrupted her.

“Indeed, Star. I would appreciate a warm bubble bath with deadly nightshade leaves.” The queen said, not even stopping to look back at her ladies-in-waiting.

To any other person, that cryptic message would have meant nothing but the typical request one would expect a queen to ask her personal maids of. But Paulina and Star knew better. Asking for deadly nightshade was Sam’s way of telling them to keep whatever she was up to a secret. By asking Star for a deadly nightshade bubble bath, she was instructing them that absolutely no one should find out about the true reason behind her visit to the archives.

Exchanging knowing glances with Paulina, the blonde lowered her head slightly, fully aware that her Queen was watching her from the corner of her eye. “Yes, your Majesty.”

And with that everything that had to be said was shared between them.

Time was of the essence.

Aside from the evident danger she faced every time she travelled to the Infinite Realms, there was the added possibility of being spotted by humans, regardless of how far away from civilization their meeting spot was. If anyone ever took notice of the three mysterious figures fraternising with ghosts, Amity Park’s greatest known threat, questions would soon arise.

And whenever humans had questions, they turned to the so-called experts on the matter for help. While Sam wasn’t sure those incompetent Guys In White even suspected their existence, she still wouldn’t put it past them to investigate for the sake of burning tax money in some new toys. Those greedy, government puppets… Worst of all, if they took a genuine interest in her kind, they might as well be done for, and not necessarily because the GIW were good at their job…

If word got out that witches were real and living among them, the citizens could get scared. And whenever humans got scared, especially if it was of things they couldn’t quite explain or understand, that fear turned into aggression. If they kept wasting any more time, one day she’d open her door to find herself face to face with an angry mob.

And to think it’d all be because of a group of incompentent ghost hunters who couldn’t even drive away the very same treacherous creatures responsible for her people’s need for secrecy in the first place...it was irony at its finest.

However, despite the spike of anxiety in her chest, Sam couldn’t help but go back to her last visit to the Ghost Zone. Phantom’s attempts at dissipating the tension had been, as much as she hated to admit it, a welcomed thing. And yet, it was a little unnerving to learn the Ghost King shared her views on formality and the power of intimacy, because it made him look more human than she would ever be comfortable with.

In all fairness, it was difficult to imagine Phantom talking like anything but his usual, cocky self in the first place. From what little exchanges the news broadcasts had been able to catch on camera during the years, the white-haired spirit tended to get overly familiar with his opponents, getting under their skin with puns or witty comebacks thrown at their expense. Still, as unusual as it was, Sam couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, it would’ve been better to keep on using their respective honorifics. Because Phantom addressing her like he would any other misbehaving ghost, like she’d seen him do dozens of times over the years, somehow made it all the more...real. She truly was talking to the infamous Ghost King on her own volition.

That thought alone scared her more than she’d ever be willing to admit.

Before Sam could dwell on the matter any longer, a grating, shrill voice snapped her out of her thoughts. A voice she knew all too well and would do just about anything to never hear again unless it was absolutely necessary.

“Sammy-kins!”

Stopping in her tracks, eye twitching in annoyance, the lavender-eyed girl forced a smile to materialise on her face as she slowly turned around to face the mother of all monsters. Her own. “Hello, Mother.” She forced out.

Pamela Manson was an average witch; the only thing stellar about her was her ability to distract humans with her lavish parties and over-the-top socialite persona. A woman obsessed with social status and appearances, Sam’s mother constantly got on her case due to her own disregard for the very things Pamela lived for.

Mother and daughter were opposites in almost every aspect.

Whereas Sam prided herself in her individuality and ability to go unnoticed unless she truly wished to make her presence known, Pamela was obsessed with blending in a way that would always draw all eyes to her.

Sam believed in standing up for a change, without fear of taking big steps as long as they led her to a better world. Pamela considered things to be fine as they were, and that the only changes that should be implemented were small, insignificant ones; such as her daughter’s fashion sense.

While Sam was a rather cynical individual who still cared about everyone deep down, her mother was preppy and optimistic, but her aspirations were limited to what could benefit her and her family.

But what truly set them apart was Sam’s insistence on being inconspicuous to the human eye; her coven’s anonymity her top priority. As opposed to Pamela who, had she been queen, would’ve accidentally exposed their secrets in her first week after being crowned; tops.

In all fairness, it wasn’t that Pamela didn’t care for their clan; it was just that she couldn’t resist flaunting what, she believed, made her better than everyone else.

And, right now, she believed her daughter’s manners could be much better. “What’s with the cold greeting, Sammy-kins? We haven’t seen much of each other in over a week and that’s how you treat me?”

On second thought, Sam much preferred her chances against an angry mob over spending five minutes in the same room as her mother. “Sorry, Mother, but you caught me in the middle of something important and…”

“What could possibly be more important than what I’m about to tell you?” Pamela questioned, her hands on her hips.

“Perhaps finding a way to save two dimensions or, at the very least, our people, but you’re right, Mum, what was it that you wanted to tell me?”, was what the raven-haired witch wished she could’ve said, but instead she opted for, “And what is it that you have to tell me?”

Instead of answering her daughter, however, Pamela directed an expectant look at her two ladies-in-waiting who, upon noticing her steely glare on them, immediately straightened up before lowering their heads in submission. “Greetings, your Ladyship.” Paulina and Star droned, their heads low.

Although Pamela was never queen herself, as mother of the current leader of the clan she was to be regarded with respect. A fact the woman would constantly revel in and fully take advantage of. Smiling in contentment, she sighed. “Ah, much better. Now, Sammy-kins, I was thinking we could take some time away from your schedule to have a little chat on your wardrobe choices?”

Ugh, not that again. Ignoring her mother’s offended gasp, Sam turned on her heel to make her way, once again, to her original destination. Star and Paulina hurrying up to leave ‘her Ladyship’ behind and keep up with their queen after flashing her mother a pair of matching sheepish smiles

Unfortunately, the one thing Sam seemed to have inherited from her mother was her stubbornness. Quickening her own pace, the clicking of her high heels behind her haunting Sam even in her dreams, Pamela caught up with them in a surprisingly short amount of time. Having no choice but to breathlessly talk to her daughter at the same time as she tried keeping up with her would not be enough to get her to give up on her pursuit.

“Seeing as we have much more important matters to discuss, I shall gracefully ignore your previous insolence.” Luckily for Sam, her mother missed the way she rolled her eyes at her. “I know this...Gore style of yoursー.”

“It’s ‘Goth’, Mother…” Sam corrected her, but her efforts fell on deaf ears.

“ーis just your way of rebelling against the world because things don’t go your way, but don’t you think enough is enough? You’ve been dressing like a mortician since you were twelve!”

“If you’re done patronising me and the way I choose to present myself to the worldーwhich, not only have you insulted in every possible way but, allow me to remind you, is not just a phaseー, I really do have more important matters to attend to.”

And with that, she sped up past her mother. It should’ve been the end of that conversation, but Pamela always had to have the last word. “But what about the clan? Don’t you think it’s selfish to compromise us like that?”

That stopped the Witch Queen dead in her tracks, the unexpected stop causing Paulina and Star to tumble back a few steps. Once they registered what Pamela had said, their blood ran cold; the stiffness in Sam’s posture only confirmed their unspoken fears:

Sam’s mother had just crossed a line.

Fists clenched so tightly at her sides she could’ve drawn blood, her teeth gritting in aggravation, Sam hissed, not even turning around to face her mother. “What did you just say?”

Brushing her daughter’s anger off as just another tantrum, Pamela calmly walked over to where she stood, looking over her handmaidens’ shoulders. Resting a palm on Sam’s shoulder, a hand that, although meant as comforting, came out as condescending, mocking; the older witch spoke up. “I’m just saying, you’re always advocating for our anonymity, yet you seem to ignore that people will immediately associate your obvious, stereotypically witchy outfits with real-life witchcraft. All that black and those dark colours, the ripped fabric, the metal ornaments… Sammy, don’t you see? That’s like wearing a sign saying ‘I’m a witch! Come and lynch me!’”

Taking advantage of her turned face, Sam narrowed her eyes on her mother. She dressed like a WASP housewife from the 50’s when she was a Jewish woman living in the 21st centuryーshe was in absolutely no position to criticise her looks!

How dare she? How dare she?! Using her duty to protect her people against her just to get her to wear some frilly abomination because she couldn’t fathom the idea that her daughter would want to be her own person?

It was moments like these that Sam missed Grandma Ida the most. Her grandma would’ve guided her in her darkest hours, giving her useful advice to approach the situation, but never making decisions for her, letting her live and learn instead! Grandma Ida would’ve never tried to use her to push some personal agenda on the clan.

But Grandma Ida was gone, and Pamela was there to stay.

As insulted and, although she’d never let it show, hurt as Sam was, going to the archives took priority. Stowing her conversation with her mother for another time as she resumed her march down the hallsーpreferably when she’d be alone in her roomーSam shrugged her off the best way she knew; through biting sarcasm. “Oh, please. If I were nearly as ‘obvious’ or ‘stereotypically witchy’ as you say, Mother, I’d decorate this place after the Sedlec Ossuary.”

Pamela furrowed her brow in confusion as she, too, resumed her walk. “What does that even mean?”

“She’s talking about a Czech chapel fully decorated with bones and skulls.” Star helpfully supplied.

Paulina, on the contrary, shuddered in disgust. “Ugh, I’d rather not. I’d feel like I’m always being watched…”

Star tilted her head to the side. “How? Skulls don’t have eyes.”

Ignoring the handmaidens, Pamela opened up her mouth to speak when a raised hand from her daughter, who had abruptly halted, stopped her from even getting a word in. “As lovely as catching up with you has been, Mother,” Sam started, voice laced with sarcasm, “I’m afraid I must go. I have important matters to attend to, as I already told you, that I must take care of, in private.” She stressed before turning the doorknob of the large door before her and walking inside, swiftly letting her bewildered mother out after she all but slammed the door shut in her face.

Leaning her back against the door, Sam let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. No matter how much time passed, her mother would always be a she-demon worse than any ghost. God forbid Phantom ever met her; if he were to take a page out of her book, Sam would personally burn herself at the stake.

“Is Pamela too much for you?” A sultry voice coaxed her out of her thoughts.

Opening up her eyes, Sam could feel the relieved smile forming on her face at the sight of the witch she most wanted to see at the moment. “Delilah.” She breathed out as she separated herself from the door, walking over to her friend to grab her hands in hers. “You have no idea.” Sighing dramatically, she let her head fall on the crook of the shapeshifter’s shoulder, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Oh, I don’t need to.” She said, gently patting her queen’s head. “Just by looking at you I can tell; you look like you’ve suddenly lost ten years of your life!”

“Make that twenty,” Sam grumbled.

Separating herself from her leader, their hands still holding each other, the turquoise-eyed sorceress got to the point. “Well, what brings you here? As much as I love your visits, I thought you’d be busy with your little escapes to the Ghost Zone?”

Sam averted her gaze, the wooden floor suddenly much more interesting than a few seconds ago. “It’s precisely because of that that I’m here.”

“Oh?” Delilah tilted her head, slightly. “Okay...So, what are you here for, then?”

To her bewilderment, her queen’s eyes continuously darted from one place to another, as if expecting to be ambushed any minute now. “Are we alone?”

An odd question, but not necessarily a bad one. Putting her fingers on her chin in thought, the Council member tried to remember if she’d seen anyone that day. “Hm, I think Stephanie might be somewhere around here, engrossed in a book. But you know her, it’d be easier to get me to leave the archives than not seeing that girl with her nose deep in a book.”

Stephanie was probably with them. That was not a bad thing. Stephanie ought to find out sooner or later. Wringing her hands nervously, Sam willed her eyes to look at Delilah’s own curious turquoise ones. “I need your help with something.”

That caught her attention. “My help?” Sam nodded. “My, Sam, you’re starting to worry me.” Delilah admitted as she got closer to the Goth, her hand hovering over her shoulder but never close enough to actually rest atop of it, afraid that the sudden contact would startle her. It was unusual to see her so suspicious of everything around her. Maybe… “Did the ghosts do anything? Are we going to war?”

That seemed to snap the younger witch out of whatever she was going through. She didn’t lower her guard, though. “No, no. We’re not going to war.” She shook her head as she let Delilah gently guide her to another section of the archives. “But in order to avoid just that I might need to do something crazy…”

Delilah wrinkled her nose at that. “Something crazy? You’re not going to marry that Ghost Punk, are you?”

Startled, Sam jerked away from her touch, shuddering in discomfort. Where would she get such a ridiculous idea? She and Danny Phantom? She almost wanted to laugh. Instead, she let out a derisive sound from the back of her throat. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“So, what is it then? I’m sorry, Sam, but you’re not making any sense right now.” The shapeshifter insisted. “If we’re not going to war, and you’re not going to marry the Ghost King, what do you need me for?” Taking a few steps, she got closer to the young monarch, their faces mere inches apart as she tried looking for answers in her amethyst orbs. “What could be so serious that you’re so unnerved, Sam?”

Delilah’s intense gaze made her squirm, but she had a point. She couldn’t expect her to help her, no questions asked. For instance, she wasn’t just the best shapeshifter of the clan, she was also a Council member, and the archives guardian. She was the one tasked with keeping their people’s most precious treasure, their history and knowledge, safe. And considering what she was gonna ask of her, Delilah was in her right to know exactly what was going through her head.

Steeling herself for what was to come, Sam straightened her spine, returning the intensity of the older witch’s gaze in earnest. “I need you to grant me access to a certain type of book.”

Delilah’s posture relaxed. “Is that it? Why didn’t you say so sooner? Sure, just tell me what you’re looking for and I’ll let you take a lookー.”

“I mean,” Sam cut her off, “I need you to grant me permission to take the book with me, outside of the manor...and into the Ghost Zone.” Her voice wavered when she muttered the last part.

“Oh...I see...” The guardian’s expression immediately sobered up. She cleared her throat, awkwardly. “And, what type of book are you looking for?”

Now things were going to get really ugly. “I need a spellbook detailing everything we know about the Ghost Zone, specifically, its portals.”

For a while, Delilah just stared at her, almost unblinkingly. The good news was she didn’t appear angry or outraged as Sam had predicted, the bad news, however, was that her empty, unreadable expression was much worse. At least she’d have known what she was thinking had she been yelling at her for her idiocy; questioning her mental health. But as it was, Sam was almost as lost as her.

After what felt like an eternity, Delilah finally found her voice. “So you…” she quieted down, trying to find the words. “You want to take one of our most sacred texts to the Ghost Zone?”

Sam winced. Somehow, it sounded way worse when she said it like that. “I know it’s asking for too much…”

“Saying that’s an understatement wouldn’t even begin to cover it.” The Council member scoffed. “Seriously, Margaret would have a cow! And don’t get me started on Wilhelmina…”

“I know!” Sam was quick to reassure her. She was perfectly aware what she was asking of her might be a little excessive, but she wasn’t completely delusional! She knew just what kind of reaction their fellow Council members would have... “I know, but...the only way to ensure our people’s safety is helping Phantom. And he needs help closing numerous unstable portals that are suddenly opening. I thought the book I’d been using to get to the Infinite Realms would have the answers, but its contents were thoroughly underwhelming.”

Just like she did in Phantom’s lair, Sam got the spellbook out of her skirt before handing it to the guardian. In turn, she inspected its pages, concluding that, indeed, the book hadn’t much to offer. “Please, Delilah, you know I would never ask this of you if I didn’t think it’s our only hope.”

Sam wasn’t one to plead. The young Council member knew this better than anyone. She was headstrong and determined; the entire clan knew there wasn’t much that could be done to dissuade her once her mind was made up. Margaret herself found it to be both a blessing and a curse, while Wilhelmina thought it was a curse. Period. And Delilah...

Delilah prayed to all things above her that she wasn’t about to make a mistake. Sighing in defeat, she flashed Sam a small grin, earning herself a triumphant smile in return. Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, she motioned for her queen to follow her with a slight jerk of her index finger. “Come with me, your Majesty. I know just the thing.”

Sighing in relief, Sam allowed her eyes to wander around the manor’s archives. She really couldn’t blame Stephanie for loving the place to the point of practically making it her second homeーthe sight was breathtaking.

The circular room, surrounded by large panel windows, located right below the Council Room, which put it in the three-story manor’s second story, was one of the best examples of a Pocket Dimension Spell put to good use. Countless shelves filled to the brim with colourful, leather-bound books went on as far as reached the eye; hanging proudly from the ceiling, the arrow-shaped banners with her clan’s signature colour and emblemーa black rose over a royal purple backgroundーadorned the room; leaning against the shelves, golden ladders could be seen moving on their own accord; which was almost as impressive as the floating books that flew from one place to another by flapping their two covers like an eagle would flap its wings.

Walking through the numerous aisles, letting herself be, one again, amazed by the sight, Sam caught a familiar figure from the corner of her eye. Turning her head to the source, she found Stephanie Baker, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her back against a shelf’s lateral plank, an incredibly dense book perched on her lap.

Sensing someone’s eyes on her, no doubt, Stephanie lifted her head up and away from her book, before a grin was plastered on her face at the sight of her queen. Her enthusiastic wave was answered by Sam’s much more subdued one, alongside a small chuckle. “She’ll never change; she’s at her happiest when surrounded by books,” Sam mused to herself.

She and Delilah kept walking in silence, but with each step she took, the Goth couldn’t help but furrow her brow, anxiously. They were getting further and further away from the archives’ hot spot, the zone with the most activity disappearing in the distance until she almost couldn’t make it out anymore. Just where was she taking her?

Her question was answered when her guide halted abruptly in front of the wall. An empty space that, unlike the other walls encasing the archives, wasn’t even decorated by a portrait of one of the previous guardians. Not sure what to expect, Sam tilted her head to the side, speechless. “Uh...Delilah?”

But Delilah didn’t answer. Instead, she turned her back on her and extended her hands, palms open, in front of her. “Clavis mysteria!”, she chanted, her carefully coiffed onyx braid dancing around her, as if swayed by a sudden strong breeze. From her palms emanated a green fog that, as Sam could only look on in awe, speechless for an entirely different reason; seemed to open the wall in half, the resulting, uneven, wooden dents making way for it.

An eternity or a few minutes could’ve passed, and Sam would be willing to believe anything she was told, when the green fog manifested again, carrying a rather large object with it. When the Witch Queen realised what it was, she could only gasp in astonishment.

Levitating before them was a royal blue, leather-bound book. Intricate designs were scattered throughout its back cover, engraved in gold. Two such designs, a pair of golden, twin swirls, flanked an equally golden fleur de lis on its spine. But the most amazing thing, what truly showed the book’s importance, were the golden letters, glinting under the light, on its cover:

Arcana’s Grimoire

Mouth hanging open, the young witch could only gape at her friend, completely blown away by the revelation, as the grimoire landed safely on her hands. With a small chuckle, Delilah pushed some loose, black locks obscuring the right side of her face aside. “Sorry. No matter how tightly I tie my braid, spellcasting always messes my hair up.”

Her throat suddenly very dry, Sam swallowed before managing to speak, a finger pointing at the manuscript. “Is...is that…?”

With a knowing smile, Delilah nodded. “Arcana's Grimoire. If you want to find answers on what’s causing those ghost portals to open at random, this baby is your best bet.” Stretching her arms towards the queen, she handed the book to her, who held it with as much care as one held a newborn for the first time, almost reverently. “The grimoire holds the answers to all those questions time made sure to erase.”

“I-I…you...t-the book...” Sam stuttered, not sure what to say. “A-are you sure you want to entrust the g-grimoire, Arcana’s Grimoire, to me?”

“It’s risky, I know. But you said it yourself, you wouldn’t ask me to grant you permission to take a spellbook out of the manor if you weren’t convinced it’s our only hope.” Those few loose strands falling on her face, a stark contrast to her dark mane, she lay a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder, a soft smile on her face. “And I wouldn’t hand the grimoire to you if I didn’t think it’d be safe with you.”

Eyes widening at the Council member’s words, Sam couldn’t do anything but send her a grateful smile in return. Clutching the grimoire close to her chest, she promised, “I’ll guard it with my life.”

Internally, she made another promise, only this time, it was much more violent than solemn. “And I swear, if Phantom so much as looks at it wrong, I’ll ask Danny to lend me some of his parents’ weapons and hunt him down myself.”

................

“You’re lucky this place sells some of the best pastrami sandwiches I’ve ever had, dude. Otherwise, you’d be on your own.” Tucker said in between bites of his heavenly pastrami with honey mustard sandwich. Wiping some sauce from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, earning himself disgusted looks from the two other people present, he wagged a finger at his best friend. “Seriously, though. Who would’ve thought Sam would have good taste in restaurants?”

He winced when the Goth in question elbowed him on his side. “I have excellent taste in food in general, thank you very much. It’s not my fault only 9% of the global population can appreciate it.”

Once again, they were meeting up at the You Mocha Me Crazy, which, at this rate, was going to become their new favourite hanging spot. Unless Sam was willing to forego her vegetarian ways and ask for a Double Meaty Nasty Burger with extra bacon with them. Somehow, that seemed unlikely. Luckily, during their first visit Sam had introduced Tucker to their selection of sandwiches and cold cuts, making it easier for the techno geek to warm up to the café.

After that successful first meeting, the trio decided to hang out whenever Danny needed Sam's help to write his ‘paper.’ All they had to do was ring or text Sam, and she’d tell them when she was free to meet.

Today was one of those days she was free and the guys were in need of her help. The three were lounging around a small coffee table Sam named ‘her spot’, for it was where she usually had her coffee or worked on her assignments in peace. The fact that she was good friends with one of the baristas also helped keep the space free of any ‘spot-stealing-squads,’ as she lovingly referred to ‘those vultures.’

Nursing his aching side, Tucker rolled his eyes. He’d already lost count on how many times they’d had that same conversation. “Is there anyone free from your vegan wrath?”

“For the last time, I’m ultra-recyclo-vegetarian, not vegan.”

“What’s the difference?” Danny intervened, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Vegans tend to waste almost as much food as non-vegetarians. Ultra-recyclo-vegetarians make the most of every single meal.” Sam explained, forking a piece of tomato from her salad. “That’s where the ‘recyclo’ part comes from.”

“I thought that was freegans.” Tucker frowned, still munching his sandwich.

“I’m surprised you even know what that is.”

“You and me both.” Danny said, turning to look at Tucker with a curious expression on his face.

Rolling his eyes, the techno geek shrugged them off. “You meet the craziest people on Tinder.” He explained offhandedly. When he took notice of his two companions’ horrified expressions, he almost doubled over in laughter. Clearing his throat, he turned to Sam. “And you still haven’t answered my question.”

Shaking her head to erase the traumatising image that was Tucker’s love life, Sam started. “What? Uh...oh! Right. Ehem! As a matter of fact, there are people excluded from my ‘ultra-recyclo-vegetarian wrath.’” She corrected. “I’d never force people without enough resources to go vegan. Such as the Inuit community. Besides, those guys barely hunt anything compared to rich jerks with questionable hobbies, and they use everything of what little they do hunt.”

“Handy people.” Danny mused, before returning his attention to his laptop, resting on top of his lap, one leg crossed over his other knee. “Now, I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but we’re here to help me with my...with my homework, remember?”

If Sam thought the way he seemed to overthink his words was weird, she didn’t let it show. “Yeah, you’re right.” She said as she turned her torso around, reaching for her notes inside her spider backpack. “Okay, you two. Lay it on me; what do you want to know?”

Tucker and Danny exchanged a glance, before the blue-eyed boy ventured. “Well...Sam, you’re the expert. What can you tell us of...um...of the witches.”

Scanning through her notepad’s pages, Sam froze at Danny’s words. Could her people’s secret have been discovered already? Before risking compromising her sisters, she had to test the waters first. “Why are you doing your paper on witches in the first place?” Her voice came out a little colder than she intended.

Tucker furrowed his brow, taken aback by her sudden guarded posture, while Danny just rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Uh...why not? The seminar I signed up for is on mythological creatures and folklore, and witches are one of the most legendary myths ever...right?”

Alright, that made sense. But she couldn’t be reckless, she had to make sure Danny didn’t pose a threat to her coven. “Yeah, they definitely are. I’m sorry, it’s just...with all the ghosts constantly attacking Amity Park, I thought, ‘why witches?’, you know? I mean, your parents are experts! If you just asked them for a little bit of help, your assignment would immediately turn into an easy A, wouldn’t it?”

Taking a gulp from his espresso, Danny carefully thought what to say next. He couldn’t let Sam think he had some sort of ulterior motive for asking about the mystical group of women; he’d promised Lady Arcana her people’s secret would be safe, after all. So he did the only thing he could; he expertly lied. “Well, I don’t really like having things handed to me, you see. What’s the point in signing up for a seminar if I’m just going to get an easy A thanks to my parents, you know what I mean?”

Tucker had to fight the urge to laugh at the irony of the situation. Oh, what Danny wouldn’t have given just to get easy A’s during high school... When his two friends turned to him, Sam looking at him in confusion and Danny quietly begging him to keep his mouth shut, he played it cool by taking a sip from his drink.

“Anyway,” Danny continued, “I just thought ghosts would be...I dunno...too mainstream? The assignment is supposed to make me do research on mythological creatures, and nowadays it’s pretty obvious ghosts are anything but mythological.”

“Witches aren’t far behind, either…” Sam internally mused, sipping from her macchiato. Holding the carton cup with both hands, she decided sharing some information with Danny and Tucker would be safe. She’d just tell them the basics, debunk some Hollywood myths...the usual. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Danny echoed, hopefully.

“Okay.” Sam repeated with a smile. “Anything in particular you want to know about?”

“Just...anything you can tell us, really.” Tucker said, leaning forward with his hands between his legs.

“You’re gonna have to be a tad more specific than that, guys.”

Crossing his arms, the Astrophysics student thought long and hard. What was it that he really wanted to know about them? Well, the answer to that was obvious. His only real question was why? Why did they do what they did? If only he could figure that out, then maybe he’d know how to approach Lady Arcana. But there was no way he could ask that without exposing who he was. And it wasn’t like Sam, of all people, would have the answer anyway.

So instead he asked, “What’s their origin?”

That startled Sam, who almost choked on her lettuce, Tucker quickly coming to her assistance and patting her back. After massaging her throat and swallowing her food, she looked at Danny with an inquisitive eye. “Come again?” She croaked out.

“What’s their origin?” He repeated. “And...and I don’t mean this as in...as in a history lesson. Like, when did witches first appear or anything. If I wanted to know that, I’d just read a book or watch a National Geographic documentary. I-I mean, how is a witch even born?”

“Do I have to explain the birds and the bees to you guys, too?” She asked with a coy smile, having recovered from her coughing fit. Despite the seriousness of his query, the violet-eyed girl couldn’t help but tease him.

Danny flushed in embarrassment. He had to admit, he’d handed her that one. Shaking his head, he chuckled. “I’m good, thanks. You might need to talk to Tuck, though.” He joked, earning himself an offended gasp from his best friend, who punched him lightly on his arm in protest. “But, nah. I guess a better question would be, what makes a witch...well, a witch?”

Sam had to admit, it was a good question. Even if it may risk her people’s secrets, such depth earned the blue-eyed boy some respect from her. Not many people went beyond the basics when looking for information. Most would be content with reading the first few paragraphs of a Wikipedia article. But Danny… Something about the intensity of his ocean blue eyes made Sam feel he was more similar to his parents than he’d originally thought; despite having no interest in ghosts himself. Somehow, he shared their inquisitive and curious mind, albeit from a less scientific approach. Just by that question alone, she immediately understood Danny Fenton was much smarter than people gave him credit for.

Exhaling, she began to explain. “Believe it or not, the one who got closer to the truth was Harry Potter.”

“You mean the children’s book with the extra creepy white dude?” The bespectacled young man raised an eyebrow, before exchanging disbelieving glances with his best friend beside him.

She just chuckled. “Yeah. Witches are human women who were born with the innate ability to do magic, setting them apart from the rest.”

“So...this is witches vs muggles that we’re talking about.” Tucker insisted.

“Yes, Tucker.” Sam said with a bit more bite than she intended. “Point is, being born different tends to alienate people, and considering we’re talking about magical-powers kind of different…”

“The witches were alienated and persecuted by society.” Danny finished for her.

“Bingo.” The raven-haired girl picked up some photocopies with different articles printed on them and handed a few copies to both of them. “Although nowadays most people bel-know witches aren’t real,” she caught herself before her subconscious could rat her out, “some cryptology experts theorise they just eventually flocked together to keep whatever magical gene they had inside the coven. You know, as a precaution to avoid further persecution.” To this day, she still couldn’t believe a group of nutjobs would be right on the money. The sole idea was ludicrous, and yet…

“So, that’s it?” Tucker asked, looking up from his own set of photocopies, incredulous. “Witches are just humans who, inexplicably, won the superpower lottery?”

The Goth just smiled sheepishly at him. What could she say, anyway? Though witches weren’t against scientific discoveries or careers (Star herself was studying to become a mathematician), magic sort of was their thing; literally. So nobody had ever really delved on why or how they’re different from other humans.

Scratching his chin in thought, Danny tried reconciling what Sam said to his own encounters with the spellcasters. When he thought about it, Lady Arcana and her witches really weren’t any different from any other citizen of Amity Park; the only surprising thing about them was their Queen’s unique eye colourーher being breathtakingly beautiful didn’t matter since her personality needed an awful lot of workーand their characteristic ability to do magic...and maybe their questionable taste in pets.

But that was it.

Other than that they were as human as his own family. Even their hatred of ghosts was in synchrony with the town’s general opinion of him. Perhaps if he treated the Witch Queen as any other girl, things would smoothen between them. It made sense that part of her prickly personality was a result of him consciously treating her differently than he would treat others. Deep down, she knew they were unwelcomed, and therefore, built walls around her to avoid getting hurt.

“Look at you, worrying over making the Witch Queen feel comfortable around you...You’re a lost cause, Fenton.” Danny resisted the urge to roll his eyes at himself, having more important matters to take care of. “Sam,” he called out to her, startling her and Tucker out of their own conversation, “is there a way you could tell us about their spells or something?”

It was a risky question, he knew. But, as useful as learning to deal with the witches was, what they really needed was a way to put an end to the crisis threatening both dimensions. And the only way to do it was by finding a portal-related spell.

Eyes widening at his question, Sam could feel her stomach churning ominously. That question was a bit too specific for her liking. Depending on how she handled the situation, she could either masterfully take care of it or put her subjects in danger over a potential misunderstanding. “Their spells? What do you mean?”

Danny pretended to look through his own set of copies, trying to appear nonchalant, as if his question were born from mere curiosity, rather than a sense of impending doom. “Nothing, really. I was just curious. I mean, would witches even cast spells, or would they voluntarily just manifest their powers like ghosts do?” As he spoke, his mind raced back to the floating book Lady Arcana had, without any kind of warning, shoved in his face during her last visit.

The Goth had to resist the urge to spit in disgust at the notion of being compared to those disembodied remains of human consciousness. She took a subtle breath to ease away her repulsion. “It’s hard to say.” She lied. “Since there’s no clear evidence that true, real-life witches ever existed, ーand I’m sure they don’t, obviouslyー.”

“Obviously.” The two men seated with her echoed.

“ーthere’s no definite hypothesis explaining if they truly casted spells or not. For all we know, their famous rites and ceremonies could just be that; ceremonies belonging to pagan religions that were thought to be witchcraft by Christians.”

“Any chance we might be able to find any spell on the Internet?” Tucker wondered, readily taking his trusty PDA out of his pocket, causing Danny to sigh tiredly upon noticing the device in his hands. While Tucker used his tablet and computer when doing assignments or playing video games, that was solely because the screens were bigger. He’d actually been in a loving, committed relationship with his PDA since he first got it when he was 14. As time went by and technology evolved, instead of adjusting with the times, he put all his engineering knowledge to use with the sole intention of updating his baby and never having to part ways from her.

It was both kinda cool and a little disturbing, to be honest.

Leaning back on her chair and crossing her legs at her knee, mirroring Danny’s own stance, Sam propped her face on her hand, a bored expression plastered on her face. “Although I do find your commitment to recycling that old thing of yours instead of falling for the capitalistic trap that is technology consumption commendable,” she said, and Danny was sure his eyes must’ve popped open at seeing her utter that long-ass speech without so much as pausing to breathe, “sometimes I worry about you.”

Offended, Tucker frowned at her, only clutching his PDA tighter in his hands. “I’m mercifully going to choose to ignore everything you just said except for the part when you call me ‘commendable.’ Now, can I look for information on the Internet or not?”

Leaning forward, this time resting her chin on her knuckles at the same time as she propped her elbow on her bent knee, Sam shrugged, not really caring. “You can try, but chances are you’re only going to find Halloween articles from children’s magazines, or weird Satanist websites asking you to offer a sacrifice in exchange for joining them.”

As Tucker flopped back down on his chair with his arms crossed, pouting and grumbling something along the lines of, “Damn it, Jazz…”, Danny tried fishing for more information. “So they don’t really cast spells?”

The discomfort came back. She knew Danny was only trying to be thorough with his assignment, but that didn’t change the fact that his questions hit a little too close to the mark. “The only way to find out for sure would be meeting one in real life.” She said in a voice so low, even with his enhanced senses Danny almost didn’t hear her.

Noticing the tension suddenly coming off of Sam, her previously laid-back and even playful posture changing to a much more tense one: legs crossed tightly, her shoulders stiff, both hands clutching at the fabric of her shorts…; Tucker decided it’d be best if they let the topic go for a while. And so, he did what he did best:

He abruptly changed the topic.

“So Sam,” he called out to her, quickly getting both her and Danny’s heads to snap to him, “I don’t think you’ve ever told me.”

“Tell you what?” What was he doing?

“What’s your deal?”

Sam blinked. “My deal?”

The teal-eyed young man just nodded. “Yeah, what’s your type?” He asked as he leaned forward, mindlessly toying with his PDA. “Because in all the time I’ve known you, I’ve not seen you once with a boyfriend, not even a fling.”

“Tucker, you’ve known me for a year.” She reminded him. “Not necessarily as much time as you make it out to be.”

“Hey, a lot can happen in a year!” He defended.

“Tucker himself has had three different girlfriends in the last three months.” Danny added.

“See?” Then, he turned to his best friend with an unamused expression on his face. “But, dude, don’t say it like that; you make me sound like a player.”

“I’m just saying,” the black-haired youth put his palms up in surrender, a lazy grin on his face, “it’s not bad for a guy who was rejected by every single girl back in high school.”

Tucker just glowered at him, before turning his attention back to Sam. “So...back to the question; what’s your type of guy?”

She could not believe this was happening. Back when she was a teenager, a tinsy bitsy part of her she tried very hard to suppress secretly longed for talking about girl stuff with the other girls her age from her clan. Something as silly as talking boys, makeup, or any other teenaged-girl nonsense with other people would’ve made her lonely childhood all the more bearable, and now…

...now she was being offered to talk about boys...by other boys...at twenty-one. And the worst part was that she was actually considering it. Her life could not get any more complicated than that. Sighing through her nose, unable to believe how low she’d stooped, she gave in.

Her type...that was a good question. Back when she was still in her early to late teens, she would’ve said she was looking for a unique guy. The type of guy who valued his individuality and who was above all the pointless trends dominating the public with their pre-fabricated, market-targeted predictability. A guy who didn’t fall into any of the classical high school cliques: someone who wasn’t a brainless jock, or a geeky kid, or one of those posers who hid behind a fake dark persona to get people to pay attention to him.

Someone who embraced being different rather than exploited it.

Someone like her.

But all those fantasies turned out to be nothing more than that; fantasies. Delusions. Sooner or later she’d have to open her eyes to the world. She just wished Gregor hadn’t been the one to open them up for her… After that fiasco, Sam finally learned what she was truly looking for in a partner. “...a good guy.” She practically whispered in the end.

Tucker and Danny exchanged a confused glance once their initial surprise at Sam’s sudden reply, after several minutes of silence, had worn off. It was the former who spoke up, “...I’m not sure that qualifies as ‘a type.’”

“Of course it does!”, she protested. “Just like girls stereotypically fall for ‘bad boys’, we can also fall for ‘good guys.’ And I’ve had my fair share of bad boys, thank you…” she muttered before looking away from them.

Something about the way Sam said those words hinted at a lot more going on than just a teenage girl crushing over a guy with a motorcycleーand hopefully not a ghost one who only wanted her as a vessel for his real girlfriendー, but she seemed to have closed herself off completely. Danny wanted to ask her about it, but something in the way her position stiffened changed his mind. No way would Sam open up to someone she'd just met over something so personal.

Instead he asked, "And how about looks?"

She flashed him a small smile and that alone made his entire week worth it. "I'll admit, I do have a soft spot for guys that aren't exactly average."

Tucker scoffed. "Well, duh! I'd also pick a supermodel over a plain-looking chick any day of the week..."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

Despite the seriousness in her voice, she eventually broke down laughing, the other two joining in on the fun soon after. As her giggles quieted down, Sam stole a furtive glance at Danny. The way he seemed to sense her discomfort despite barely knowing each other and making an effort to keep her mind away from unpleasant thoughts was enough to make her heart flutter, making her blush slightly at the realisation.

She shook the feeling off, though. Danny was sweet, and maybe a little cute despite his, apparently, natural awkwardness, but she wasn’t looking for romance, having much more important things to take care of. Besides, he really wasn’t her type, cute as he may be. Still, that didn’t change the fact that she wanted to thank him for his help in some way. And, against her better judgement, she knew just what to do.

An hour passed by until Tucker had to bid them goodbye, saying he was going to be late for class if he stayed with them any longerーalthough he really, really wanted to skip that lectureー, and so, he left his two friends to their own devices. Another forty minutes or so later, it was finally time for them to go to their respective classes, too.

Rolling her eyes at Danny as he opened the door for her, but thanking him nonetheless, Sam stepped out of the café, her companion close behind her. “About the spell thing you asked me about earlier…” she started, her words coming out of the blue and tearing Danny away from his own thoughts, “I guess, if witches are actually just humans with magical powers, then it’d make sense if they’d need some sort of way to activate said powers…”

Mouth slightly agape, he finally found the words, “You mean like a password or something?”

She looked over at him from the corner of her eyes, a cryptic smirk on her lovely face. “Maybe.”

Turning to face him, her smile widening but never losing its mystery, she waved before walking past him, “See ya, Danny.”

Danny slowly waved at her in return, unbidden, too gobsmacked to form a coherent sentence. Because just like that, she was gone.

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taexual · 5 years ago

Text

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (7)

jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: angst + some cute bonding

words: 5.3k

chapter seven

You returned home to your parents that weekend, always grateful that they lived only an hour from campus. It was always nice to go home – especially when your thoughts were in chaos – but with your return here, you were also reminded of the issues that made you glad you’d moved out in the first place.

Despite returning home on Friday night, you only saw both of your parents at the same time for Sunday night dinner – right before you went back to your dorm – because they were the sort of people who didn’t know how to quit working. You often felt like you’d inherited their drive but you prided yourself in firmly believing that if your kids visited you from college for the first time in the whole semester, then, unlike your parents, you’d take the weekend off and give them your undivided attention.

You felt like this was where you differed from them most – they rarely prioritized relationships over achievements – but, in the middle of dinner, you found out that the concerned look on your mother’s face – that appeared there after a phone call she’d gotten right before sitting down by the table – wasn’t caused by a business deal going wrong but, rather, by her best friend.

“She said that Jungkook didn’t show up for dinner,” your mother said, chewing very thoughtfully. “They’re all going out of their minds.

This wasn’t the first time that your mother mentioned Jungkook’s name over dinner, but she used to be more careful about it before. However, now that Jungkook’s mother informed her that you’d visited him at the hospital, your mother was convinced that you and him have reconnected – if only she knew... – so she felt much more comfortable bringing him up.

“Why?” you asked. “It’s not the first time he’s done that, I’m sure.”

“Well, no, but ever since he got into that accident,” your mother paused as she said this, looking at you pointedly – she was mad you hadn’t told her you visited him – and then carried on, “he made a deal with his parents to show up for dinner every Sunday night. And he missed this one.”

“Well,” you said nonchalantly, even though, admittedly, the look in his eyes when you’d last seen him haunted your memory, “it was bound to happen sooner or later. You know what he’s like.”

“They were really worried,” your mother continued and, slowly, it started to seem like she was subtly asking you for something.

“They shouldn’t be,” you said, choosing to ignore her pleading eyes instead of outright questioning what she expected you to do about this. You had a feeling you knew what her answer was going to be. “I don’t doubt that he’s fine.”

Your father cleared his throat suddenly. “Do you know where he is?”

You looked at him in confusion. “No. How would—”

“Well, then you can’t not doubt that he’s fine,” he stated. Sometimes he was just as frustratingly un-father-like as Jungkook’s father was. “Something could have happened to him.”

You looked down to your plate, considering your options. You could attempt to turn back the time and never come home this weekend. Or you could do what your parents clearly wanted you to do and try to find Jungkook even if it meant stepping over your pride by reaching out to him first.

Hesitantly, you lifted your eyes to meet your mother’s hopeful gaze. “Do you want me to call him?”

“Would you, dear?” she asked but she was really telling you to just do it, please.

“Of course,” you said and excused yourself from the table.

You had to take a few obligatory deep breaths in your bedroom before you could pick up your phone. In all honesty, you’d have rather climbed out of the window and returned to campus on foot – surely you’d make it in time for your classes on Monday – but you knew you’d never forgive yourself if he actually got himself into some more trouble and you stayed away, too prideful to check on him.

Unfortunately – or, perhaps, fortunately; you were yet to decide – Jungkook didn’t pick up your call. Not the first, not the second, and not even the fourth one. His phone was turned on, though, so it was almost like he was ignoring you on purpose, and you started to think that this may have been his way of getting revenge after you ignoring his calls a few days ago.

He hadn’t given up when you refused to answer, though, and showed up at your dorm – a lot of good that did for you two – so you felt like you somehow owed him to keep trying, too. This frustrated you, however. You weren’t even calling to apologize – although it was possible that he thought you were and that was why he wasn’t answering – you just needed to let his parents know that he was alive since, clearly, he didn’t care enough to do so himself.

Sighing, you tried to come up with a different way to reach Jungkook and then remembered that Inna had mentioned she’d gotten Yoongi’s phone number at Parental Advisory’s last party. Thinking that this was worth a shot, you texted your roommate, asking her help.

True to her nature, Inna inquired why you needed Yoongi’s number before she sent it, but she agreed to wait until you got back to the dorm to hear your explanation.

Realizing that this may have been bordering on stalker behavior, you dialed the number of Jungkook’s bandmate and prepared to get laughed at because he was probably just passed out drunk like any other weekend.

“Yes,” Yoongi said when he picked up your call, his voice oddly high-pitched. “It’s me.”

Confused by his unusual method of answering the phone, you double-checked the screen to make sure you were really connected and this wasn’t his voicemail, before you stuttered awkwardly, “hi, I’m Jungkook’s friend. I was—”

“Jungkook’s friend!” he repeated excitedly. He did not sound sober. “So good to hear from you.”

You sincerely doubted he knew who you were, but you had no time to get into that.

“Yes, well, do you know where he is right now?” you asked.

“He is present,” Yoongi said and then elaborated after a moment, “he is here.”

“Here?” you couldn’t understand. “As in, home? At your house?”

“We’re having a jam session,” he laughed, his mind elsewhere now. “Well, we were having a jam session. Now we’re having a smoke session.”

“A smok—are you high?” you asked, standing up from your bed. “Is Jungkook—”

“He is present!” Yoongi repeated, so excited to help. You wondered what was it that they were smoking that got him so disoriented and cheerful. “Are you really his friend?”

The question took you off-guard. You didn’t know how to explain your relationship with Jungkook to a sober person, so even trying to explain it to someone who was so very obviously high seemed impossible.

“Yes,” you ended up saying. “Could I talk to him?”

“I don’t see why not,” Yoongi said.

“Okay,” you said.

“Okay,” he repeated.

You waited for Yoongi to pass the phone but the silence on the other end didn’t seem to end. You had a feeling he didn’t understand what you had asked him to do.

“Yoongi?” you tried.

“Yes,” he said right away. “It’s me.”

You could have strangled him in that moment. “Could you please put Jungkook on the phone?”

“No, I can’t do that,” he said.

You groaned. “Why not?”

“He left.”

“He left?” you repeated, exasperated. “Where did he go?”

He didn’t reply again. In his defense, he shrugged – it’s not his fault you couldn’t see him.

“Yoongi?” you said again.

“Yes,” he said. “It’s—”

“Where did Jungkook go?” you repeated quickly before he could give you the break-down of who you were talking to one more time.

“I don’t know,” he said with a sigh. “I’m tired. I’m going to get some food. Do you want some?”

“I—Yoongi, hey, listen,” you continued even though this was clearly an uphill battle. “I need you to find him.”

“Find him?” Yoongi repeated, seemingly puzzled by this task you’d given him.

“Yes,” you said and slowly spelled it out for him, “find him, okay? Find. Jungkook.”

“Yes,” he said. “That would be nice. He has the bong.”

“Okay, yes. Find the bong.”

“The bong!” he screeched and you heard excited shrieks follow in the background of the call. You couldn’t even begin to guess how many people were there. “Oh, the bong is right here. Funny.”

He giggled for the next half a minute, not letting you interrupt. Your sanity was hanging on the edge of a cliff.

“Yoongi,” you tried, only for him to wheeze and start giggling again. “Yoongi, so is Jungkook there, too?”

“No,” he replied through laughter. “But the bong is!”

Everyone cheered on his end once again.

That was your breaking point.

“Nevermind,” you said. “Stay safe, okay?”

You didn’t wait for him to reply – or, God forbid, start giggling again – before you hung up the call and left your bedroom in a huff.

Your mother was the first one to notice that you’d left your room but she closed her mouth right after opening it when she saw your frustrated expression.

“Is everything okay?” your father asked since your mother was struggling with words.

“I’m going back home,” you announced, grabbing your sneakers from the hallway and sitting down on the floor to put them on. You looked up to see your parents exchange a confused glance. “Will one of you drive me?”

“Of course,” your mother finally spoke. “B-but did you get a hold of—”

“No, but I know where he is,” you said, your irritation evident in your voice, “I’ll go over there and drag his—tell him to call his parents.”

Your mother looked at your father one more time after your near slip-up – you never swore or used any language that was even remotely foul around your parents – and was about to suggest you stayed home instead, but when she turned back around, you were already putting your coat on.

“Perhaps it’s enough for them to know that he’s okay,” your mother said, careful now. Suddenly, she seemed to have no trouble remembering how big of an impact Jungkook used to have on your emotions when you were still friends – the smallest argument with him would have you slamming doors – and, more importantly, what an emotional mess you’d become when he decided to stop being friends. “You don’t have to look for him.”

“I don’t know if he’s okay,” you said, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. Your mother looked even more worried when you looked at her again. “I mean, he probably is, but just to make sure—”

“Are you okay?” she asked. She had these caring moments sometimes – well, to be fair, she’d never forgotten to check on you when she could tell that you were suffering, she was just usually more of the cold-and-calculated type – and they always took you by surprise.

“I’m—no, yeah, I’m fine,” you told her. “I just—well, I haven’t seen him this whole week and the last time we spoke, we didn’t part on good terms. He had this look in his eye that was, I don’t know—I get that it sounds stupid but he just looked like—”

Your mother extended her hand, placing it on your arm in a comforting manner.

“Let’s go,” she said, accepting your concern as valid even if it was caused by something as trivial as ‘a look in his eyes’ that you couldn’t properly articulate. “You can check on him and then call me, so I can update his mom.”

You felt a little awkward saying goodbye to your mother when she let you out in front of your dormitory several hours earlier than she was supposed to. You told her you’d walk to Jungkook’s place on your own, not wanting to make this weirder by having her to drop you off there, even though she insisted.

Waving at her as she drove away, you turned towards the Parental Advisory house, hoping to lose your discomfort on the way there.

However, if you’d felt a little awkward before, you felt properly pathetic on the doorstep of where Jungkook lived. You could see the light inside so, obviously, someone was home – but in what state? Would they even understand that someone was at the door once you rang the bell? – and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to let your presence be known.

This was wrong. You regretted coming and couldn’t help but feel embarrassed in advance because Jungkook – or one of his band members – was most likely going to kick you out for showing up here.

You completely forgot the irritation your hopeless phone call with Yoongi had caused you to feel, and this rescue mission no longer made any sense to you. Jungkook was probably fine, smoking with his friends, not at all worried about the anxiety he’s caused his parents.

Probably.

“Something could have happened to him,” your father had said and, with a deep breath, you finally got over yourself and knocked on the door – not just because of Jungkook’s stressed parents but because of your own distress, too.

The door opened almost as soon as you knocked – as if the person on the other side had been waiting for someone to come – and you were met with Jungkook’s red eyes. For some reason, you were expecting Yoongi to open the door and had already prepared a very slow request to take you to Jungkook - all so it’d reach the more sober cavities of his brain - so now you were almost completely speechless.

“I, uh—h-hi,” you said distractedly.

Jungkook watched you in confusion for a moment or two. “Did you say you were coming?”

“No, I’m—no. I didn’t,” you replied, giving him a once-over to get an idea of what you were going to have to deal with. His eyes could have been red because he wasn’t sleeping. But also because he was high on something. “Are you okay?”

What you really meant was, are you sober enough to understand what I’m saying?

“I’m fine,” he said with a scoff. “Did you come all the way here to ask me that?”

“Actually, yeah,” you said and then cleared your throat. “Your mom called mine. She was worried about you. Apparently, you, uh, skipped dinner?”

Jungkook just nodded to himself – realizing that you weren’t here by choice, you were here because of his parents – and then sighed. “It’s fine. I just didn’t feel like playing a responsible son tonight.”

“You could have called,” you said, lowering your eyes and mentally preparing yourself for a yet another don’t-tell-me-how-to-live-my-life speech from him.

“I could have,” he agreed instead and then opened the door wider. “Do you want to come inside?”

You lifted your gaze again, the invitation catching you by surprise. You thought that perhaps Jungkook actually was high – otherwise, why would he invite you in? – but, in all truth, he seemed sober, just very very tired.

Coming inside wasn’t a good idea. You hadn’t planned it. Hell, you barely planned what you were going to say to him and you certainly didn’t think the conversation was going to progress this much.

And yet you found yourself shrugging your shoulders.

“Yeah,” you said, your tongue loosening itself from your brain. “Yeah, okay. I’ll just—I’ll text my mom so she can let your parents know you’re alive.”

He rolled his eyes at this but moved to a side to encourage you to come in. You walked past the threshold and stopped as soon as you entered, typing a text message to your mother. When you put your phone away, the two of you found yourselves awkwardly situated on opposite ends of the hallway of his house.

“I’m glad it’s you my parents sent as a search party for me,” Jungkook said when you looked at him, “and not the police helicopters.”

“Ah,” you said as you contemplated how to explain why you came without making it sound like a big deal, “your parents didn’t send me. It was my decision. I tried to call you but you weren’t picking up and then I called Yoongi—”

“You called Yoongi looking for me?” he asked.

Funny how just a few days ago you thought that Jungkook and Namjoon having a face-off outside of your dorm room had put you in the most uncomfortable position you’d ever been in. Right now, having to tell Jungkook how you went through every possible measure to find him – just hours short of actually calling the police, really – you felt much worse.

“I did,” you said, swallowing your dignity since there was barely any of it left anyway. “But he was no help at all. So, I had no choice but to come.”

You and him both knew that you had a lot of other choices – completely ignoring his absence, for example – but they weren’t the ones that you’d picked.

Trying not to make it obvious how pleased he was that you’d done all this just to find him, Jungkook looked around the hallway as he respectfully waited for the smirk to disappear from his lips. Then, he focused on you again.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” you replied.

The smirk returned and he couldn’t fight it anymore. “Did you really think I was dead?”

You inhaled sharply before admitting, “I didn’t know what to think. Last time I looked away from you for one second, you drunkenly crashed your car into a pole.”

“It was a tree trunk, I think.”

“It—is that really the part to focus on?”

“No, sorry,” he snickered. “I get it. You think I’m out of control when left unsupervised.”

“I don’t think,” you disagreed. “I know.”

He just smiled at you for a while after you’d said this. You were about to ask him what the problem was when he finally explained.

“That is the most you thing I’ve heard you say since we started talking again,” he said.

“Well, falling off the grid has been the most you thing I’ve seen you do, so we’re even,” you replied, avoiding his smiling eyes so you could remain cool and collected.

“Do you want to go inside?” he asked then. “I mean, into the actual house. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time in my hallway.”

You had agreed to come inside but this second invitation suddenly cleared the way for more doubts.

“I don’t want to interrupt,” you said. “When I called Yoongi, he seemed to be in the middle of a very unusual, uh, social gathering.”

“It’s not that unusual,” Jungkook said as he turned around and walked towards the kitchen, expecting you to follow after him. Naturally, you did. You always did, for as long as you could remember. “And you’re not interrupting. You’re my guest.”

“Oh, what an honor,” you couldn’t help the sarcasm, automatically imagining him saying this to plenty of other people that he’d brought here before.

Jungkook glanced at you over his shoulder. “It’s not?”

You countered, “should it be?”

“Yes,” he replied, pulling back a stool by the kitchen island for you to sit on while he headed for the fridge. “We don’t have guests over during weekdays. It’s sort of an unwritten rule. But you’re always welcome here.”

He shrugged when he said that last part – to make it seem nonchalant – but his lowered eyes proved how nervous he got when he found himself in the middle of saying it.

“Thank you,” you said and, just as Jungkook opened the fridge to get you two some drinks, your phone buzzed with a response from your mother. She had sent a three-paragraph text message, thanking you for what you did on behalf of Jungkook’s parents, herself, and, basically, the entire nation. “Your mom needs you to call her tomorrow when you’re free.”

“Sure,” he mumbled from inside of the fridge. Yoongi had hidden all the soju bottles – it seemed like a funny prank to him – and Jungkook was too focused on finding them to fully register anything you were saying.

So, to confirm that he’d really heard you, you asked, “are you going to do it?”

He finally located the green bottle and pulled it out. “Do what?”

“Call your mom.”

“Oh,” he didn’t want to say no to you, so he shrugged and said, “sure. We never have anything to talk about but, yeah, I’ll call her.”

You sighed because, even though you’d already told him this when he was at the hospital, he still didn’t seem to get it.

“When it comes to you, it’s not so much about having things to talk about,” you said. “It’s about simply knowing that you’re doing okay when you disappear out of the blue.”

“It wasn’t out of the blue,” he argued, hitting the base of the bottle against his elbow before opening it.

“It was,” you disagreed. “You’d told them you’d come and then you didn’t show up.”

Jungkook paused before reaching for a drawer where they kept a set of shot glasses.

“They just,” he said and a tired sigh passed his lips mid-sentence, “they expect so much from me. And it’s like they know I won’t deliver, so they’re turning me into a huge disappointment before I even do anything.”

“They’re not,” you said but you were uncertain. “They want what’s best for you and, okay, sure, they expect a lot from you but all parents do.”

He gave you a doubtful look. “Do they?”

“Yeah. Mine do, too. They’re never proud of anything I do unless I’m the only one doing it. Unless I’m setting an example,” you said.

Jungkook lowered his eyes because he knew that, of course. He knew about your family almost as well as you knew about his and yet, in a roll of self-pity, he had forgotten that you didn’t grow up being coddled -- like most of the other kids in the suburbs where you grew up -- either.

“How do—how did you grow up like that and didn’t turn out like me?” he asked suddenly. The bottle of soju sat still in front of him, momentarily forgotten.

You didn’t like the self-deprecation in his question – even despite having some similar thoughts – as you said, “you’re not all bad.”

“No, you know what I mean,” he said. “If it weren’t for my parents, I probably wouldn’t even be in college.”

This surprised you. “You don’t want to be here?”

“No, I—I don’t know. I don’t know what I want,” he admitted, his words an echo from when you talked to him at the hospital. “But I’d appreciate some time to figure it out. Now, it’s just like I’m only here as an obligation to our stockholders before I inevitably join the company.”

You didn’t really know how to counter that because, essentially, that was really what this was. Jungkook’s family had always prided itself on their good education and even greater ambitions, but now, for all the kids in his family, going to college has become a mere formality to prove that they deserved their place in the family company.

“Looks like we’ve found our core difference,” you said finally as Jungkook poured the soju into shots and passed one to you. “I actually want to be here. I’m not here for my parents, I’m here for me. For my own dreams.”

Jungkook tried not to sound jealous as he said, “you don’t have your whole future decided for you.”

“That’s right,” you said, your voice laced with tones of irrational bitterness. You knew it wasn’t Jungkook’s fault he was born into a family that had a legacy. A family that could have made your dreams come true. “I don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it like a bad thing,” he clarified quickly. “I was just saying how y-you get to decide who you are. You get to build yourself, create your own business.”

“That—see, that’s just it,” you said with a sigh and gulped down your soju shot. Jungkook followed suit. “I’m just like everyone else here, ambitious and yet uncertain.”

“At least you’re ambitious,” he said. “I’m just uncertain.”

You smiled sadly. “If only we could trade places, right?”

“Yeah,” he said and then added with a scoff, “I’d love to see my father try to order you around.”

“He wouldn’t have to,” you said indignantly. “I’m a very obedient daughter.”

“Hmm, yeah. I know you are.”

You were too focused on his hands as he poured soju into shots so you weren’t looking at him as he said this, but when you raised your eyes, the teasing grin on his lips covered his words with a flirty layer.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, which was, obviously, the wrong thing to do because your stomach was already sizzling with an approaching fire and, as Jungkook’s smile widened, it completely burst into flames.

It was like you were thirteen again, watching him ride bikes around the neighborhood with his friends. Every time he’d drive past you, he’d turn to look at you and he’d give you a smile – his most special one, the one rarely anyone got to see from the moody teenager that he’d become – and you would stay awake the whole night after that, thinking of it for weeks to come.

You really shouldn’t have come here tonight.

“Nothing,” Jungkook said and, as he passed you another shot of soju, the two of you fell quiet.

Coated in silence, you considered if maybe -- as long as you remembered not to let your past feelings take over -- you actually could develop a new, genuine friendship with him. And then, even if he did choose to end it abruptly again, you wouldn’t be as hurt as you’d been the first time. You’d be fine. It would hurt because losing a friend always hurt but it wouldn’t hurt as much as losing someone you were in love with would.

You both downed your shots without looking at each other and, with the alcohol now in your veins, the comfortable silence around you started to get heavy.

Both of you were thinking. Remembering.

Finally, after a while, Jungkook could no longer resist bringing up the last time he’d seen you.

“So, uh, how was that project?” he asked, leaning on his elbows on the island as he remained in his spot opposite you.

You weren’t following. “What project?”

“The one you were doing with that guy,” he said. “Namjoon.”

The way he said his name was ridiculously exaggerated – as if somehow Namjoon was now his number-one nemesis – and you snorted, not yet realizing the gravity of his question. But Jungkook’s face was completely somber when you looked at him.

“Uh, the project is fine,” you said, coughing to ease the tension in the air around you. “We gave the professor a progress update this week, and we’ll be able to present it in a few more weeks.”

“I see,” Jungkook nodded. “So, are you going to see him again after you wrap the project up?”

“I don’t know. I mean, we’re in the same class—” you could tell you’d said the wrong thing by the way his gaze darkened. “Uh, but we’re not dating or anything. He’s just a colleague. We’re barely even friends.”

He liked this answer better as he stood up straight and considered where to go from here. You beat him to it, however.

“What happened to you?” you asked. The question just slipped.

That caught him off-guard. “Sorry?”

“I mean, what have you been doing since I’d last seen you?”

You were afraid of the answer and Jungkook could tell. When you saw his concerned expression, you realized he could tell, so when he spoke up, you weren’t sure if he was telling the truth or just making light of the situation for your sake.

“Nothing much,” he said. “I stayed at the house with the other members most of the time. We found ways to occupy ourselves as I’m sure Yoongi showed you.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He laughed. “I didn’t get into trouble if that’s what you’re asking.”

Now you knew he was lying. But ignorance was bliss and you decided not to push him any further. It was sort of futile anyway – it wasn’t like you could go back in time and prevent him from making whatever dumb decisions he'd already made.

“I-I’m sorry I was a bitch to you that morning,” you said then.

Your plan to move on and forget all about him instead of apologizing for the way you’d acted was long abandoned. Clearly, the universe wasn’t going to give you two a break from each other now that you’d started talking again, so you needed to make this right.

“W-when I saw you at my dormitory, I mean,” you explained but Jungkook already understood. “It really wasn’t my place to make assumptions about—”

“No, I understand,” he stopped you. “I mean, I can imagine the way I must have looked coming out of her room that morning but, uh, for whatever it’s worth, I didn’t actually sleep with that girl. I think I passed out as soon as I walked through the door of her room.”

You recalled the conversation you’d overheard in the library and, so far, the stories seemed to match. Curious now, you brought your tongue over your dry lips and tried to get to the bottom of this even though you feared what awaited you at the foundation.

“Why did you go to her dorm in the first place?” you asked.

You didn’t think he’d actually say it but he took a deep breath and almost forced your heart to collapse with his words, “I went to see you. She—The girl mentioned her dormitory and I remembered that you lived there. I obviously underestimated how drunk I was, though. I don’t even know how I’d planned to find your room.”

Why? your mind was screaming. Why did you want to see me? What were you going to say to me once you did? What were you going to do?

But you cleared your throat and nodded.

Understanding that there was nothing else to be said – because there were only so many times you could have apologized to one another before your feelings for each other became unbearably obvious – Jungkook jumped on the island, sitting down on it and turning to you.

“So, hey, we’re doing a gig next Friday,” he said. “Will you come watch me play?”

You were probably – definitely – over-analyzing the question, but he didn’t ask you if you’d like to come. He asked if you would. And, you cursed yourself for even coming to this seemingly far-fetched conclusion, but it sounded like he needed you there.

“Yeah,” you said, swallowing. “Inna was probably going to drag me there with her anyway.”

Jungkook hesitated. “That’s good. It’d be better if you came because you wanted to, but me and my bruised ego will take it.”

You chuckled, not meaning to tease him – or leave him wanting more, or whatever else it seemed like you were doing – but, rather, wanting to show him – and yourself – that you could control the feelings that were waking up from a long hibernation.

You could control them and not make them obvious.

“I do want to come,” you said and then, in the most heartbreakingly sincere way, added, “I want us to be friends.”

Jungkook nearly flinched but he nodded wholeheartedly, trying to play his unexpectedly painful disappointment off.

“Right,” he said. “I, uh—that’s what I want, too.”

But it wasn’t. Not really. And it became quite clear to him that he had gotten ahead of himself with his feelings -- you weren’t going to meet him halfway because you were so far behind.

I want us to be friends, was what you’d said. But I don’t want to be with you was what he’d heard.

keep reading | masterlist

#bts #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfiction #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts au #jungkook au #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #college au #bts college au

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just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmate September - Day 13

Day 13 - Everyone is born with a super power, but when soulmates are together their powers are nullified by each other.

Pairing(s): Romantic Intrulogical, Romantic Moceit, Romantic Prinxiety (background), Familial Anxceit

TWs: swearing, one mention of puking [nothing detailed], innuendo, Remus being Remus

Logic reigned at night in Newmind City.

Okay, that may not be entirely correct; the quicker the time sluggishly dragged itself towards 6 am, the faster the brain cell count dwindled. Stupider and stupider decisions were made edging the lines of the illegal and bordering on the disastrous.

No, the Logic that owned the night came in the form of the superhero; Logic.

The hero had to admit, it wasn’t the most extravagant name out there, he’d heard many more creative and intimidating names; the Sandman, Sweet Psyche, the Tempest Tongue, all of them household names by now, whether hero or villain. Logic wasn’t exactly a name that struck hearts much outside of NewMind City, but within the alleyways and dive bars, criminals lived in fear of his watchful patrols.

Harnessing the power of Order and Stability made Logic a formidable opponent. The effect on his physical balance allowed him to fight on any surface - even hundreds of feet off of the ground - with almost zero chance of falling. The way he could manipulate any situation into the perfect rube goldberg machine to aid his crusade was terrifying given the right situations. Only one villain dared provoke Logic at every turn; Deceit.

The Lord of the Lies. A Self-Proclaimed Subterfuge Specialist.

Deceit seemed to live for one thing and one thing only; to destroy the city from the inside out. Logic would have admired the serpentine slanderer if not for his methods. Forcing politicians to spout the truth? Urging government officials to spill their true agendas against their will? Logic admired that kind of drive, but at the same time, this was a man who used lies as weapons. Deceit used them to hurt others whenever he so desired.

Stalking across the edge of the Talyn Street apartment block, the hero could hear a commotion in the distance; by the sounds of it, at least three men were involved and by the sound of it, things had gotten ugly in a hurry. Logic took off along the edges of the nearest buildings and-

Wait. Something didn’t feel right.

The closer he got to the commotion, the less balanced he felt on his own two feet. Had he somehow exhausted himself? Impossible. He’d faced rather a quiet night until now. His thoughts were distracted long enough that he nearly slid right off of the edge of the building overlooking the alleyway in question. The scene that unfolded set Logic’s blood to a boil.

Four men, not three. One held back by the largest thug in the group while the other two took turns brutalising the man, though he didn’t let out a single sound. Logic had to be careful; he couldn’t tell if his powers were acting up for sure, but just in case, he used the fire escape to stick to the shadows, to better observe the situation.

Despite the beating he was taking, the man being held back didn’t seem too worried. Logic found out exactly why when the man waited for the next brutal gut punch and used it to flip the larger man holding him onto his attacker. It was impressive to say the least. The final attacker still standing went to pull out a blade, evident by the flash of silver light that caught Logic’s eye, but thankfully, their victim was armed as well.

The way the man twirled the butterfly knife in his hand so effortlessly was hypnotic, borderline erotic if Logic were to be so bold. Focus. You have a job to do. He leapt down from the fire escape with only a few inches between him and the attacker’s back. Before the assailant could do anything, Logic drove his elbow into the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious. Checking that he hadn't actually killed him, Logic took his pulse with relief before looking up towards the victim,

“Are you unharmed-”

“That was so sexy.”, the man murmured.

“..... Come again?”

“Gimme a second.”

It took Logic that second and more to realise the innuendo. He annoyedly rolled his eyes and made sure his hair was neatly pushed back once again out of the way of his mask.

“Would you mind informing me of the situation, um..?”

“Remus.”, the man grinned.

Logic wasn’t sure whether the grin reminded him more of a gassy shark or a seasick crocodile, but either way, he began to wonder if Remus wasn’t entirely innocent in this situation…

“Remus.”, Logan repeated, “Actually, I’ll need to ask you to assist me in escorting these charming gentlemen to the station-”

“That won’t be necessary. You’re too tired to move.”

The silky, venomous voice pierced through Logic before he could react. Dammit, he hadn’t anticipated these thugs would be working for Deceit. His movements were sluggish and just as he watched Remus hit the ground, Logic too felt the rough kiss of gravel before he was out like a light…

When Logic awoke, he felt rather like the Fresh Prince of Bel Air; everything was flipped, turned upside down.

Startled, he noted the boiling oil below him - typical of the villain’s over the top style - and the power suppressing cuffs keeping his hands secured behind his back. On the floor just to the left of him, he could make out the goons from earlier sat playing cards while Remus was tied to a chair a couple of feet away. Logic was thankful to see Remus had no new injuries though he was still out cold. The man may be a wretch but the hero really didn’t want to see harm come to him.

“Ah, you’re finally awake, my dear nemesis.”

Deceit’s voice trickled from the speakers in the room, sickly smooth and deadly, like honey laced with poison. Logic knew not to listen to it consciously, he’d made that mistake once before and it’d nearly cost him his life. He instead focused on struggling to get out of the situation he was in, but with his hands cuffed using suppressor cuffs, he was fighting an uphill battle.

“Now, now, don’t exhaust yourself. I’ve been waiting for this day for a while now, I don’t want you too tired for the grand finale.”

The smugness dripping from every word even passively began to give Logic a headache. His attempts to escape were becoming more and more fruitless; the chain that held his legs in place also stopped him having his skin boiled right off the bone so being too unruly with them was out of the question. All he could do was hope that Remus would wake up and have some kind of ability that might help the both of them.

Come to think of it, why had his powers suddenly stopped working as he’d approached? Perhaps one of Deceit’s thugs had been in possession of something made to counteract his abilities? No, that didn’t seem likely. Knowing the smug villain, Logic knew there was no way Deceit would let his cronies take charge of something that powerful and impressive. He was wrenched from his thoughts as Deceit’s message continued,

“I hope you’re prepared to-”

He stopped. There was a sound akin to rustling and clattering before Deceit’s voice came once more. From the muffled volume and the conversation, Logic guessed the idiot had forgotten to turn off the microphone.

“Pat, dearest?”

Another voice, probably the aforementioned Pat, spoke sweetly in response,

“What, honey?“

“Where’s my villainous cape?”, came Deceit’s inquiry. Logic had to bite his tongue to refrain from laughing. Might as well enjoy the show while he thought of an escape plan.

“What???”, came Pat’s reply, a little closer now going by the acoustics.

“Where. Is. My. Villainous. Cape?!”

“Oh, I put it away!”

Logic was thoroughly enjoying the drama going down over the speakers, and so were Deceit’s henchmen who Logic spotted had stopped their rousing game of blackjack to instead get comfy and enjoy the show.

“Where did you put it?!”

“Why do you need to know, Jan!?”

Huh. This wasn’t how Logic figured he’d find out his arch nemesis’ name, but he wasn’t about to complain. What did strike urgency back into him was the progression of their conversation.

“Oh for the love of-! My plan to erase my nemesis is in danger!”

“Our EVENING is in danger!”, there was a soft sigh, “Look, Jan, we’ve had this reservation planned for months now! I’m gonna assume your nemesis is a little tied up at the moment,” , Logan rolled his eyes at such an awful pun, “So why don’t we just go enjoy our anniversary dinner and you can deal with him when you get back, alright?”

Horrifyingly, Deceit huffed a sigh, “I suppose it would be interesting to keep him suspended for a while, let the terror sink in. Good thinking, my love.” The sound of a light kiss and a chuckle could’ve made Logic lose his lunch. Or perhaps it was the idea of being held upside down for so long..

“Alright, Pat, if we hurry, parking shouldn’t be too awful...”

The intercom went quiet and now Logic could truly let the situation sink in; he’d have to remain suspended over boiling oil, watched by Deceit’s cronies, unable to save himself or-

Remus!

He’d almost forgotten about the odd gentleman. He turned to see him-

Oh, are you kidding me.

Remus was still out cold. How. How in the HELL could one man be asleep for so long?!

Logic didn’t like the idea, but he had little choice. Inhaling, he began to yell, “WAKE UP-” when something hard impacted his cheek. The blow sent his glasses hurtling onto the ground - thankfully missing the boiling oil at least - and breaking apart on impact. Dammit.

“Keep your mouth shut, Zero!”, one of the thugs chided, earning snickers from the other two and inciting them to join in on the jeering and insult hurling. Logic was just thankful that whatever had been thrown - he suspected a mug by the feel of it - must have been the single dispensable item at hand considering nothing else was thrown other than attempts at insults. The hero had no idea what was worse; the idea of dying from heart failure with the blood rushing to his head, or dying of sheer embarrassment knowing it’d happen while having to listen to these ignoramuses try to genuinely roast him.

Logic could already feel unconsciousness taking hold of him when the first thug began screaming. It took the last of his strength to turn towards the cacophonous cries of terror, but his vision was so blurred without his glasses, all Logic could see before he passed out were a pair of glowing green eyes and a whirlwind of obsidian tendrils.

When Logic awoke, the first thing he noticed was the cold breeze settling into his skin through his suit. Opening his eyes, the hero still couldn’t see clearly, but as he squinted, he began to make out stars and clouds. Shit, how long was he out?

“Wakey wakey, princess! You had me thinking you’d gone and died on me there!”, came Remus’ already unmistakable voice. Logic sat up, still reeling as he saw Remus approach him, getting clearer the closer he came until he was knelt down beside the hero.

“Here,”, Remus placed Logan’s broken glasses in his hand, “Sorry I couldn’t fix ‘em, it’s not exactly my expertise.”

Logic had so many questions already; how had they survived?! What had Remus done back at Deceit’s lair before he’d passed out?! Why did he still find it hard to use his powers even now he was free of the cuffs?! The hero frowned as his powers refused to work on his glasses. Remus - seemingly uncaring about Logic’s lack of a response - watched him attempt to work before he caught himself.

“Ah, wait. Lemme back up.”

The hero was confused as Remus backed away a good couple of feet from him on what Logic now recognised as the rooftop of the Crofter’s Hotel. He was about to ask for an explanation when he realised his powers were slowly coming back, reslotting the glass into the frames and straightening out the bridge and legs of the glasses. Order maintained once more, Logic donned the glasses, thankful for his vision stabilising.

“Thank you, Remus.”, Logic went to stand up, but he still felt lightheaded. Thankfully, Remus saved him from toppling over, catching him at the waist and helping him carefully sit back down.

“Careful, Specs. I don’t want my soulmate hurting himself-”

“Apologies, your what?!“

Logic was stunned to say the least; Remus had just thrown that out there like it was any old fact.

“Soulmate. Y’know, your cosmic companion, your destiny dictated darling, your fatemate!”, Remus listed excitedly, “You know all about it right? When you meet-”

“- your superpower is nullified around that person, yes, I am aware.”

Logic wasn’t sure what to think; he’d never paid much thought to his soulmate, in truth, he preferred to think of his work as his soulmate. Not that he didn’t like the idea of meeting the man the universe decided was his perfect match. Nor did Logic mind that the man was rather handsome in the mysterious cryptid kind of way. Logic gestured for Remus to sit with him and extended his hand to Remus for shaking,

“Logan Berrie.”, Logan offered, trying to settle back into his civilian mindset.

“Pie.”, Remus responded, low-fiving Logan’s hand.

“Pardon?”

“....We’re not playing a word association game?”

“.... I was providing you with my name, Remus.”

Remus grinned, “Wait, that’s your name?! That’s-”

“Ridiculous, I am well aware.”, Logan scowled, “I did go to school after all-”

“I was gonna say that’s awesome but whatever!”

Logan did poorly to hide his surprise as Remus laid back like he could fall asleep, “So Logan, how’d you fall in with ol’ Snake Face himself?”

Logan rolled his eyes, still propped up on his hands, “The same way all heroes are presented with their arch nemesis; he and I crossed paths and unfortunately, while we share some values, we have vastly differing opinions on how society’s problems should be fixed.”. He glanced over at Remus, fidgeting idly with the corner of the beat up long coat his soulmate wore.

“What was your transgression?”

Remus squinted at Logan for a second, “I’m cis.”

“... No. Transgression. What was it you did that made my nemesis target you? I noticed you addressed him by a rather flattering nickname earlier, so I assume you know of him personally.”

“Oooh.”, Remus grinned, snickering at just the memory of it, “I may or may not have pissed off his little brother.”

Well, that had Logan’s attention immediately. The hero lay on his side next to Remus, propping his head up on his hand, ready for the juicy details. He may have thought himself above gossip, but that didn’t mean Logan didn’t enjoy a good old tea party.

“How so?”

With a grin Logan was sure should’ve split his soulmate’s face in half, Remus proudly elaborated, “Well he and my twin brother were dating, and they had a bunch of friends and family all gathered for some bullshit, and my brother wants me to say something - a terrible decision, really - and I’m there kinda caught for what to say. So I’m having to think on the fly.”

“So, what did you do?”, Logan inquired, clearly getting sucked into the plot unfolding.

“I just said the first thing that popped into my head!”

Logan rolled his eyes once more, but there was a fondness to it this time. “Which was?”

Remus proudly cleared his throat, bringing a hand up to clasp an imaginary microphone, reciting perfectly from memory,

“To the seventeen people in this room that all wished they’d taken my brother’s virginity first, just remember this is the guy who got blackout drunk, cried because he couldn’t afford chicken nuggets, and scared a birthday party of kids when he puked up behind Chuck E Cheese’s back in college!”

The snort of laughter Logan let out was disgustingly ugly. He clapped his free hand over his mouth despite his giggling soulmate’s attempt to swat the hand away. Logan finally gathered himself,

“That’s amazing, oh my goodness.”

Remus excitedly beamed, “Ten tittied Christ, thank you!”

What a visual.

He continued to rant, “I knew it was funny! But nooooo! It was all “that's not an appropriate story, Remus”, or “How could you say that right now?!”! They were the ones who wanted me to ad lib a last minute speech! So what if I said it in front of hundreds of people at their wedding-?!”

Logan couldn’t help it, the bellowing laughter that tore out of him was too much to contain. When was the last time he’d laughed so heartily? Logan wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure when Remus joined in with his laughter, but by the time they were done, Logan had laid down next to his soulmate to stare up at the stars. Then a thought hit him,

“Wait, you said your brother and Deceit’s brother are married, correct? Making you and Deceit brother-in-laws? ”

Remus nodded, “Yep.”

“And you’re not on his side, but are-?”

“Nah,”, Remus predicted with a head shake, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are both heroes, so there won’t be much of a problem with us being a thing. If that’s what you were worried about.”

Logan nodded, though his frown continued into his query, “Ditz-ney Prince and TT are… interesting hero names...”

Remus rolled his eyes as if it was obvious, “Nah, those are nicknames. My brother’s The Prince over in Sanders Town a couple miles out from here, and you probably know the Tempest Tongue-”

“I’m sorry, your brother is married to THE Tempest Tongue?!”, Logan interrupted, though he shot Remus an apologetic look for his outburst. His soulmate chuckled, “Sounds like someone’s a bit of a fanboy.”

“No, no,”, Logan assured him, frowning despite his obvious embarrassment, “Nothing so childish, I merely admire his work-”

“You think he’s hot-”

“I said no such thing-”

“You didn’t deny it either.”

Remus had him there. Logan punched him in the arm playfully and, as if to prove a point, shuffled closer until he was almost laying on Remus. There was a question on Logan’s mind still, and he finally verbalised it as his gaze fell back onto his soulmate,

“Might I ask, how did we escape? I hate to admit it, but I was passed out for the entirety of your rescue.”

“No shit, who do you think had to carry you?” Remus teased, “I just used my power, wanna see? It’s super fucked up-!”

“No. I mean, I would like to at some point, but I would rather we stay like this. For a little while.”

It felt like his cheeks were on fire, and the sweet smile Remus shot his way had Logan’s heart racing.

“Sure thing, Specs!”, he slid his hand along Logan’s arm and softly let it card through his dark hair, “And how about after we’re done here we go mess with Snake Face? ”

Logan grinned back at him; why shouldn’t they have a little fun after all?

“What did you have in mind?...”

-----

This was fun!

I haven’t written many hero fics before so I hope this is okay!

A big thanks to my friends in the discord for helping with this one when I had a writers block moment.

@tsshipmonth2020

Taglist: @somehow-i-got-an-account @cateye-glasses @fandomsofrandom

#intrulogical #moceit #prinxiety #remus sanders #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #remus #logan #janus #patton #soulmate september #im catching up i swear!#also just incase #emile is Sweet Pysche #and Remy is the Sandman

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